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Story One ~ Norma I t has been four days since Día de la Virgen de Guadalupe, December 12, and the image of the Virgin at St. John’s Catholic Church in Tucson is covered with flowers. One month ago I watched a parishioner with a paintbrush touching up the gold paint on the design imprinted on the Virgin’s dress. I am standing outside of St. John’s sanctuary in front of the gazebo that shelters the serene statue. It is crowded with flowers, some artificial, most real. The majority are roses: red, yellow, and an occasional white or pink. There is one pot of poinsettias and scattered other floral varieties. Over on one side are forty or fifty votive candles. The features of this image are softer and more human than most I have seen of the Virgin of Guadalupe. The gentle brown face is framed by black hair, her eyes downcast, looking to one side. With dark eyebrows and eyes lined in black, her hazel-eyed gaze is unexpected. Her palms meet in front of her chest in a gesture of prayer. Draped over her hands are four withered roses that supplicants have placed in homage. The gold-bordered green robe is sprinkled with shiny, golden stars. On her head is a gold crown, studded with jewels and topped off by a withered red rose, gift of a devotee. The pink dress she wears has a design imprinted in gold, the same that was being refreshed by the artisan I watched a month ago. An aura of light surrounds the image: rays of gold and red. It is impossible to see the tiny angel or cherub below the Virgin because of so many flowers. In 1531 the Virgin of Guadalupe revealed herself in a vision to an indigenous boy named Juan Diego. Because of her grace in choosing this humble peasant as her messenger to the bishop in Mexico City, the people of Mexico have long revered her as their patron saint. A lot of Mexican desert crossers give credit to her for their successful journey, 18 stories from the migrant trail for keeping them safe, for recovery after injury or illness, or escape from death. Many migrants wear amulets or jewelry bearing her image. In campsites where belongings have been left there is always her image emblazoned on T-shirts, caps, backpacks, and other mementos. As I stand before the gazebo, I am impressed at how many of the flowers are still fresh, especially the roses. Roses are legendary in the Virgin’s appearance to Juan Diego. When he reached Mexico City, he told the bishop that the Virgin had sent him with a message to build a church on the spot where she had appeared to him. Skeptical, the bishop told him to return home and bring back a sign from the Virgin. The young peasant returned to the rocky hills of Guadalupe. Again he prayed, and when she appeared he told the Virgin of the doubts and the request for proof. She instructed him to go to the rocky outcropping on top of the hill. There he saw roses growing from rocks and blooming in early December. She directed him to pick the flowers and take them to Mexico City. The young boy filled his manta, or robe, with as many roses as he could carry. When he arrived in the city and stood before the bishop, he unfolded his manta, and roses fell to the ground. There on the fabric of his robe was an image of the Virgin. María Flores was confident of her protection by the Virgin. María was an attractive middle-aged woman, self-assured and independent. She had an enviable thick mane of hair, colored a dark auburn with light brown- and blond-streaked highlights. Her left foot and ankle were in a half-cast, temporary immobilization until her appointment with an orthopedist. Both of the bones in her lower leg were broken. She had stumbled and fallen, unable to keep pace with the rest of her group. When it became impossible to bear weight on her left leg, and she was unable to continue, the pollero and group left her behind. But her nephew stayed at her side, unwilling to leave her to struggle alone, even knowing he would be returned to Mexico. María came from a suburb of Mexico City. She made fifty dollars a week selling phone cards. She had four adult children...

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