Free Someone Like Summer by M. E. Kerr Page B

red–striped bandanna. I tied my pañuelo to my yellow belt. I was all in yellow except for the red and blue stripes in my pañuelo . I wore a long skirt, sandals, and a lacy blouse.
    The first thing I noticed was many flags hanging above the pulpit. Esteban whispered softly, “The blue and white is Argentina. Red and white, Peru.”
    â€œGreen, white, and red, Mexico,” I said.
    â€œ Sí , Anna! You remembered.” He named a few more countries that went with the flags, until it was hard to hear him.
    The building was packed. I did not see anyone there I knew. While people filed by, a woman began singing “ Cristo Salva ,” a man behind her playing a bass guitar, joining in on the chorus. Then others did, and then Esteban did too. He knew all the words. He sang loudly, as though he was proud of his voice, and he held my handand smiled up at me.
    Soon a drummer began beating time, and a pigtailed man wearing a blue and red pañuelo around his forehead played the electric piano.
    â€œRemember Ramón? He’s sitting behind the piano, in the pañuelo from Peru.”
    â€œYes, I remember him.”
    â€œHe speaks in tongues. He works for your father, too, sometimes.”
    Soon we could not hear each other at all, there were so many worshippers, and then suddenly we could hear each other, for the place became hushed, the white-and-gold curtains rustled, and a man with the same pañuelo Esteban and I wore came out on the stage and went up to the pulpit. His pañuelo was peeking from the pocket of his light-blue suit, a royal-blue shirt under the coat open at the neck. He wore a red carnation in his buttonhole. He looked very young and thin, and as he stood there with his head bowed, the roar came up from everywhere.
    â€œAN-TO-LIN! AN-TO-LIN! AN-TO-LIN!”
    It seemed so spontaneous and heartfelt, Icouldn’t help feeling excited, feeling part of it, the same way sometimes a great marching band (usually one I saw on TV) would thrill me.
    Antolin finally looked up, paused to regard us for a moment, then shouted a question in Spanish. Everyone stood.
    I heard a microphone voice translate: “When I feel scorned, what do I do?” Hearing English, I gave Esteban a surprised look.
    Then the congregation shouted back in Spanish, and the translation came again in English: “Seek God!”
    â€œWhen I feel joy, what do I do?”
    â€œPraise God!”
    â€œWhen I feel depressed, what do I do?”
    â€œTrust God!”
    â€œWhen I feel at peace, what do I do?”
    â€œThank God!”
    Everyone sat down again.
    â€œThey heard an atheist was coming,” Esteban whispered in my ear. “They hired a translator so they can convert her.” He took my hand and winked at me.
    I closed my eyes to concentrate on the English words following Antolin’s.
    Antolin told of being born in Antioquia, in the rugged region of Medellin, Colombia, where orchids grew wild.
    A woman called out in Spanish, “You are a wild orchid, Antolin of Antioquia.” I was surprised that the translator gave the English on the microphone, and then Antolin’s smiling answer.
    â€œOur orchids grow in every color of the rainbow. Not just the lavender ones and white ones from here, but any color you can name we have at home. I miss my home as you all miss yours. I wish I could pick an orchid for every lady here today.”
    In the background a drum beat, then someone shook a tambourine. It was unlike any church I’d ever attended. It was a performance, and every face—black, cinnamon, brown; I saw only a few whites—every face looked relaxed and glad.
    Antolin continued, waving his arms as he said, “When I came to this country, I was lonely,a sun hidden behind clouds, trying to show myself. Have you seen such a sun, ever? Yes, you have seen one and been one! All around me colors and sounds and aromas different than any I knew ever. The gavachos