A state of disobedience

Governor's Mansion, Austin, Texas

Falling water gurgled in the fountain as Mario and Elpidia walked past. The girl's face seemed less stony, more animated, than usual. These walks had become something of a tradition. At first Elpi had walked alone. Later, Mario had merely sat nearby. Now they walked together, sometimes in silence, sometimes with talk. Today they talked.

"I hated it, Mario. From the first one to the last I just hated it."

"Then why . . ."

"Why did I do it?" asked Elpi. "You're so innocent," she told the older boy, a trace of wistful longing for her own lost innocence in her voice. "I had no education; I had no skills. I had a baby to support." The girl sighed, dreadfully. "It was all I had."

"Well, I won't judge you or anything you have done, Elpi," said Mario, almost—but not quite—reaching out a hand to stroke the girl's cheek. "And it is all past anyway."

" 'All past,' " she echoed. " 'All.' Even my baby is dead."

Sensing tears not far below the surface Mario started to turn towards Elpi; started and, as usual, stopped.

Elpi continued, "He brought me great difficulty, much hardship. And yet . . . and yet . . . He was my own, my very own, baby. Some people told me to abort him before he was born. But how could I do that? He was my very own flesh."

"You couldn't, Elpi." Mario considered, then asked, "Elpi, do you think you want to have more babies someday?"

"I do not know. Why bring more babies into a world that kills them? Why live in a world that will murder babies?"

"Is that why you agreed to go to Houston? I wish you would not."

She stopped and this time she reached out a hand to a cheek. "I know. And you're sweet, too, Mario. But your mother asked . . . and then, too . . . what would your uncle have wanted?"