Chapter 9: The Funeral

The Mission of LaPurisma is a pink adobe structure with three iron cast bells embellishing the facade. Living quarters are attached to the main structure in a rectangular section which extends towards the gardens giving the appearance of a one-armed cross, laying on its side. Its courtyard contains a fountain of which an effulgent mist rose, and distant in the east, white-gray clouds crested on the Santa Ynez’s highest elevations.

Although Sorpresa held no strong belief’s about God or the afterlife, her life and demise would be celebrated at a Catholic rite funeral mass. The Mass would last for over an hour as ritual incense pervaded the chapel with the aroma of sanctity and finality.

A ragtag group of misfits would arrive on motorcycles, with their women attached to their bodies like mating house flies. The men wore leathers and denim and the women were attired, ill-suited for a house of worship, with midriff’s and flowing hair exposed in disrespect of Catholic common tradition.Triumph, BSA and Harley Davidson motorcycles stood attention outside the chapel, like breakfast ponies awaiting their oats. Skinny Bob, Greaser George and Henry were just a few to witness a grievous angel put to rest.

The Rimini and Delgado family mourners numbered over forty, including patriarch and oldest living member of the Rimini’s; Guido Da Rimini.

Old native women sat sporadically throughout the church and mumbled their prayers unabashed and with officiousness. As Father Paolo read from the gospel of Saint Luke, extolling the questionable virtues of his dear departed sister, family members listened stoically, mostly hoping to catch a glance of Sorpresa’s daughter; the illusive Francesca. When Father Paolo came to the verse.

“She washed my feet with tears and dried them with the hair on her head”

Henry leaned over and whispered to Skinny Bob “That's her. I recognize that head of hair!"

“That’s who, Hank?”

“Her daughter, Man, the chick I told you about,” Henry replied.

Patiently, the families waited outside the chapel anticipating a glimpse of Francesca. The late summer sun had fallen behind the Mission’s façade throwing a shadow over the entrance. When Francesca came into line of sight, a collective gasp erupted from the mourners.

A tall young woman walked hand in hand with an ancient Indian woman in traditional dress. They were as different as they were conjoined. The old woman’s grey hair was embellished with feathers and talismans, and she moved like a museum wax figure. Her cragged face showed years of sun and lines of hard living.The young woman moved with catlike grace. Her complexion contrasted with her amaranth lips and full dark eyebrows like pencil sketches on canvas. Shoulder length dark hair framed her face. A virgin white dress with a dropped oval bodice revealed an Abalone necklace surrounded and mounted in silver. She was more beautiful, than any of them imagined.

Walking forward to the thank the mourners, an old man in the wheelchair motioned to her to come to him first. She looked to her grandmother, and "Abuela" nodded her approval.

The old man removed his fedora and set it on his lap.

"Cosa vuoi, mia figlia?” he asked.

"I don't understand, I’m sorry," she said.

The old man smiled and motioned to a much younger man to come to him. The young man listened, grinned and accepted the old man’s instructions and stood before Francesca with a smugness the oozed like puss from a wound.

"He wants to know what you want,” he said.

“I want what I can never have again," she responded.

"What’s that?” asked the young man.

"My Mama. I want my mother back. But I know she gone forever."

The young man spoke to the old man again and suggested another approach.

“My Patrino is sorry for your loss, so other than your mama coming back to life, what can my grandfather do for you?”

Francesca thought for a moment and blurted out the first thing that came to her mind.

“I’d like to know who my mother’s family was. When I asked her, she would always say she didn’t want talk about it. But now that’s she’s gone, I would …”

The old man who was listening intently, but without visible signs of emotion, put his hand up to stop Francesca’s speech, and reached into his suitcoat interior pocket. He handed Francesca a large envelope. She opened it.

“A thousand dollars!” she exclaimed. ‘I don’t want your money!”

The old man was wheeled away before she could give it back.

"Why did that man give me this money. I don't even know he is!” she said.

" Your grandfather.” the young man replied.

“But I don’t have a grandfather!”

“You do, he’s your mama’s father.”

“I don’t understand. Why now?”

“He’s sorry that he disowned her, but now seeing you, he wants to make amends.He said you must live with our family. He wants you to have all the privileges that come with being a Rimini.”

“Are you a Rimini?”

“Hell no, I’m Robbie, your cousin!”

“I need some time to think about this," she said.

“OH, and just so you know, if you decide to stay with that old bruja, I’m instructed to take back the money.” Robbie added.

Later that day when Abuela and Francesca returned to the ranch, Francesca asked Abuela to keep the money for upkeep of the ranch. Abuela put the money in a coffee can and said she would keep it secure, for when Francesca needed it, it would be there for her.

“Abuela, what should I do? The old ones say, that the Rimini’s only bring bad luck to those who know them.”

Abuela’s lips parted a toothless grin and spoke words that gave her courage.

“Ha'Na Panai, you must go with the young man. I gave my promise many moons ago, that I would give you up when you became a young woman. Now is that time. You must find your way with the people of your natural blood. Always remember that you will always be my daughter, and the wolf spirit will guide you when you need strength.”

“Should I trust the young man who says he is my cousin?” Francesca asked.

Abuela thought for a moment before she spoke, but then answered with good advice.

“Do not trust el primo. He was conceived not through love. His coyote-spirit is corrupted and evil. He has eyes only for himself!”

Abuela, hugged her and Francesca teared.

“I will always love you Abuela!”

“As will I,” the old woman replied.