"The Valkyries! I can live without them!"
He's afraid that he won't succeed in finding them, Chris thought.
"I already know how to converse with the angels, and that's what's important." Paulo's tone of voice was hostile.
"I've been thinking about that," Chris answered. "You already know, but you don't want to try."
That's my problem, Paulo said to himself as he started the car. I need some strong emotions. I need a challenge.
He looked over at Chris. She was busy reading The Desert Survival Manual they had bought in one of the towns they had passed through. They drove off through yet another of the immense desert flats that seemed to have no end.
It's not just a problem of spiritual search, he c
ontinued thinking, as he alternated between looking at Chris and watching the road. He loved his wife, but he was getting fed up with marriage. He needed some strong passion in his love, in his work, in almost everything he did in his life. And that went against one of nature's most important laws: Every movement needs to pause at times.
He knew that if he continued the way he was, nothing in his life would last for very long. He was beginning to understand what J. had meant when he said that people wind up killing what they love most.
TWO DAYS LATER, THEY REACHED GRINGO PASS, A PLACE with only one motel, a mini-market, and the U.S. customs building. The Mexican border was only a few yards from the center of town, and the two took snapshots of each other with one foot in each country.
At the mini-market, they asked about the Valkyries, and the woman who owned the luncheonette said she had seen "that bunch of lesbians" that morning, but that they had moved on.
"Did they cross into Mexico?" Paulo asked.
"No, no. They took the road to Tucson."
They went back to the motel, and sat down on the verandah. The car was parked directly in front of them.
"Look how dirty the car's become," Paulo said after a few minutes. "I think I'll wash it."
"The owner of the motel wouldn't like to find out people are using water for washing their car. We're in the desert, remember?"
Paulo didn't answer. He stood up, took a roll of paper towels from the car, and began to wipe away at the dust. Chris remained seated.
He's upset. He can't sit still, she thought. "I've got something serious to tell you," she said.
"You've done your work very well, don't worry," he answered, as he used up one paper towel after another.
"That's just what I wanted to talk to you about," Chris insisted. "I didn't come here to do work. I came because I thought our marriage was beginning to fall apart."
She feels the same way I do, he thought. But he continued with his cleaning.
"I've always respected your spiritual search, but I have mine, too," Chris said. "And I'm going to go on with it. I want you to understand that. I'm going to continue attending mass."
"I go to church, too."
"But what you're doing here is different, you know? You chose this way of communicating with God, and I've chosen a different one."
"I know that. I don't want to change."
"But meanwhile"--she took a deep breath, not knowing what his response would be--"meanwhile, something is happening to me. I want to speak to my angel, too."
She stood and went over to him. She began to gather the paper towels scattered on the ground.
"Do me a favor," she said, looking directly into her husband's eyes. "Don't leave me in the middle of the road."
THERE WAS A SMALL DINER NEXT TO THE GAS STATION.
They sat near the window. It was early in the morning, and the world was still quiet. Outside was the desert, the immense, packed surface...and silence.