It was 118 degrees the day of Sofi’s baby daughter’s funeral and the two pallbearers, upon the instruction of Father Jerome, placed the small casket on the ground just in front of the church. No one was quite certain what Father Jerome had planned when he paused there in the hot sun. Maybe some last-minute prayers or instructions for the mourners before entering the House of God. He wiped his brow with his handkerchief.

In fact, he was a little concerned about the grieving mother, who at that point was showing signs of losing it, trembling and nearly collapsing between two others. Father Jerome thought it perhaps a good idea to advise them all on funeral decorum. “As devoted followers of Christ,” he began, “we must not show our lack of faith in Him at these times and in His, our Father’s fair judgment, Who alone knows why we are here on this earth and why He chooses to call us back home when He does.”

Why? Why? That’s exactly what Sofi wanted to know at that moment—when all she had ever done was accept God’s will. As if it hadn’t been punishment enough to be abandoned by her husband, then—for no apparent reason and without warning, save the horrible commotion of the animals that night—her baby was taken away! Oh, why? Why? That’s all she wanted to know. “Ayyyyy!”

At that moment, while Sofi threw herself on the ground, pounding it with her rough fists, her compadres crying alongside her, saying, “Please, please, comadre, get up, the Lord alone knows what He does! Listen to the padre,” Esperanza let out a shriek, long and so high pitched it started some dogs barking in the distance. Sofi had stopped crying to see what was causing the girl’s hysteria when suddenly the whole crowd began to scream and faint and move away from the priest, who finally stood alone next to the baby’s coffin.

The lid had pushed all the way open and the little girl inside sat up, just as sweetly as if she had woken from a nap, rubbing her eyes and yawning. “¿Mami?” she called, looking around and squinting her eyes against the harsh light. Father Jerome got hold of himself and sprinkled holy water in the direction of the child, but for the moment was too stunned to utter so much as a word of prayer. Then, as if all this was not amazing enough, as Father Jerome moved toward the child she lifted herself up into the air and landed on the church roof. “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me!” she warned.