Walter Miller A Canticle For Leibowitz

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up. The autopilots' sensing mechanisms were better at detecting masses of
metal than masses of flesh and bone.
"This was a mistake," Joshua said as they reached the center is-
land and paused for breath. "Look who's standing over there."
The abbot peered for a moment, then clapped his forehead. "Mrs.
Grales! I clean forgot: it's her night to prowl me down. She's sold her to-
matoes to the sisters' refectory, and now she's after me again."
"After you? She was there last night, and the night before too. I
thought she was waiting for a ride. What does she want from you?"
"Oh, nothing really. She's finished gypping the sisters on the price of
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tomatoes, and now she'll donate the surplus profit to me for the poor box.
opened its eyes. It gave no evidence of sharing in her breathing or her un-
derstanding. It lolled uselessly on one shoulder, blind, deaf, mute, and only
vegetatively alive. Perhaps it lacked a brain, for it showed no sign of inde-
pendent consciousness or personality. Her other face had aged, grown wrinkled,
but the superfluous head retained the features of infancy, al-
though it had been toughened by the gritty wind and darkened by the des-
ert sun.
The old woman curtsied at their approach, and her dog drew back with a snarl.
"Evenin', Father Zerchi," she drawled, "a most pleasant evenin'
to yer--and to yer, Brother."
"Why, hello, Mrs. Grales--"
The dog barked, bristled, and began a frenzied dance, feinting to-
ward the abbot's ankles with fangs bared for slashing. Mrs. Grales promptly
struck her pet with the vegetable basket. The dog's teeth slashed the bas-
ket; the dog turned on its mistress. Mrs. Grales kept it away with the bas-
ket; and after receiving a few resounding whacks, the dog retired to sit
growling in the gateway.
"What a fine mood Priscilla's in," Zerchi observed pleasantly. "Is she going
to have pups?"
"Beg shriv'ness, yer honors," said Mrs. Grales, "but's not the pup's motherful
condition as makes her so, devil fret her! but 'tis 'at man of mine.
He's witched the piteous pup, he has--for love of witchin'--and it makes her
'feared of all. I beg yer honors' shriv'ness for her naughties."
"It's all right. Well, good night, Mrs. Grales."
But escape proved not that easy. She caught at the abbot's sleeve and smiled
her toothlessly irresistible smile.
"A minute, Father, only a minute for 'n old tumater woman, if ye have it to
spare."
"Why, of course! I'd be glad--"
Joshua gave the abbot a sidelong grin and went over to negotiate with the dog
concerning right of way. Priscilla eyed him with plain contempt.
"Here, Father, here," Mrs. Grales was saying. "Take a little some-
thing for yer box. Here--" Coins rattled while Zerchi protested. "No, here,
Are you wounded, man?
"Grryumpf!" said the monk.
"What on earth did you do to her?"
"Grryumpf!" Brother Joshua repeated. "Rowf! Rowf!
RrrrrrOWWFF!"--then explained: "Priscilla believes in werewolves. The yelping
was hers. We can get past the gate now."
The dog had vanished; but again Mrs. Grales caught at the abbot's sleeve.
"Only a minute more of yer, Father, and I'll keep ye no longer. It's little
Rachel I wanted to see yer about. There's the baptism and the chris-
tenin' to be thought of, and I wished to ask yer if ye'd do the honor of--"
"Mrs. Grales," he put in gently, "go see your own parish priest. He should
handle these matters, not I. I have no parish--only the abbey. Talk to Father
Selo at Saint Michael's. Our church doesn't even have a font.
Women aren't permitted, except in the tribune--"
"The sister's chapel has a font, and women can--"
"It's for Father Selo, not for me. It has to be recorded in your own parish.
Only as an emergency could I--"
"Ay, ay, that I know, but I saw Father Selo. I brought Rachel to his church
and the fool of a man would not touch her."
"He refused to baptize Rachel?"
"That he did, the fool of a man."
"It's a priest you're talking of, Mrs. Grales, and no fool, for I know him
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well. He must have his reasons for refusing. If you don't agree with his
reasons, then see someone else--but not a monastic priest. Talk to the pastor
at Saint Maisie's perhaps."
"Ay, and that too have I done. . . ." She launched into what prom-
ised to be a prolonged account of her skirmishings on behalf of the unbap-
tized Rachel. The monks listened patiently at first, but while Joshua was
watching her, he seized the abbot's arm above the elbow; his fingers gradually
dug into Zerchi's arm until the abbot winced in pain and tore the fingers away
with his free hand.
"What are you doing?" he whispered, but then noticed the monk's expression.
Joshua's eyes were fixed on the old woman as if she were a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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