The Brandywine Prophet

4.7 Setting the Stage

September was "The Month of Hyde." In the weeks before the massive purchase of equipment, several midnight meetings were spent in his office with Leonard and Will, laptops out, brainstorming about the electronic products best suited for the theater. In addition to the standard speakers, colored lights, spotlights, foot-candles and rigging, they also purchased a state-of-the-art soundboard, a thirty-foot theater screen, a DLP digital projector, four LCD televisions, two high definition cameras, a DVD player, and nearly a thousand feet of video and audio cable.

Hyde knew that it was extremely unorthodox to place such a specialized purchase through a small electronics company with no theater experience whatsoever, and he was incredibly grateful to his friend for the opportunity to learn and expand.

The last day in September brought Brandywine it’s first crisp morning and Hyde held the smell of brown leaves in his nostrils, felt that dry breeze on his cheeks, and reveled in the ephemeral memories of childhood autumn. That particular day also brought a woman named Maria Barraza, kneeling outside Will’s stables when Hyde first saw her, with one palm on the tin and the other in a fist. She was dressed in appropriate fall colors, a cider-apple skirt and red button-down sweater with her thick black hair pulled into a ponytail. Perhaps it was none of Hyde’s business, but when he passed the shed and the woman looked to him with damp cheeks, he asked if he could help.

“My boy is sick,” she said in a Mexican accent. “I was told he might find healing here.”

“Who told you that?” Hyde asked.

“A man on my cousin’s softball team. They say God is here.” The woman sat up. Her fist was clenching a pink plastic rosary. A wooden crucifix with a gold-plated Jesus hung around her neck.

“I’ll see if I can find Mr. Carmel,” Hyde offered.

“Thank you, sir, but he is here.” She nodded to the shed, then folded her body back into prayer.

Hyde narrowed his eyes. He put his hand on the wall of the shed and let his fingers drag over the rivets as he made his way around the corner to the front door. It was open, and when his eyes adjusted to the interior darkness, he saw William sitting on a stool with his body arched over a seven-year-old boy laying face up on the dirt.

“He’s sick,” Will said. “His mother brought him.”

Hyde forced a smile and a nod, then saw the wheelchair by the workbench. “This is going to help?” he asked.

“The mother thinks it will.”

The boy wore cutoff jeans exposing limp, chicken-bone legs. Hyde tried to turn but the boy’s head twisted and his eyes caught Hyde’s and his imploded cheeks accentuated the stretching and contracting jaw muscles as his mouth strained to move. “Estoy haciendo fija,” it said.

Hyde never found out if Maria’s son was healed that day, but whether or not a miracle, the shed was never the same. Maria brought her family a week later; friends the day after that. Silk flowers in bunches and bouquets were laid at the foot of the workbench. On top, there were blue candles with Mary and red candles with Jesus and the shrine grew daily with trinkets from sick children and comatose elders. The word spread quickly and by mid-October the visitors weren’t just Latinos and residents from Michigan. From his living-room window, Hyde could see the line--sometimes thirty long--with Janie at the door allowing five in at a time. Will visited Whitaker Electronics and purchased a heavy-duty printer to create new brochures by the ream. When only a handful of people showed up at the groundbreaking ceremony, Hyde scoffed at Will’s hope that the theater seats would be filled on opening night. But when the workbench shrine overflowed, spilling its colorful relics across the foot of the exterior wall, Hyde knew William would have his attendance.