Fighting the Devil

The Devil was as much a part of the García family as the Virgin Mary, the mother of Jesus; the only person who had never sinned.

My teacher, Sister Margaret, told my second-grade class that if you committed a really big sin and were too afraid to ask God for forgiveness, you could pray to Mary, and she would intervene on your behalf. Almighty God had a tender spot in His heart for Mary, never denying her anything; a great advantage for Catholics. Protestants didn’t have that benefit.

The Devil was always looking to tempt people into sinning so when they died, he could claim their souls for his domain. When alone in my bedroom, I’d beat the heck out of him. I imagined him standing before me. Then I’d grab him by the collar, rear back my fist, and hit him, sending him flying onto my bed. I’d jump on the bed, straddle him and rain my fists down on his face, bedsprings squeaking.

“Enough!” He’d plead.

But he made people sin. And if they didn’t make it to confession to have their sins forgiven, they went to the fiery pit of hell where they’d burn, and demons would torment them forever. Mercy? I think not.

He had it coming, and more. I’d grab him off the bed and flip him over my shoulder like a judo master and slam him to the ground. Then I’d pick him up again, lift him over my head, spin him around until he was good and dizzy, then throw him through the window, shattering the glass. He’d limp off like a beaten dog. It felt great giving the father of lies a sound beating. It was because of him that man had to die and not live happily forever in the Garden of Eden. The Devil turned himself into a serpent and tempted poor, unsuspecting Eve.

I asked Ma once about the Devil. “Cuando está de acercas uno huele el azufre,” she told me. When he’s near, you will smell sulfur. Thereafter when I was alone in the dark, I’d smell sulfur and make a hasty retreat into the house, to Ma. She was as good and holy as Mary.

The Devil possessed a lot of power in the world. Many had fallen prey to his trickery. Shameless Marilyn Monroe and Elvis Presley were hell bound as were some of the sailors from the Navy bases where we lived in San Diego. They’d go to the Tower Theater downtown to see movies with naked women.

My big sisters, Ana and Carolyn, through their Catholic school, were members of The Legion of Decency. They wrote letters to the owner of the Tower, explaining thatmorally corrupted sailors couldn’t defend us like those who stood on solid moral ground; thus, a threat to our country’s security. My sisters were fighting the good fight and doing their part to stem the nation’s steady slide toward the same decadence that made the Roman Empire fall. And we could be next! The stakes couldn’t be higher; atheistic Russians were poised to overtake our morally weakened forces!

When grown, I’d join the holy war. I’d become a leader in the Legion and give inspiring speeches and help the world understand the importance of living moral lives. Millions who didn’t know the truth, like us, were being led astray by the Devil. The world needed my voice. There were misguided souls who didn’t believe in the Devil, or even God. It was my Christian duty to save them.

I lay awake nights, making plans. I’d become director of the Legion, buy a notepad and write about the debauchery I saw at the Tower Theater and burlesque shows. I’d force myself to sit through them as many times as necessary, no detail too insignificant, no sacrifice too great. I’d study dirty magazines of all sorts. The more degenerate, the harder I’d have to fight. I’d have to do this clandestinely of course. People who saw me doing such things might not understand. I would wear dark glasses, a hat, and a long coat like a spy; a spy for God and country.

The Devil was powerless in the Garcia household. Father Gomez blessed our house just after we moved in. He used holy water and holy incantations, saying them in Latin. Our family went to Mass every Sunday, went to confession, received Holy Communion, attended Catholic schools, and memorized the answers of the Baltimore Catechism questions.

Our neighbor, Hector, went to public school. He made a friend and brought him over to play once. I got to like him and didn’t want him going to hell. We sat talking during a break from playing war. I was aghast that he knew so little of religion. I explained heaven, hell, and purgatory and asked if he was aware of these facts.

“I know about heaven and hell,” he said. “But I don’t know what in the hell that other place is.”

It made my head spin. He used a cuss word in talking about a holy subject. I explained Adam and Eve’s original sin and Jesus came to die for us so we would be able to get into heaven.

Then the kid dropped a bomb. “I’m not baptized.”

What? I offered to baptize him on the spot. The fool declined. I warned him of Jesus’s impending return to separate good people from bad and what fate awaited him. He stopped me.

“Look, preacher boy, I don’t care about any of this shit.”

I had no choice but to leave him to his ghastly fate.

There was a lot of work to be done in the world. The Devil was deceiving people right and left; juvenile delinquents everywhere, people getting divorces, even Hector’s mom. She had been a practicing Catholic and got a divorce. Our pastor said she could go to Mass, but she wasn’t allowed to receive Communion anymore. The Devil had to have had a hand in it.

Father McGinn, a parish priest, came into our fifth-grade religion class and told us just how sinister the Devil was. “He can get into your mind and trick even good children like you into having sinful thoughts.”

I rolled this around in my head. The more I thought about it, the more sinful thoughts came. I begged the Virgin Mary to go to God and ask Him to forgive me. I didn’t want to have impure thoughts. I came to fully realize the awesomeness of the Devil’s power when I went to confession.

“Father, the Devil’s making me sin.”

“How is he doing that, son?”

I choked back tears I was so embarrassed. “He made me think of a nun naked.”

Father was silent for a moment, then said. “Which one?”

“Sister Mary Grace.”

“The pretty one. Well, don’t worry too much about the Devil’s tricks. He even plays them on me sometimes. Just pray harder.”

I walked out of the confessional dumbfounded. The Devil even gets to priests, the men of God who have been ordained by His Excellency, the bishop.

Ma had the family pray the rosary on our knees once a month after dinner, and every night during Mary’s month: May. She replaced the Sacred Heart of Jesus statue from the top of the TV console with one of Mary for the entire month. Mary stood there over our TV, her arms open, inviting us to her. She stood on a snake, symbolizing her power over the Devil.

The rosary has fifty-nine beads, and each bead comes with a prayer. My big sisters were expert at racing through the rosary fast enough to catch The Dick Van Dyke Show on TV. Before I went to catechism, I thought “HailMaryfullagracetheLordiswiththee” was one word.

I went to the bedroom after the rosary one night. I saw the Devil in my mind’s eye. “So, playing your filthy tricks on priest’s, eh? Corrupting public school kids, eh? Just you wait until I get old enough to join the Legion of Decency.”

I grabbed him by his collar and reared back my fist.