Walter Miller: A Canticle For Leibowitz

Zerchi stalked away, then stopped and called back. “Finish,” he croaked. “Finish and then get out. If I see you again — I’m afraid of what I’ll do.”

Cors spat. “I don’t like being here any better than you like having me. We’ll go now, thanks.”

He found the woman lying on a cot with the child in the corridor of the overcrowded guesthouse. They huddled together under a blanket and both were crying. The building smelled of death and antiseptic. She looked up at his vague silhouette against the light.

“Father?” Her voice was frightened.

“Yes.”

“We’re done for. See? See what they gave me?”

He could see nothing, but he heard her fingers pick at the edge of paper. The red ticket. He could find no voice to speak to her. He came to stand over the cot. He fished in his pocket and brought out a rosary. She heard the rattle of the beads and groped for it.

“You know what it is?”

“Certainly, Father.

“Then keep it. Use it.”

“Thank you.”

“Bear it and pray.”

“I know what I have to do.”

“Don’t be an accomplice. For the love of God, child, don’t—”

“The doctor said—”

She broke off. He waited for her to finish; she kept silent.

“Don’t be an accomplice.”

She still said nothing. He blessed them and left as quickly as possible. The woman had handled the beads with fingers that knew them; there was nothing he could say to her that she didn’t already know.

“The conference of foreign ministers on Guam has just ended. No joint policy statement has yet been issued; the ministers are returning to their capitals. The importance of this conference, and the suspense with which the world awaits the results, cause this commentator to believe that the conference is not yet ended, but only recessed so that the foreign ministers many confer with their governments for a few days. An earlier report which alleged that the conference was breaking up amid bitter invective has been denied by the ministries. First Minister Rekol had only one statement for the press: “I’m going back to talk to the Regency Council. But the weather’s been pleasant here; I may come back later to fish.”

“The ten-day waiting period ends today, but it is generally held that the cease-fire agreement will continue to be observed. Mutual annihilation is the alternative. Two cities have died, but it is to be remembered that neither side answered with a saturation attack. The Asian rulers contend that an eye was taken for an eye. Our government insists that the explosion in Itu Wan was not an Atlantic missile. But for the most part, there is a weird and brooding silence from both capitals. There has been little waving of the bloody shirt, few cries for wholesale vengeance. A kind of dumb fury, because murder has been done, because lunacy reigns, prevails, but neither side wants total war. Defense remains at battle alert. The General Staff has issued an announcement, almost an appeal, to the effect that we will not use the worst if Asia likewise refrains. But the announcement says further: ‘If they use dirty fallout, we shall reply in kind, and in such force that no creature will live in Asia for a thousand years.”

“strangely, the least hopeful note of all comes not from Guam but from the Vatican at New Rome. After the Guam conference ended, it was reported that Pope Gregory ceased to pray for peace in the world. Two special Masses were sung in the basilica: the Exsurge quare obdormis, Mass against the Heathen, and the Reminiscere, Mass in Time of War; then, the report says His Holiness retired to the mountains to meditate and pray for justice.

“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?”