5

The village priest was an old man with white hair and a face seamed into a net of wrinkles. His eyes peered out of his sun-beaten face with surprising life and avidity. They were blue eyes, very Irish. When the tall man arrived at his house, he was sitting on the porch and drinking tea. A man in a city suit stood beside him. The man’s hair was parted in the middle and greased in a manner that reminded the tall man of photograph portraits from the 1890s.

The man said stiffly, ‘I am Jesús de la rey Muñoz. Father Gracon has asked me to interpret, as he has no English. Father Gracon has done my family a great service which I may not mention. My lips are likewise sealed in the matter he wishes to discuss. Is it agreeable to you?’

‘Yes.’ He shook Muñoz’s hand and then Gracon’s. Gracon replied in Spanish and smiled. He had only five teeth left in his jaw, but the smile was sunny and glad.

‘He asks, Would you like a cup of tea? It is green tea. Very cooling.’

‘That would be lovely.’

When the amenities had passed among them, the priest said, ‘The boy is not your son.’

‘No.’

‘He made a strange confession. In fact I have never heard a stranger confession in all my days of the priesthood.’

‘That does not surprise me.’

‘He wept,’ Father Gracon said, sipping his tea. ‘It was a deep and terrible weeping. It came from the cellar of his soul. Must I ask the question this confession raises in my heart?’

‘No,’ the tall man said evenly. ‘You don’t. He is telling the truth.’

Gracon was nodding even before Muñoz translated, and his face had grown grave. He leaned forward with his hands clasped between his knees and spoke for a long time. Muñoz listened intently, his face carefully expressionless. When the priest finished, Muñoz said:

‘He says there are strange things in the world. Forty years ago a peasant from El Graniones brought him a lizard that screamed as though it were a woman. He has seen a man with stigmata, the marks of Our Lord’s passion, and this man bled from his hands and feet on Good Friday. He says this is an awful thing, a dark thing. It is serious for you and the boy. Particularly for the boy. It is eating him up. He says… ’

Gracon spoke again, briefly.

‘He asks if you understand what you have done in this New Jerusalem.’

‘Jerusalem’s Lot,’ the tall man said. ‘Yes. I understand.’

Gracon spoke again.

‘He asks what you intend to do about it.’

The tall man shook his head Very slowly. ‘I don’t know.’

Gracon spoke again.

‘He says he will pray for you.’


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