Esteban: Love's Irony

By Fish Nealman

Embark on Esteban's captivating journey of resilience and self-discovery in "Love's Irony." From the evocative streets of Las Cruces, where he battles illness and solitude while revitalizing a forgotten church community, to the vibrant city of Kochi in southwest India, Esteban's life takes unexpected turns.

In Kochi, amidst ful

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mirage
• Release date: Apr 22, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869264671

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

MAÑANA

Father Diego did an excellent job putting together directions on getting to Las Cruces. He also allowed Esteban to shower, shave, eat a wonderful meal, get a good night’s sleep, and enjoy a satisfying breakfast the following morning. Father Diego put Esteban on the morning train to begin his journey north and into the high mountains.

Father Diego said, Take it easy up there. The air is thin and rare, and so are the people. It gets sweltering during the day, so be careful, and under no circumstances wander off into the desert. May you do our Lord’s work, and may the Lord keep you and bless you.

The first leg of the trip north took four hours. The train was slow, the cars hot, and with a degree of irony, the people smelled. The trip wasn’t likely to get any easier any time soon. The next leg of the trip was on a smaller and even slower train that went up into the hills and on into the mountains. The second train took another four hours. After two train rides, he got on a bus that appeared to be held together by baling wire and used chewing gum. Passengers not only rode in the bus, but also on it. The bus rattled and clattered and bumbled its way along the long mountain roads, higher and higher.

At last, the bus arrived at its destination. A man walked up to Father Ferrari and told him he was there to take him on the remaining twenty miles. The man took Esteban’s two bags and led him towards an old Chevy pickup with a vintage rust patina. He directed Esteban to make himself comfortable in the flatbed because his wife and two children were sitting inside the cab. His other four children were also in the flatbed and made room for Esteban by pushing aside the goat and three cages of chickens they’d acquired.

The family was friendly enough, but it was impossible to converse with the children as the truck bounced and rocked along the dirt roads, and dust kept flying into his mouth. This last leg of an exhausting trip took about fifty minutes. At long last, the truck squeaked to a gentle stop outside Las Cruces’ chapel. The family helped Father Ferrari down and unloaded his bags. The man asked if Father Ferrari would bless his family. Of course, Esteban said.

The family departed, and Esteban turned to face his church. Jesus stood next to him, looking over the dilapidated grounds and crumbling building and said, "Ah, yes. This is where we belong, amigo. Let’s go in and get started."

What should we do first? Esteban asked.

"Amigo, Jesus replied, the first thing we have to do is go inside and see what our new church looks like."

The two friends made their way through the litter-strewn courtyard. One of the big, heavy, wooden doors was ajar. Esteban pushed. It stood steadfast. So, he pushed a little bit harder. An irritating and audible creak bellowed as the resistance gave way. The doors were well suited to the overall demeanor of the exterior. Everything exhibited signs of needing some TLC.

The chapel was made of adobe clay, a predominant building material used throughout the country. It had not been whitewashed in many years, and the adobe was deteriorating from weathering and prolonged neglect. The grand iron knockers centered on each door exhibited rust. The remnants of a rope system could be identified on one side of the open door. It would have led upwards and over the doors to a bell suspended from a frame. But now, only a rusting eye loop and frame remained as evidence of its prior existence.

Esteban and Jesus breached the threshold and maneuvered their way into the chapel. Sun-blind from walking into a dark room from the outside, the deep, pungent smell was the only thing readily observed. The smell could only be described as musty, old, and altogether nasty. There was an additional fragrance of past-lit fires and cooking. The room also smelled as if someone, or something, had lived in it. The chapel reeked of animals and humans. It mostly smelled of poverty, a new sensation for Esteban but one with which he would become more familiar over the ensuing days. As their eyes adjusted to the light, Esteban could now see his new home. The place was a pigsty. Huddled in one corner were two sleeping cerdo pelón pigs and, in another, three young children. None had been disturbed by the entrance of Esteban and Jesus. They were well accustomed to people and things coming and going.

The entire chapel was not even the size of the cardinal’s office in Mexico City. Esteban could make out the outline of a cross that once hung on the wall at the room’s far end. It’s where the altar was, he thought. There were holes in the hard, packed earth floor where beams once supported it. The holes were empty or filled with ash from the cooking fires. While there were no benches or pews, Esteban could make out old traffic patterns on the floor from the crevasses worn into the caked dirt floor. On both sides of the chapel, holes in the walls looked like they might have once held glass windows. They were now covered with dirty serapes to keep the mountainous evening chill at bay.

