Wednesday, March 9, 2011

#20: Bernarda...my experience with a retired prostitute

    So, about a year ago, I was on my mission with dear Hermana Welch as my companion in the po-dunk town of Villa Hayes. One late night, we were just one "new investigator" short of reaching our goals for the day, and that week we were extra determined to do anything--so we called our Zone Leaders and got permission to stay out late. It was past 9:30 and we were close to our house...clapping (you clap your hands instead of knocking) a house at that hour would have been unreasonable, and so we desperately wandered the dark, vacant streets, hoping against hope that someone would be sitting outside.
   About two blocks from our house, we saw some hope--two elderly women were sitting outside of a despensa (a little neighborhood store that sells bread rolls, soda, etc.) and we eagerly approached them. One quick look told us that these ladies were VERY Catholic (I have NOTHING against Catholic people--a lot of my best friends are Catholic, but as a Mormon missionary, Catholics weren't usually receptive to us). They let us sit down and managed to teach them a quick principle--I think on Sabbath-day observance...but I don't really remember because the one lady wouldn't stop talking talking talking and we could hardly get in a word edgewise. And then when my companion started praying, the other lady, a very short and stout woman named Bernarda, began to mumble her own invented prayer every time my companion said something. It took every ounce of energy I had to keep a straight face but we made it through, and Bernarda agreed to have us come over again.
    And come again we did. Honestly, I did not expect our spiritual relationship with Bernarda to progress, as most elderly people that we taught were very comfortable in their ways and not about to be swayed by a couple of "misioneras mormonas." But to our great surprise, Bernarda accepted the commitments we gave her, and even came to church with us (one time she got the times mixed up and got there at 6 in the morning....fortunately our branch had seminary with the youth at that time and she participated right along!)
   We began to learn some very interesting things about Bernarda. The first was that her "despensa" pretty much only sold beer, cigarettes, and old gaseosas (soda)--her store was covered from ceiling to floor in beer advertisements. She also had these really creepy paintings of women bathing in streams adorning her shop.
   We also learned very quickly that Bernarda always had good intentions, but, to put it lightly, was not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. We grew to love her, but it was very much like teaching a small child trapped in a 70-year old body.
   Then, upon trying to contact her neighbors, we heard rumors that our sweet Bernarda had in fact, once upon a time, been one of the local hookers. We brushed it off as just another silly neighborhood fable, the kind which we often heard while tracting extensively in the same neighborhoods. But when we brought our mission leader to meet her, when we clapped the house, he said quietly, "Well...I guess everyone can repent...." With some probing, he confirmed the rumors we had heard--Bernarda had been infamous back in her day from sleeping around with other local men for money. Fantastic.

   The story gets better.

   One day, when we went to visit Bernarda, she told us how on our last visit we had mentioned that we would help her put some cream on her back to help her sore muscles. I honestly could not recall such a conversation taking place and determined either my Spanish skills must not have been that great, or Bernarda was simply imagining things (I still lean towards the second one...) We told her we could help her out today, and dear old Welchy added, "My companion would LOVE to help you with that." I shot her a death look. I didn't really mind giving service. Even this kind of service. But I did mind having my agency abused in making that decision for myself.
   Once our lesson that day ended, I was hoping that Bernarda had forgotten about our little promise, but Hermana Welch most kindly reminded her that I would offer my cream-application services.
   Bernarda disappeared to get her cream. I prayed that her back wouldn't have some nasty unheard-of disease or leprous condition, and could only imagine what kind of horrific home-made herbal concoction my hands were about to touch. And since we taught Bernarda in her shop, which was open, we could be seen by any passerby within a block. I hoped against hope that she wouldn't take off her little slip-on dress in front of everyone. I braced myself for the worst.
   Bernarda returned with a little white container, and placed herself before me with her back towards me, eagerly awaiting her back treatment. I opened the container, and, to my surprise, instead of finding some primordial herbal recipe, was faced with bright orange goop that smelled not unlike Bengay. As the pungent minty smell penetrated my innocent nostrils, I glanced up and noticed Bernarda had not taken her clothes off, and I silently sighed, grateful I would only have to touch the exposed upper triangle of her back and neck. And then, as I began scooping the unnatural tangerine-colored substance onto my fingers, Bernarda suddenly wiggled her jiggly arms out of her little sleeves, and let the top half of her dress fall limply to her waist. My fears were confirmed. And, like most days, she was not wearing a bra.
   At this point a shot laser death glares at my companion, who somehow was managing to hysterically laugh without making any sound. While her body silently shook with uncontrollable laughter, I began to rub the orange minty nastiness on Bernarda's now fully exposed back...which mercifully appeared to not have any kind of condition I needed to worry about. I tried to keep a constant death stare on my companion, who showed no mercy, while simultaneously looking outside to make sure none of the neighbors had wandered outside to get an unsuspecting boob show.
   Bernarda then started saying, "Mas fuerte! Mas FUERTE!!" ("Harder! HARDER!!") So, not only was I expected to lather this icky crap on her back that was made of who-knows-what, she wanted a deep tissue massage as well. So, I pressed harder. More death stares. More noiseless laughter. I just tried to avoid catching any undesired glimpses of our investigator's large, sagged and wrinkly bosoms, which were swinging around in their new-found freedom and kept trying to play peek-a-boo with me.
  
   "Mas fuerte!"
   
    Sigh. 
  
    Eventually, she felt that she'd had enough and to the gratitude of the neighborhood children's mothers, she put her dress back into its place and concealed her girls. I put the lid back on the white container and went to the back of the store to wash my hands clean. But, the goop. would. not. come. off. A dirty dishtowel was offered to me to dry my hands, which thankfully got most of the stuff off, but I could still feel the ever-present feeling of the cream within the crevices of my hands.
  
   When I got back, Hermana Welch asked, "So, does that cream help your back a lot?"
   To which Bernarda responded, "Not really."
    I almost died.

3 comments:

  1. oh my gosh. Hilarious. You WOULD have that sort of luck.

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  2. Hahahahaha I seriously laughed out loud. That was amazing. That was a very memorable missionary moment. I think I might have snickered a little too loud and Bernarda turned around at me... And her bar smelled like, something inappropriate. How she stayed in business, I'll never know. Remember tge gospel principles class with her con hay-wire??

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  3. Hilarious. Loved it, and can SO picture my sister doing this (welchy) I did many similar things to my companions- but this story is the best.

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