Via Crucis Lawrence Diasnes Tony brought up the rear of the slow procession from the kitchen to the mango tree that grew in one corner of their backyard, and for every tenth step or so, he lashed at his older brother’s back with the antenna of a broken radio, pretending it was the ruler that his kindergarten teacher used to whip his naughty classmates. Angelo was naked save for the muslin cloth tied around his waist, the same cloth that their maid Gina still used to wipe milk off his chin. It was the second week of April, the morning was damp with last night’s rain, the first rainfall of the summer. Tony watched his brother glow in the sun, his skin as bright as the muslin that draped from his hips. Angelo’s pinkish-white complexion was something that everyone, even strangers on the street, couldn’t help but point out admiringly. But now the scourging had marred his body with red chicken scratches, and Tony thought it needed more. He whipped his brother again, and Angelo let out a drawn-out cry of pain. Normally he wouldn’t let Tony beat him at his own game, but today this mortification was a means to his predetermined end as Savior of the World. The boys had been plotting this since Holy Week. Tony had been reluctant to participate at first but Angelo, who had a way of lording over the smaller boy, had promised to deliver him from his most recent evil: “Do it and I won’t tell Mama that it was you who broke her sunflower’s stem.” It wasn’t until this morning that they found the perfect time to carry out their plan. Their parents left early to be sponsors at a wedding three towns away 21