The three then went back to their blanket and packed up the remains of their lunch. Smiley walked past each tombstone, whispering a prayer to each, and then they all headed back to the car and drove away. It wasn’t until they pulled into the driveway at Ruben’s that Smiley pulled out the small metal medallion she’d taken from the gravesite and carefully wiped it clean with a hand wipe produced from her voluminous bag.
“There are words on here, but I can’t really see what they are,” she said. “Let’s go inside and check it out.”
In Smiley’s kitchen, the medallion sat in the center of the old wooden table next to a napkin holder and a vase of bright yellow roses from her garden. She was an orderly person, so though Ruben and Dopey had wanted to polish and mess with the medallion right away, she’d threatened them with chanclasos until she had finished unpacking and washing up. Grumbling, the guys had gone to the living room and plopped onto the comfortable green linen sofa to watch the soccer game. Ruben had stopped off at the fridge and grabbed he and Dopey a couple of Dos Equis. Tossing one at Dopey, he said, “Not the Modelo you were eyeing, homie, but it’s good and cold.”
Dopey flipped him the bird, since now the beer was shaken and he’d have to wait till it settled to open it. Ruben laughed and popped the top off his beer, taking a big swing of it.
“Damn, that’s good,” he said, while Dopey glared at him.
In the kitchen, at the sink, Smiley smiled to herself as she listened to the game and their good-natured wrangling. She hummed a little Celia Cruz song to herself as she washed dishes, put things away, and wiped down the kitchen table. Looking at the now sparkling kitchen, she picked up the medallion and took it to the sink, reaching for a cloth. She wiped it clean then ran it under the water in the faucet before wiping it again and taking it back over to the table. The guys were mostly quiet now, with only the occasional “GOOOOOOOOOOOOAL,” they yelled in concert with the announcer. She decided to let them enjoy the game while she tried to make out the writing on it.
“Caballero Templario,” she read.
‘It’s him!’ she thought.
Picking up a magnifying glass, she read the other words.
“My cup runneth over.”
‘Reference to the grail and the 23rd Psalm’ she thought, ‘and nothing out of the ordinary for a grave medallion.’
Slowly she turned the medallion over and looked for anything else. Taking a knife, she chipped away at what seemed to be a kind of cement or clay encrusting it. Maybe it was something that had adhered it to the grave stone. Chip, chip, wipe, then get up and go to the sink to wash it down. Smiley repeated that process till her carefully manicured red fingernails chipped and broke, but still she kept at it. In the other room, the guys had forgotten about it and were immersed in their game. After an hour, she put it down and poured herself a glass of juice, then took a couple of beers, a bowl of chips, and another of salsa to the guys. She watched a particularly fine kick by Chicharito, then went back into the kitchen and chipped away.
Just when she was about to give up, she noticed something. It seemed there were lines drawn on the part of the medallion where the substance had been cleared off.
‘Looks like a map,’ she thought.
“Carlos!” she yelled.
He came running, Ruben in tow.
“What’s up you calling me Carlos in the middle of a game?” he asked. “I thought something was on fire or some shit.”
“Look! It’s a map,” she said. “But I can’t get this shit off it. Been trying for an hour. Look at my nails!”
Dopey took the medallion from her.
“I may have something that can remove that in my garage. I’ll go right quick. Tell me what happens in the game, homie,” he yelled over his shoulder at Ruben as he loped towards the back door.
Forty minutes later Dopey was back with a bottle of lacquer thinner and cleaning the back of the medallion.
“Is it working?” Smiley asked.
“Yep,” Dopey nodded.
“Shit stinks to high heaven. It smells like where Smiley gets her nails done,” Ruben said, as he opened the back door.
“Shut up fool,” Smiley said.
Ruben ignored her and started opening windows.
“Okay, that should do it,” Dopey said, taking the medallion over to the sink where he rinsed off the residue and wiped it dry.
“Is it a map, homie?” Ruben asked.
“Yeah, it is. It looks like it leads to the parque,” Dopey said.
“The park? Lincoln Park?” Smiley asked.
“Yup, look. There’s the lake,” Dopey showed her.
“Damn, I hope it’s not at the bottom of that lake,” Ruben said.
Dopey laughed. “Remember that time that homie Hercules tried to catch a duck and fell in and came out dripping like that swamp thing with algae all over him?”
They all laughed clinging to each other in hilarity, remembering.
“Why’d he want that duck anyway?” Smiley asked when she could talk again.
“He was gonna eat it,” Dopey said, shaking with laughter. “He was just over from some small village in Mexico and he thought you could just catch shit and eat it. He went full on hunter.”
“Oh my God,” Smiley gasped.
Ruben nodded. “Cops caught him at it too. Deported his ass, algae and all.”
This brought a fresh burst of hilarity and it was awhile before they could once again focus on the map.
“What are these right here, Dopey?” Smiley asked, squinting.
“Lemme see.” Dopey took the medallion from her, sat down at the kitchen table and asked for some paper and a pencil. He began to duplicate the map lines, only bigger on the sheet of lined paper Ruben had handed him. Then, taking the magnifying glass on the table, he looked carefully at the medallion, scratching out possible letters.