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He never asked for this miracle, but he didn't say no when he had a chance. Nor did he expect banners or a welcome-home cake. Still, he headed for the village with an almost fervent hope, expecting hugs and kisses from those who loved him when he was alive. He took no heed of his nakedness, his flesh half eaten away by worms, yellowish meat hanging over shining white bones.
He hurried, smiling a lipless smile, kicking up the dust with the bones of his heels. The moon shone faintly. A few clumsy moths were flying, sprinkling the air with dust from their opaque wings. One white fluffed-up owl watched him suspiciously from a prickly pear tree brimming with fruit.
He found his home in shambles, worse than when he left it. He felt sorry for his wife, for he had left her without protection or a man to support her. Before he went into his house, he tried to smooth the scruff of stiff hair that still hung from his decomposing skull. Then he removed from his face a worm that had been playing hide-and-seek, crawling first into a nostril and then into an eye socket. He pushed the door lightly, cursing when it creaked. On tiptoe, he waited for a happy reunion.
In the shadows of the adjacent room, next to a wan candle, his elderly mother was knitting, her senses dry, closed to everything, her mind blank. With the egotism of an only son, he took pleasure in the thought that his saintly mother was thinking of him. He leapt out in front of her, saying: "Mamita, it's me! Your Lazarus!"
It didn't go the way he thought it would: the old woman dropped her yarn and knitting needles; she opened her eyes so wide that he could hear her sockets creak. Gaping like a fish out of water, she breathed her last. Nervous, he denied his role in her heart attack. He comforted himself thinking, "She was already very old, poor lady."
He then walked with renewed hopes toward what was his conjugal bedroom. He hardly noticed the total absence of his belongings. He froze between the door and the vision unfolding before his hollow eyes: his adorable wife, the love of his life, his mournful widow, in the company of his compadre Joshua! They were breaking the Sixth Commandment, fornicating with uncommon passion as she had never done it with him, her husband by the laws of church and state. No tears came out since his eyes were already nearly rotted away. To express the depth of his grief, he had to tear out what was left of his eyelids.
He stumbled away from the room and left the house to take comfort with Herod, his faithful dog. But the ungrateful mutt growled furiously, threatening to bite off the little meat still hanging from his sad humanity.
Lazarus had to scurry away again and retrace his steps. On his way back, neither the moths nor the fluffed-up owl spared him a look. The road, which did not lead to Rome, soon took him to the entrance of the cemetery. He sat down on a tombstone covered with yellow grass and watched the scorpions trying to hide under the bones of his feet. On this moonless night, he truly wished he weren't living in the age of miracles.
Liliana V. Blum lives in Ciudad Madero, Tamaulipas, Mexico. Her stories have appeared in various literary journals and anthologies, including El Cuento and El Aleph. She is the author of the story collection La maldición de Eva (Voces de Barlovento 2002).
Toshiya A. Kamei is an MFA student in translation at the University of Arkansas. Toshiya's translations of Mexican short prose have appeared in Bonfire, SmokeLong Quarterly, Literal, and Eclectica, among others.
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