“Pero es solo un niño.” He’s just a child. That was what Berta said right before she stepped into the path of a bullet — right before she threw her arms around a 17-year-old stranger and quite possibly saved his life.
It was several weeks ago, at a community party at one of our churches in Los Angeles. Berta was helping out, along with her husband, Francisco, a mechanic and cook. Their priest, Fr. Santos, was on hand as well. Support for these community events is one of this congregation’s ministries.
No one knew the young man. It’s thought he attended the party as a friend of the hosting family. We’ll call him Luis.
Nor had anyone seen his assailant before. He came in looking for Luis, shouted at him, and attacked him.
Berta walked toward the fight. Someone told her to stay back. “Pero es solo un niño,” she said.
She didn’t stop when she saw the assailant’s gun. She wrapped her arms around Luis to shield him. The bullet entered her right forearm below the elbow, burrowed through her skin a couple inches, exited, and entered Luis’s arm.
Francisco and others rushed to help. Berta didn’t know she was hurt until she saw the blood. She and Luis rode to the hospital in the same ambulance.
In the ER, Luis kept asking about Berta, and Berta kept asking about Luis. The nurses said that they weren’t allowed to talk about other patients. But they managed to let both know that the other would be okay.
One told Berta that Luis called her “my angel.”
They haven’t been in touch since, but Berta prays for Luis all the time. Her wound is healing well. The bullet just missed the bone. She has almost all of her range of motion back.
Police don’t have a suspect, we’re told. I hope they’re looking hard. People assume things about these kinds of incidents in some of our neighborhoods. Where opportunity lags, life is complicated. Parents are busy, sometimes working two or more jobs. Many residents are undocumented, which means they are now dodging Trump’s masked men. “Some kids find in the streets,” Fr. Santos says, “what they don’t find at home. They’re mostly good kids.”
Fr. Santos has a ministry to some young men who hang around near the church, some as young as 13. Since the shooting, it’s harder. Some church members are a little more nervous about his ministry. When kids come looking for the kind priest who always listens to them and offers advice, the police have been running them off. They probably think they’re protecting the church. Fr. Santos wants to keep protecting them.
Berta and Francisco, with Fr. Santos, came to see the Rev. Norma Yanira Guerra and me today at St. Paul’s Commons, Echo Park. Berta said she has never much liked hospitals, and now she’s a little more scared when she goes to see her doctor. She has also been having nightmares.
When I asked if her family was proud of her, Berta smiled. You can see in the photo the comprehensiveness of her smile. She and Francisco have four children, five grandchildren, and one great grandchild. Their youngest daughter is still at home while she attends college. She’s going through a slightly rebellious phase, Berta said, smiling again. I told her that all parents understand, everywhere.
As our meeting ended, we stood in a circle holding hands, and I said a prayer. I thanked God for Berta’s courage and faith and offered praise that, by her agency, Luis had received the gift of years, and, one hopes, family and abundance. We all hugged each other two times each. One rarely meets a superhero who is faster than a speeding bullet. They say we’re surrounded by angels. I’m glad Luis met his in person.