Farmer, Philip Jose - Father Carmody 00.4

by A Few Miles (v2. 1)

  "What will I tell the cops?" wailed the owner.

  "Tell the truth,” said Brer John. "Always tell the truth. I'm sorry I failed you so miserably. I have a lot to learn yet. And I’m still hungry," he said, but it was doubtful if the owner heard the last phrase, for Brer John was running in his shapeless maroon robe like a frightened bear for the shelter of a copse of trees in the park.

  Once inside the grove, he stopped. Not because he had planned to, but because he ran across a picnic blanket and his feet slipped on a bowl of potato salad. He fell face forward in a plate of fish eggs. And lay there, half-stunned, vaguely aware of the howls and shrieks of laughter around him.

  When he managed to sit up and look around, he saw that he was surrounded by six teenage boys and girls. Luckily for him, they were in a holiday mood. If they’d been in an ugly mood, they might have been able to harm or perhaps even to kill him. They were dressed in the uniform of the "skunks" as others called them and as they called themselves. These were black-and-white striped jumpers with close-fitting hoods, and their legs were painted with vertical black and white stripes.

  The eyes of the girls were ringed with black paint, and the eyes of the boys were painted with black semi-circles.

  "Gimp the high priest!” screamed one of the boys. He pointed with red-painted fingernails. "Ain’t him a dudu!"

  "A real dong-dong," said one of the girls. She bent over Brer John and pulled a little string hanging from the side of her jumper. Her breasts leaped out of the low-cut bodice and stared at him with two red-pupilled blue-rimmed eyes. The rest howled and screamed and threw themselves gasping on the grass.

  Brer John averted his eyes. He had heard of the trick the juvin-quent girls liked to play; the false breasts which leaped out at the startled stranger like a jack-in-a- box. But he wasn’t sure that these were false.

  The girl stuffed the device back into her grotesquely out-thrust bosom. She smiled at Brer John, and he saw that she would have been a pretty girl if it hadn’t been for the absurdly painted face. "What’s ionizing, Willie?” she said to him.

  Brer John rose, and, while he wiped his face with a handkerchief he took from his pocket, he said, "I am running from the cops.”

  He couldn’t have said anything else that would have more quickly gained their sympathy.

  “Hophopping the deadpans? Ain’t him a dudu? Don’t him look some priest? Scratch one, him’s some monk, nothing a priest, you short-cut to zero.”

  Home among my own, thought Brer John, and hot on the heels of that thought a fierce denial. No, they are not my own. My brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, sinners, too, but I am not home. I can understand them, how and why they are, but I will not be one of them. I will hurt no man with malice aforethought.

  “Pink some me,” said the girl who had popped out her bosom, false or otherwise. “Me’ll straight you some hole.” Brer John interpreted that to mean that he was to give her his hand and she would lead him to a hiding place.

  “Me’ll stick my nose along,” said a youth who was distinguished from the others by his tallness and the closeness of his black eyes.

  “Some poxy,” said the girl, which seemed to mean that the boy was to come along. She led Brer John out of the grove and down a winding path and then through another grove where they stepped over couples in various degrees of passion, and then up over an artificial hill and under an artificial waterfall and into another collection of trees. Brer John looked overhead from time to time. A police car was still hanging in the air, but evidently they hadn't spotted him yet. Suddenly, the girl pulled him into a thick collection of bushes and sat down in the middle of them. The youth forced his body between the girl and Brer John and began drinking from the bucket of beer which he had brought along.

  The girl handed Brer John a sandwich, and he devoured it. His stomach growled, and his mouth salivated. By the time he’d eaten it, the boy had put the bucket down, and the girl handed the bucket to Brer John. He drank it eagerly in great gulps. But the boy tore the bucket from his hands.

  “Don't no road,” he said, which freely translated meant, “Don’t be a hog.”

  “Some you dudu,” said the girl. “Frwhat you jet some?”

  Brer John interpreted this to mean that she wanted to know from what he was running. He told them that he was a lay brother of the order of St. Jairus, one who had not yet taken his final vows. As a matter of fact, inside a week his year would be up, and if he then wished to quit the society, he could do so. He didn’t even have to notify his superiors.

  He did not tell them that he suspected that this order to go to Wildenwooly at the same time that his year was up had been authorized so he could make up his mind whether he wished to remain with the order of St. Jairus.

