[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
bilia to get his story."
"I think I'd better talk to Brother Francis," Cheroki murmured.
"Do! When you first came in, I was still wondering whether to roast you alive
or not. For sending him in, I mean. If you had let him stay out there on the
desert, we wouldn't have this fantastic twaddle going around.
But, on the other hand, if he'd stayed out there, there's no telling what else
he might have dug out of that cellar. I think you did the right thing, to send
him in."
Cheroki, who had made the decision on no such basis, found si-
lence to be the appropriate policy.
"See him," growled the abbot. "Then send him to me."
It was about nine on a bright Monday morning when Brother Fran-
cis rapped timidly at the door of the abbot's study. A good night's sleep on
the hard straw pallet in his old familiar cell, plus a small bite of
unfamiliar breakfast, had not perhaps done any wonders for starved tissue or
entirely cleared the sun-daze from his brain, but these relative luxuries had
at least restored him to sufficient clarity of mind to perceive that he had
cause to be afraid. He was, in fact, terrified, so that his first tap at the
abbot's door went unheard. Not even Francis could hear it. After several
minutes, he mus-
tered the courage to knock again.
"Benedicamus Domino."
"Deo? gratias?" asked Francis.
"Come in, my boy, come in!" called an affable voice, which, after some seconds
of puzzling, he recognized with amazement to have been that of his sovereign
abbot.
"You twist the little knob, my son," said the same friendly voice after
Brother Francis had stood frozen on the spot for some seconds, with his
knuckles still in position for knocking.
"Y-y-yes--" Francis scarcely touched the knob, but it seemed that the accursed
door opened anyway; he had hoped that it would be tightly stuck.
Page 18
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
mLord.
"You do not dispute that you have won overnight fame? That
Providence elected you to discover THIS--" he gestured sweepingly at the
relics spread on the desk "--this JUNK box, as its previous owner no doubt
rightly called it?"
The novice stammered helplessly, and somehow managed to wind up wearing a
grin.
"You are seventeen and plainly an idiot, are you not?"
"That is undoubtedly true, m'Lord Abbot."
"What excuse do you propose for believing yourself called to Re-
ligion?"
"No excuse, Magister meus."
"Ah? So? Then you feel that you have no vocation to the Order?"
"Oh, I do!" the novice gasped.
"But you propose no excuse?"
"None."
"You little cretin, I am asking your reason. Since you state none, I
take it you are prepared to deny that you met anyone in the desert the other
day, that you stumbled on this--this JUNK box with no help, and that what I
have been hearing from others is only--feverish raving?"
"Oh, no, Dom Arkos!"
"Oh, no, what?"
"I cannot deny what I saw with my own eyes, Reverend Father."
"So, you did meet an angel--or was it a saint?--or perhaps not yet a
saint?--and he showed you where to look?"
"I never said he was--"
"And this is your excuse for believing yourself to have a true voca-
tion, is it not? That this, this--shall we call him a 'creature'?-- spoke to
you of finding a voice, and marked a rock with his initials, and told you it
was what you were looking for, and when you looked under it--there THIS was.
Eh?"
"Yes, Dom Arkos."
"What is your opinion of your own execrable vanity?"
If there are not really two marks on that rock where he--then maybe
I might--"
The abbot closed his eyes and sighed wearily. "The marks are there--faintly,"
he admitted. "You might have made them yourself."
"No, m'Lord."
"Will you admit that you imagined the old creature?"
"No, m'Lord."
"Very well, do you know what is going to happen to you now?"
"Yes, Reverend Father."
"Then prepare to take it."
Trembling, the novice gathered up his habit about his waist and bent over the
desk. The abbot withdrew a stout hickory ruler from the drawer, tested it on
his palm, then gave Francis a smart whack with it across the buttocks.
"Deo gratias!" the novice dutifully responded, gasping slightly.
"Care to change your mind, my boy?"
"Reverend Father, I can't deny--"
WHACK!
"Deo gratias!"
WHACK!
"Deo gratias!"
Ten times was this simple but painful litany repeated, with Brother
Francis yelping his thanks to Heaven for each scorching lesson in the virtue
of humility, as he was expected to do. The abbot paused after the tenth whack.
Page 19
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Brother Francis was on tiptoe and bouncing slightly. Tears squeezed from the
corners of clenched eyelids.
"My dear Brother Francis," said the Abbot Arkos, "are you quite sure you saw
the old man?"
"certain," he squeaked, steeling himself for more.
Abbot Arkos glanced clinically at the youth, then walked round his desk and [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl freetocraft.keep.pl
bilia to get his story."
