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“And now a word from—”
“Turn it off!” Zerchi groaned.
The young priest who was with him snapped off the set and stared wide-eyed at the abbot. “I don’t believe it!”
“What? About the Pope? I didn’t either. But I heard it earlier, and New Rome has had time to deny it. They haven’t said a word.”
“What does it mean?”
“Isn’t that obvious? The Vatican diplomatic service is on the job. Evidently they sent in a report on the Guam conference. Evidently it horrified the Holy Father.”
“What a warning! What a gesture!”
“It was more than a gesture, Father. His Holiness isn’t chanting Battle Masses for dramatic effect. Besides, most people will think he means ‘against the heathen’ on the other side of the ocean, and ‘justice” for our side. Or if they know better, they’ll still mean that themselves.” He buried his face in his hands and rubbed them up and down. “Sleep. What’s sleep, Father Lehy? Do you remember? I haven’t seen a human face in ten days that didn’t have black circles under its eye. I could hardly doze last night for somebody screaming over in the guesthouse.”
“Lucifer’s no sandman, that’s true.”
“What are you staring at out that window?” Zerchi demanded sharply. “That’s another thing. Everybody keeps looking at the sky, staring up and wondering. If it’s coming, you won’t have time to see it until the flash, and then you’d better not be looking. Stop it. It’s unhealthy.”
Father Lehy turned away from the window. “Yes, Reverend Father. I wasn’t watching for that though. I was watching the buzzards.” ..
“Buzzards?”
“There’ve been lots of them, all day. Dozens of buzzards — just circling.”
“Where?”
“Over. the Green Star camp down the highway.”
“That’s no omen, then. That’s just healthy vulture appetite. Agh! I’m going out for some air.”
In the courtyard he met Mrs. Grales. She carried a basket of tomatoes which she lowered to the ground at his approach.
“I brought ye somewhat, Father Zerchi,” she told him.
“I saw yer sign being down, and some poor girl inside the gate, so I reckoned ye’d not mind a visit by yer old tumater woman. I brought ye some tumaters, see?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Grales. The sign’s down because of the refugees, but that’s all right. You’ll have to see Brother Elton about the tomatoes, though. He does the buying for our kitchen.”
“Oh, not for buying, Father. He-he! I brought ‘em to yer for free. Ye’ve got lots to feed, with all the poor things yer putting up. So they’re for free. Where’ll I put ‘em?”
“The emergency kitchen’s in the — but no, leave them there. I’ll get someone to carry them to the guesthouse.”
“Port ‘em myself. I ported them this far.” She hoisted the basket again.
“Thank you, Mrs. Grales.” He turned to go.
“Father, wait!” she called. A minute, yer honor, just a minute of your time—”
The abbot suppressed a groan. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Grales, but it’s as I told you-” He stopped, stared at the face of Rachel. For a moment, he had imagined — Had Brother Joshua been right about it? But surely, no. “It ‘s — it’s a matter for your parish and diocese, and there’s nothing I can—”
“No, Father, not that!” she said. “It be somewhat else I wanted to ask of ye.” (There! It had smiled! He was certain of it!) “Would ye hear my confession, Father? Beg shriv’ness for bothering ye, but I’m sad for my naughties, and I would it were you as shrives me.”
Zerchi hesitated. “Why not Father Selo?”
“I tell ye truthful, yer honor, it’s that the man is an occasion of sin for me. I go meanin’ well for the man, but I look once on his face and forget myself. God love him, but I can’t.”
“If he’s offended you, you’ll have to forgive him.”
“Forgive, that I do, that I do. But at a goodly distance. He’s an occasion of sin for me, I’ll tell, for I go losing my temper with him on sight.”
Zerchi chuckled. “All right, Mrs. Grales I’ll hear your confession, but I’ve got something I have to do first. Meet me in the Lady Chapel in about half an hour. The first booth. Will that be all right?”
“Ay, and bless ye, Father!” She nodded profusely. Abbot Zerchi could have sworn that the Rachel head mirrored the nods, ever so slightly.
He dismissed the thought and walked over to the garage. A postulant brought out the car for him. He climbed in, dialed his destination, and sank back wearily into the cushions while the automatic controls engaged the gears and nosed the car toward the gate. In passing the gate, the abbot saw the girl standing at the roadside. The child was with her. Zerchi jabbed at the CANCEL button. The car stopped. “Waiting,” said the robot controls.
The girl wore a cast that enclosed her hips from the waist to left knee. She was leaning on a pair of crutches and panting at the ground. Somehow she had got out of the guesthouse and through the gate, but she was obviously unable to go any farther. The child was holding on to one of her crutches and staring at the traffic on the highway.
Zerchi opened the ear door and climbed out slowly. She looked up at him, but turned her glance quickly away.
“What are you doing out of bed, child?” he breathed. “You’re not supposed to be up, not with that hip. Just where did you think you were going?”
She shifted her weight, and her face twisted with pain.
“To town,” she said. “I’ve got to go. It’s urgent.”
“Not so urgent that somebody couldn’t go do it for you. I’ll get Brother—”
“No, Father, no! Nobody else can do it for me. I’ve got to go to town.”
She was lying. He felt certain she was lying. “All right, then,” he said. “I’ll take you to town. I’m driving in anyway.
“No! I’ll walk! I’m—” She took a step and gasped. He caught her before she fell.
“Not even with Saint Christopher holding your crutches could you walk to town, child. Come on, now, let’s get you back to bed.”
“I’ve got to get to town, I tell you!” she shrieked angrily.
The child, frightenend by its mother’s anger, began crying monotonously. She tried to calm its fright, but then wilted: “All right, Father. Will you drive me to town?”
“You shouldn’t be going at all.”
“I tell you, I’ve got to go!”
“All right, then. Let’s help you in…the baby… now you.”
The child screamed hysterically when the priest lifted it into the car beside the mother. It clung to her tightly and resumed the monotonous sobbing. Because of the loose moist dressings and the singed hair, the child’s sex was difficult to determine at a glance, but Abbot Zerchi guessed it to be a girl.
He dialed again. The car waited for a break in the traffic, then swerved onto the highway and into the mid-speed lane. Two minutes later, as they approached the Green Star encampment, he dialed for the slowest lane.
Five monks paraded in front of the tent area, in a solemn hooded picket line. They walked to and fro in procession beneath the Mercy Camp sign, but they were careful to stay on the public right-of-way. Their freshly painted signs read:
Zerchi had intended to stop to talk to them, but with the girl in the car be contented himself with watching as they drifted past. With their habits and their hoods and their slow funereal procession, the novices were indeed creating the desired effect. Whether the Green Star would be sufficiently embarrassed to move the camp away from the monastery was doubtful, especially since a small crowd of hecklers, as it had been reported to the abbey, had appeared earlier in the day to shout insults and throw pebbles at the signs carried by the pickets. There were two police cars parked at the side of the highway, and several officers stood nearby to watch with expressionless faces. Since the crowd of hecklers had appeared quite suddenly, and since the police cars had appeared immediately afterwards, and just in time to witness a heckler trying to seize a picket’s sign, and since a Green Star official had thereupon gone huffing off to get a court order, the abbot suspected that the heckling had been as carefully staged as the picketing, to enable the Green Star officer to get his writ. It would probably be granted, but until it was served, Abbot Zerchi meant to leave the novices where they were.