The red brick church in downtown Mesidda could seat one-hundred-fifty, but the
congregation was usually less than thirty. Today the church was locked, and Father Manuel
Valdez was not dressed in his priestly garments that he wore only for mass on Sundays.
Today
dressed in a white suit and collar he was in the home of Senora Fraga and her daughter Zita. At
the request of Zita’s mother he had come to talk to the fifteen-year-old girl. Zita was pale and
homely. She had several tattoos on her body, and she was very disturbed.
“Father, it is so good; my daughter is back home.” “Yes, it is good; how are you Zita?” Answering with hate in her heart, “Prison was horrible; they beat me.” Sternly with a clerical voice, “Stealing is a sin, but beating you also was wrong. I am so sorry. They won’t let the clergy in the prison.” “I had to steal or die; Mother doesn’t have any money and there ain’t no jobs. I’m not a real bad girl.” “Come to confession, and God will forgive you.” “Why?” she retorted, and then her mother spoke, “Zita wants to join the rebel army. It’s a dangerous and deadly world. I need my daughter here at home; I don’t want her killed. There is no peace in sight, only more war.”
“Mother, violence is the only way to victory. The rebels are fighting for us. General Vargas is our only hope for a better world. There is no future under President Barreda. What is just in beating prisoners? What is life all about anyway? What is there to live for? Living has no value without money and freedom. A new world is the answer. Freedom, peace, and prosperity for everyone.”
Father Valdez agreeing with Zita’s mother replied, “My dear child, God and your mother love you. You could go to the nursing school and in less than two years you will be a licensed nurse. You will make a better world this way. Listen to your mother; she knows best. I look forward to seeing you both in church Sunday morning.”
The next day Zita’s mother came running and crying to the church. “Father, Zita has hung herself.
Without hope? 