In the future, Esteban would learn that the hardware to support the glass was in place but had deteriorated beyond repair. To the left and near the entry doors was a pit over which a grate and a flagstone lay. The pit was filled with cold ashes, and next to the pit lay a heap of firewood ready for burning.

At the back, Esteban noticed another door. Not knowing what else to do, he walked across the room and pushed it open. He recognized the adjoining room as the sacristy. In this room, a priest would prepare for service and keep the vestments and other things used during worship. Many items that should have been in the chapel were strewn around the room, piled upon each other in a disorganized heap. Some of the things were visibly broken. There was a crushed stand for candles. A cross with a pained statue of Jesus was cracked, and various parts of the effigy had been broken off altogether. All this made the statue look even more agonized. The broken pieces had been piled up under the cross, along with scattered fragments of the altar. He also noticed several fonts in varying degrees of wholeness and a few bibles showing signs of advanced neglect. The room also had a strong smell, one of deterioration. On the far side of the room was another door, but he was obstructed from getting to it by all the clutter.

Crestfallen, he walked out of the room, hunched over and with his head down. He returned to the courtyard and his luggage. He plonked down, dejected, on the larger of the two cases. Jesus sat down on the ground and rested his back against the same case.

What now? Esteban asked.

"Amigo, it’s not for me to say," Jesus replied.

The two sat, motionless. After twenty minutes, a man and woman entered the courtyard herding a goat and carrying several live chickens tied together by their feet. The woman appeared to be pregnant.

"Buenos noches, Señor," the man said.

"Buenos noches," Esteban replied with barely a nod.

The man and woman entered the church, but Esteban felt too dispirited to move. The goat was set free in the courtyard and moved to a place that must have been well known to him and began eating at the scant foliage. The man peeked out the door every few minutes to see what the stranger was doing. The woman must have gone about preparing dinner because Esteban could smell a fire and hear the squawk of the chickens as they were slaughtered. The children were also roused. They began helping in the usual raucous way of young children. As tired and as hungry as he was, Esteban couldn’t move. After a short while, the man came back and eyed Esteban.

"Señor, what is it you want?"

Esteban did not have the energy to answer.

"Señor, who are you?" he asked.

Jesus looked the man over and said, The better question is, who are you?

Who are you? Esteban asked.

"Why Señor, I am the man who lives here. Who are you?"

"Señor, I am the priest sent here to take over this church."

"Señor, that is not possible, the man replied. I have lived here for over two years, and this place is no longer a church." He turned on his heels as best he could and walked back into his casa, Father Esteban Ferrari’s church.

Unnoticed during this exchange was a young boy from the town who had overheard every word. He ran back in the direction of the town square. Father Ferrari and Jesus continued to sit and wonder what would happen next. They didn’t have to wait too long before a police car came to a stop by the large rut. The street had once been paved, but that was decades ago, and the rut had never been repaired. Over time, it had grown bigger and was now large enough to accommodate the width of the tire and allow it to sink well past the edge of its wheel’s rim. The police car was a dirty shade of white with a single blue light affixed to the roof. On the front door was painted a seal on a green, white, and red flag. It was challenging to make out because it had faded from the constant sun. Across the door was lettered the word "Policia," and out of the door came a man wearing a visored cap in a brown uniform. A large pistol protruded from his hip holster.

The policeman strode up to Father Ferrari and said, "Buenos noches, Señor."

"Buenos noches."

"Señor, who are you, and what is your business here?"

I am Father Esteban Ferrari, and I have been sent to take over El Santuario de Las Cruces, this church, Esteban said.

"But Señor, that is not possible. We haven’t had a padre for many, many years. Therefore, it would require a miracle for us to be sent a padre."

Perhaps, Esteban said. "But here I am, and I am the padre sent to take over this church."

The policeman didn’t know what to do next. He stood while he pondered his next move. Don’t move. Stay put, he said at last. He got back into his car and drove away.

Not more than five minutes went by before the police car returned and parked in the same spot. This time the policeman emerged along with another man dressed in a black suit and black hat. Side by side, the two men walked up to Father Ferrari.

"Buenos noches, Señor," the man in black said.

"Buenos noches," Esteban replied.

The Chief of Police, the man in black said pointing to the policeman, tells me you are a priest coming to take over our church.

"Si, Señor, si, Esteban replied. That is so."

"Forgive me, Señor, but that is not possible."

"Forgive me, Señor, Esteban said, but you are the third person to tell me it’s impossible, yet here I am. So why is it not possible?"

