the center of the backyard. Angelo propped the bamboo cross against the tree’s trunk, and instead of being nailed to it, Uncle Junior and Gina tied his wrists to the crossbeam so that his arms were stretched out to the sides. For one fleeting moment it appeared to Tony that his brother had become almost inextricable from the tree—a sacred figure carved expertly into the wood. Everyone was laughing uncontrollably now except for Tony, who had suddenly become somber. Uncle Junior had brought along his Kodak. He pointed it at the crucified Angelo, and when it flashed Tony had a vision that dissolved almost as quickly as it blazed. In the hazy aftermath all he could think about was how good Angelo’s portrait would look on the altar in their living room. Tony began to wonder what would happen if Angelo died right then. Would his sin of accidentally killing his mother’s sunflower be washed away by his brother’s sacrifice? If Angelo died under its shade, would the accursed tree begin to bear sweet mangoes, or would it wither away? If their mother was here to bear witness she would probably fall on her knees and weep for her delicately begotten Son, pray at His feet the way she would pray at the foot of His bed every time He came down with the flu. She would take the muslin that girded His loins and keep it as a relic. The family would divide His clothes amongst themselves; some would be given away and some would be handed down to Tony if he ever grew up to be his brother’s 24