I learned later that it was very rare for someone from Juan’s socioeconomic class to become a priest. He grew up in English schools, in the fanciest neighborhood in Buenos Aires, with country weekend houses and an apartment in New York and a beach house in Punta del Este and a family Arabian-horse ranch in the pampas. But at twenty-six, he decided to become a Catholic priest, and spent four years eating, basically, gruel, in the service of Our Lord Jesus Christ. And away from women.
That night, though, he was just a guy at a party. Mechi introduced us, and Juan said hello, quietly and respectfully. And, despite the fact that I am not convinced that Jesus was anything other than a world-changing ethicist, I thanked Jesus. Juan has a sort of internal light that just radiates out of him, the kind of light you would think a man of the cloth should have, because it makes you believe in God.
Yes, he’s six feet tall, with broad shoulders, flawless golden-brown skin, silky black hair, and this big, white, leading-man smile. But the first thing you really notice about Father Juan is just this beaming sweetness. It’s fairly devastating.
— What I Was Doing While You Were Breeding (Kristin Newman), Loc. 1031–40