Because I am the mayor of this town. I would have been told by His Holiness, the cardinal, of your pending arrival.

Oh, Esteban said. He quit talking. He didn’t know what else to say or do.

The three men looked at each other when the silence was disturbed by the police radio in the car. The chief walked over to the vehicle to answer it. His conversation could not be overheard, but he called for the mayor to join him when he was finished. They stood talking in close proximity, face to face, and both would look over toward Esteban from time to time. There was the appearance of a mutual nod, and both returned. They were wearing broad smiles.

"Padre, padre, please forgive us. How were we to know? We’ve just been told of your arrival. Even while we spoke, we were called by His Holiness to inform us of your impending arrival. "Bienvenidos, bienvenidos. Welcome, welcome, the mayor said. I am Dean Martinez, Mayor of Las Cruces, and this is my cousin, Juan Chico Pedro Jimenez Jesus Martinez, the Chief of Police."

Esteban stood up and said, I am Father Esteban Ferrari, the newly sent priest for this church.

"Si, Si, the mayor said. How may we be of service to our new padre?"

You can tell me where I can live. And I’m hungry and tired, Jesus said from the ground. He hadn’t bothered to get up.

I am hungry and tired, Esteban said. I could use a meal and a place to sleep. I thought this church was my home, but I can see I am mistaken.

The police chief stood up straight and looked at the church. He wondered what he would do with Carlos and his family. Carlos had been peering through the chapel door, observing and hearing every word of the conversation. He was now also wondering what would happen. He and his wife had sought shelter in the church after their tiny house had burned to the ground. At that point in time, the church hadn’t been used for more than a year. He moved his family into the room for shelter, and nobody complained. Carlos and his wife felt the sanctuary belonged to God’s children, and they could, in good faith, use the space. As for the other rooms, they believed those still belonged to the priests, and even though there weren’t any, the family didn’t use those rooms.

Over time, Carlos took everything out of the sanctuary and placed it in the sacristy, and if some of the things got broken, it wasn’t intentional. Carlos and his family made themselves comfortable. Nobody questioned when they sold or bartered the occasional ornament that might have value. As a general rule, poor people don’t question how other poor people made a living. The family couldn’t read, so the bibles, hymnals, and such held no value. They were redeployed to help start cooking fires. They tended to burn slow and hot, but soon the supplies began to run out. When too lazy to forage for firewood, the family turned to the broken benches and the altar. If somebody asked why Carlos lived in the church, he had a ready answer. I’m the caretaker. Since the church had no priest and was not being used, people had long since stopped worrying about the place, and Carlos’ answer was as good as any. For tonight at least, Carlos and his family would stay in the church.

The mayor offered to put Esteban up in his house for the evening. Tomorrow, we’ll worry about the church, he said.

"Si, mañana, we will worry about the church," the police chief said.

Mañana came and went. So, too, the subsequent day. The day after the subsequent day also came and went. Esteban was beginning to learn how the word mañana could be applied in a most liberal and relaxed context. To the locals of Las Cruces, mañana simply meant whenever.

The mayor lived in a charming, richly furnished house. Mayor Dean Martinez felt that owning the largest and nicest house befitted his importance and stature within the community. Esteban was given a beautiful room, and the housekeeper ensured he was well-fed and made to feel

Reviews for Esteban

[pratik jha · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

? Esteban: Love's Irony (The Esteban Book Series 2)

AUTHOR - Fish Nealman
PUBLISHER- Mirage Books
PUBLISHED ON- 22 April 2024
RATING- ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

BOOK REVIEW-

The book guides you through a journey of love and heartbreak, facilitating your path to self-discovery. It takes you from the streets of Las Cruces to the bustling city of Kochi in India, spanning across different corners of the world.

Esteban's life takes a surprising twist when he crosses paths with Aja in Kochi. As Esteban's journey intertwines with Aja, the head nurse, their connection surpasses the conventional boundaries of their positions. However, their budding romance faces challenges, especially as Aja grapples with her commitment to her religious vows as a nun. Their complex relationship develops amidst the hospital's halls, leading to a poignant separation when Aja decides to prioritize her faith.

What unfolds next? Will they find a way to be together, or will Esteban choose to move forward despite the heartbreak?
Join Esteban on this gripping emotional journey.
Grab your copy now to get your answers!!

Book is a poignant and uplifting exploration of despair turning into triumph, serving as a beacon of hope for readers facing their own challenges.

Grammatical acuity, a strong & systematic arrangement and a mastery of syntax are all present in writer's arsenal.

Kudos to author for such masterpiece ?
Looking forward for more!!