  He told them that there was a possibility that he might go into the priesthood, but he wasn't sure that he wouldn't be happier by remaining a simple brother. He would get all the dirty menial tasks, true, but he also would not have the tremendous responsibilities that came with being a priest.

  Also, though he did not say so, he did not want the humiliation of being refused permission to enter the priesthood. He was not sure that he was worthy.

  There was silence except for the loud gulpings of the youth as he drank from the bucket. Brer John looked out through the bushes and saw that they were next to a fence. Just beyond the fence was a narrow strip of dirt and then a deep moat. On the other side of the moat was a large bare space of rock and, beyond it, a cave. Evidently this was the cage of some animal, and it had been prepared to resemble the natural habitat of the animal.

  He looked for the animal but could not see it. Then, he saw a sign by the fence.

  Horowitz

  A fierce meat-eating giant bird of the planet Feral.

  Highly intelligent. Named after its discoverer, Alexander Horowitz. Please do not tease. This area monitored.

  The girl reached out a hand and stroked Brer John's chin. “Some scratch," she said.

  She turned to the youth and jerked her thumb in an invitation for him to leave.

  “Whyn’t some ionize?" she said.

  He narrowed his eyes and said, “Me? Suramun want rigor mortis?”

  “Me never no monk-monk before,” said the girl, and she laughed, while her blue eyes looked at Brer John with a look he knew too well.

  The boy snarled, “Monk-monk?” and then Brer John understood that the girl was punning. Monk-monk, he remembered now, was an extremely vulgar word which had replaced one of the formerly tabooed four-letter words.

  “Monk-monk the monk-monk,” said the boy. “Me monk-monk summun if summun ain’t getting the monk-monk off the pad."

  He turned to Brer John. “Ionize, gutbutt!"

  Suddenly, a knife was in the girl’s hand, and the point was at the boy’s throat. “Me seesaw rigor mortis," she said crooningly.

  “Some?" said the boy amazedly, jerking his thumb at Brer John.

  The girl nodded her head. “Me some. Never no monk-monk a monk-monking monk, comprendo? You ionize sooner than later. Some seesaw rigor mortis, no?"

  The boy put his hands on the ground behind him and tried to back away from her. She followed him, the knife held to his throat.

  As she did so, Brer John’s hand flashed out and knocked the knife from her grasp. All three dived for it, and their heads came together. Brer John saw stars; by the time he’d recovered, the youth had grabbed him by the throat and was trying to strangle him. Brer John fought back; his stiff fingers plunged into the boy’s stomach, the boy said, “Oof!” and released his hold. The girl, knife in hand, leaped at the boy. He turned and hit her on the jaw with his fist and knocked her unconscious to the ground. Then, before Brer John could move in close enough, the boy grabbed him by the front of the robe and lifted him high and helpless in the air. And the next Brer John knew, he was flying over the fence. He hit the ground hard, rolled over, felt the world slipping away beneath him, knew briefly that he was falling into the moat, fell backwar
ds, and then . . . heard a voice shrieking, “Hey, John, hey, John! Here I am, John!”

  He woke to hear the same voice calling, “Hey, John! Here I am!”

  He was flat on his back, staring upwards past the grey walls of the moat and up at the roof of the city. The roof was no longer transparent, allowing the blue of the Arizona sky to come through undiminished. Night had fallen outside the roof, and now the roof itself was a glow bright as day, shining with energy stored during the day and released at sunset.

  Brer John groaned and tried to sit up to see if he had any broken bones. But he could not move.

  “Holy Mother!" he breathed. “I’m paralyzed! St. Jairus preserve me!”

  But he was not totally paralyzed. He could move his legs and his arms. It was just that his chest felt as if it were crushed against the earth by a great weight.

  He turned his bead, and he almost fainted with fright. It was a weight that was holding him down. A huge bird . . .

  It had been squatting by has side, its giant claw placed on his chest, pinning him to the ground. Now that it saw the man had his eyes open, it rose to one foot, still keeping the other placed on him.

  “Hey, John!” it screamed. "Here I am, John!”

  “So you are,” said Brer John. “Would you mind letting me up?" But he did not expect anything, for it was obvious that the huge bird —if it was a bird—had a parrot's power to mimic.