"I think I'd better talk to Brother Francis," Cheroki murmured.
"Do! When you first came in, I was still wondering whether to roast you alive
or not. For sending him in, I mean. If you had let him stay out there on the
desert, we wouldn't have this fantastic twaddle going around.
But, on the other hand, if he'd stayed out there, there's no telling what else
he might have dug out of that cellar. I think you did the right thing, to send
him in."
Cheroki, who had made the decision on no such basis, found si-
lence to be the appropriate policy.
"See him," growled the abbot. "Then send him to me."
It was about nine on a bright Monday morning when Brother Fran-
cis rapped timidly at the door of the abbot's study. A good night's sleep on
the hard straw pallet in his old familiar cell, plus a small bite of
unfamiliar breakfast, had not perhaps done any wonders for starved tissue or
entirely cleared the sun-daze from his brain, but these relative luxuries had
at least restored him to sufficient clarity of mind to perceive that he had
cause to be afraid. He was, in fact, terrified, so that his first tap at the
abbot's door went unheard. Not even Francis could hear it. After several
minutes, he mus-
tered the courage to knock again.
"Benedicamus Domino."
"Deo? gratias?" asked Francis.
"Come in, my boy, come in!" called an affable voice, which, after some seconds
of puzzling, he recognized with amazement to have been that of his sovereign
abbot.
"You twist the little knob, my son," said the same friendly voice after
Brother Francis had stood frozen on the spot for some seconds, with his
knuckles still in position for knocking.
"Y-y-yes--" Francis scarcely touched the knob, but it seemed that the accursed
door opened anyway; he had hoped that it would be tightly stuck.
Page 18
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
mLord.
"You do not dispute that you have won overnight fame? That
Providence elected you to discover THIS--" he gestured sweepingly at the
relics spread on the desk "--this JUNK box, as its previous owner no doubt
rightly called it?"
The novice stammered helplessly, and somehow managed to wind up wearing a
grin.
"You are seventeen and plainly an idiot, are you not?"
"That is undoubtedly true, m'Lord Abbot."
"What excuse do you propose for believing yourself called to Re-
ligion?"
"No excuse, Magister meus."
"Ah? So? Then you feel that you have no vocation to the Order?"
"Oh, I do!" the novice gasped.
"But you propose no excuse?"
"None."
"You little cretin, I am asking your reason. Since you state none, I
take it you are prepared to deny that you met anyone in the desert the other
day, that you stumbled on this--this JUNK box with no help, and that what I
have been hearing from others is only--feverish raving?"
"Oh, no, Dom Arkos!"
"Oh, no, what?"
"I cannot deny what I saw with my own eyes, Reverend Father."
"So, you did meet an angel--or was it a saint?--or perhaps not yet a
saint?--and he showed you where to look?"
"I never said he was--"
"And this is your excuse for believing yourself to have a true voca-
tion, is it not? That this, this--shall we call him a 'creature'?-- spoke to
you of finding a voice, and marked a rock with his initials, and told you it
was what you were looking for, and when you looked under it--there THIS was.
Eh?"
"Yes, Dom Arkos."
"What is your opinion of your own execrable vanity?"
If there are not really two marks on that rock where he--then maybe
I might--"
The abbot closed his eyes and sighed wearily. "The marks are there--faintly,"
he admitted. "You might have made them yourself."
"No, m'Lord."
"Will you admit that you imagined the old creature?"
"No, m'Lord."
"Very well, do you know what is going to happen to you now?"
"Yes, Reverend Father."
"Then prepare to take it."
Trembling, the novice gathered up his habit about his waist and bent over the
desk. The abbot withdrew a stout hickory ruler from the drawer, tested it on
his palm, then gave Francis a smart whack with it across the buttocks.
"Deo gratias!" the novice dutifully responded, gasping slightly.
"Care to change your mind, my boy?"
"Reverend Father, I can't deny--"
WHACK!
"Deo gratias!"
WHACK!
"Deo gratias!"
Ten times was this simple but painful litany repeated, with Brother
Francis yelping his thanks to Heaven for each scorching lesson in the virtue
of humility, as he was expected to do. The abbot paused after the tenth whack.
Page 19
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Brother Francis was on tiptoe and bouncing slightly. Tears squeezed from the
corners of clenched eyelids.
"My dear Brother Francis," said the Abbot Arkos, "are you quite sure you saw
the old man?"
"certain," he squeaked, steeling himself for more.
Abbot Arkos glanced clinically at the youth, then walked round his desk and [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]