  Slowly, he moved his arms, not wishing to alarm the horowitz, for that must be what it was. It could have torn him open at any moment with its tremendous three-toed foot or with its moa-sized beak. Evidently it had leaped down into the moat after him, with what purpose, he didn’t know.

  His arms bent at the elbows, be lowered the upper parts to feel his chest. He had wondered what it was that lay on his chest, which was bare, probably. because the big bird had ripped his robe open.

  He felt sick. An egg lay on his chest.

  It was a small egg, not much larger than a barnyard hen’s. He couldn't imagine why a creature that large would lay such a small egg, why it would lay it on him. But it was and it had.

  The horowitz, seeing the man’s hands feel the egg, screamed with protest. Its huge beak stabbed down at his face. Brer John closed his eyes, and breathed in the rotten breath of the meat-eating creature. But the beak did not touch him, and after a moment he opened his eyes. The beak was poised a few inches above his face, ready to complete its descent if he harmed the egg.

  Brer John gave a longer than usual prayer, then he tried to think of a way to get out of his predicament.

  And could not. He dared not try to escape by force, and he could not, for one of the few times in his life, talk his way out. He did turn his head to look up at the edge of the moat from which he had fallen, supposing that some spectators would notice him. But there were none. And in a moment he realized why. The people who had been in the park probably had gone home to supper or to work, and the second shift at the clutches had not yet come into the park. And, of course, it was possible that nobody would come by for a long time. Nor did he dare to shout for fear of alarming the horowitz.

  He was forced to lie motionless on has back and wait until the big bird left him. If it intended to leave him. It did not seem likely that it would. For some reason it had jumped into the moat to lay its egg on him. And it could not jump back out. Which meant that m time it would get hungry.

  “Who would have thought that when I was told to go to Wildenwooly that I might perish in the city zoo only halfway out of the city. Strange and wondrous are the ways of the Lord,” he muttered.

  He lay, staring upwards at the glowing,roof, at the huge beak and black red-rimmed eyes of the bird, and occasionally at the top of the moat, hoping for a passerby.

  After a time he felt his chest tickling beneath the egg. The tickling grew stronger with every minute, and he had an insane desire to scratch, insane because to indulge would be to die.

  “Holy Mother,” he said, “if you are torturing me to make me think on my sins before I die, you are certainly succeeding. Or would be if I weren’t so concerned with the tickling and itching itself. I can barely think of my most grievous faults because of the disturbing everlasting damnable itching. I have to scratch! I must!”

  But he did not dare. To do so would have been to commit suicide, and that, the unpardonable sin because it could not be regretted, was unthinkable. Or perhaps not unthinkable because he was thinking of it; what was the correct word—undoable? No, but it did not matter. If he could only scratch I

  Presently, after what seemed hours but probaby was not more than fifteen minutes, the itching quit. Life again became endurable, even if not pleasant.

  It was at that precise minute that the youth who had thrown him into the moat appeared above him.

  “Grab timer called the youth. “Mell drop a rope!”

  Brer John watched the boy tie one end of a rope to the fence and then throw the other end down into the moat. He wondered if the youth expected him to walk over and draw himself up, meanwhile blithely ignoring the huge bird. He wanted to call out and tell him he couldn't even sit up, but he was afraid his voice might alarm the creature.

  However, he did not have to initiate any action. The second the rope touched the floor of the moat the horowitz released its hold on the man and ran to the rope. It seized it in its two small hands and, bracing its feet against the side of the moat, swarmed up.

  Brer John jumped up and shouted, “Don’t let it g«t out of the moat, son! It’ll kill you!"

  The youth stared at the creature coming swiftly up the rope. Just as the bird’s head came over the edge of the moat, the youth came out of his paralysis. He stepped up to the bird and kicked savagely at the beaked head. The bird gave a cry, loosed its hold on the rope, and fell backwards. It struck the earth, rolled a few feet, and lay stunned, its eyes glazed.

  Brer John did not hesistate. He ran to the rope and began hauling himself up hand over hand on it. Halfway up, he felt the rope straighten out beneath him. Looking down, he saw the horowitz had recovered and was following him up the rope. It began squawking furiously, intermingling its cries with screams of “Hey, John! Here I am, John!”

  Brer John climbed a few feet higher, then hung there while be kicked at the crested head beneath him. His foot drove solidly into the creature's skull, and once again the bird lost its hold and fell backwards to the ground. Gasping for breath, it lay there long enough for Brer John to pull the rope out of its reach.

  "We must notify the zoo personnel," he said. “Otherwise, the poor creature might starve to death. Besides, I have something that is the property of the zoo."

  “Me don't scratch you," said the youth. Brer John interpreted this to mean that he didn’t understand him. 'Dum-dum some rigor mortised summum.”

  “The bird was only obeying the dictates of its nature,” said Brer John. “Unlike you or me, it doesn’t have free will.”

  "Will-swill,” said the youth. “Gimp the baldun.”

  “You mean, look at the egg?” replied Brer John. He looked down to examine the strange situation of the egg. It had not fallen off his chest when he rose but had clung to his skin as if glued on. He pulled it away from his chest, and the skin stretched with it.

  “Curioser and curioser,” he said. “Perhaps the bird secretes an adhesive when it lays an egg. But why should it?”

  Then he thought of his manners and his gratitude, and he said, “I thank you for coming to my rescue. Though I must admit I was surprised since—forgive me for mentioning it—you were the one who threw me down there.”

  “Goed out of me frying-pan,” said the youth, meaning that he had lost his head. “Goed monk-monk gimping the trangle smack-smacking summun. Her’s no monk-monking good. Gived her the ivory-doctor.”

  “Knocked her teeth out?” said Brer John.

  "Scratch,” said the youth. “Telled the trangle ionize. Daily dozen gived me cross-gimps.”

  "You told the girl to get lost because she
was always getting you in trouble?”

  "Scratch. Rigor mortis summun; me get sing-singed grey fat fried.”

  “You might kill someone and get sent to an institution where your personality would be changed? Possibly. However, your act in coming back shows you have promise. I wish I could repay you, but I have nothing to give you.”

  Suddenly, he began scratching furiously, and he added, “Except for these monk-monking lice that bird gave me. Is there anything I eould do for you?”

  The youth shrugged hopelessly. “Round-round. You going to Wildenwooly?”

  Brer John nodded. The youth looked up at the glowing roof overhead.

  “Bye-bye, maybe me go some there. Nothing but daily dozen in- and-out on The Antheap. Is a different dummy out in deep space.”

  “Yes, getting off Earth and on a frontier planet might make a new man of you,” said Brer John. “And you might learn to speak American, too. Well, God bless you, my boy. I must go. And if you should get to Wildenwooly before I do, tell them I’m doing my best to get there. Holy Mary, it’s only a few miles, said Brer Francis!”

  He began walking away. Behind him rose a harsh wail of “Hey, John! Here I am, John! Your old buddy, John!”

  He shuddered and crossed himself and continued walking. But he could not forget the monster in the moat. The vermin that now swarmed under his robe and drove him almost frantic would not allow him to forget. Neither would the egg attached to his chest.

  It was the combination of the two which decided him to find a secluded spot on the lagoon and bathe. He had hopes he could drown the bird-lice and unglue the adhesive which made the egg stick so tightly. Finding a place where he would not be seen was not, however, so easy. The first shift was streaming from the clutches into the park and was lying on the sandy beaches or swimming. Brer John did his best to avert his eyes from the naked as he passed through them. But it was impossible not to catch more than a glimpse of the women as they lay on the sand or ran before him. And, after a while, he quit trying. After all, he told himself, he had been accustomed all his life to seeing them all undressed at the beach and in his own home before he had gone into the order of St. Jairus. And all the fulmi- nations of the Church had not been able to stop the faithful from following the custom any more than it had been able in the previous centuries to keep them from swimming in the abbreviated bathing suits. The Church had long ceased protesting against nude public bathing, but it still denounced the appearance of nudes in the streets. Though what its policy would be twenty years from now was unpredictable. Occasionally, a nude did venture on the street or in the markets and was arrested for indecent exposure, just as women in shorts or bathing suits outside of the beach had been arrested in the early part of—the Twentieth Century? The laity might go undressed in the public bathing places, but the clergy did not. In fact, they were forbidden even to be at such places. And he, Brer John, was disobeying the rules of his order, not to mention the Church as a whole, by being here.