The Sparrow

turn to God in gratitude. He fought it down, clinging stubbornly to the facts: he was doing laundry and riffing on Princess Bride with John Candotti and he was enjoying himself. That was all. Paola Marino was responsible, not God. And he had helped himself. When he'd realized what an improvement the new braces were, he'd asked to be assigned to the laundry. He needed to work at something, and this would be good mild exercise, he argued, natural therapy for his hands. He ate and slept better for it, got through the nights easier. And he was getting stronger. Sure, he had to stop every now and then, a little winded by the repetitive stooping and reaching overhead, but he was gaining on it—

John left his perch on the stones, disturbed as always by these sudden motionless trances. 'Here. I'll help you with this,' he said genially, to break the silence, and picked up one of the sheets.

'No!'

John dropped the sheet and backed away.

Sandoz stood there a few moments, breathing hard. 'Look. I'm sorry,' he said. 'I was startled, okay? I didn't expect you to be standing so close. And I don't want help! People keep trying to help! I'm sorry, but I hate it. If you would just do me the courtesy of letting me judge—' He turned away, exasperated and close to tears. Finally, he repeated more quietly, 'I'm sorry. You put up with a lot of shit from me. I get confused, John. A lot of things get mixed up in this.'

Embarrassed and ashamed of the outburst, Emilio turned and bent to the laundry basket, going back to work. After a few minutes, he said over his shoulder, 'Don't just stand there gawking. Give me a hand with this, will you?'

Eyes wide, John shook his head and blew out a breath, but he picked up a pillowcase and hung it on the line.

They finished that basketful in silence and went back into the basement gloom for another load of wash. Setting the basket down, Emilio waited until John joined him and then heaved a sigh, looking at the braces once again. 'Yes, these are a great improvement but I still can't play the violin…'

John was halfway through a sympathetic murmur when Emilio's grin stopped him. 'Shit,' John laughed, and the tension between them evaporated. 'I can't believe I fell for that. You never played the violin, right?'

'Baseball, John. All I ever played was baseball.' Emilio opened another washer and started dropping towels into the basket, feeling that he was back on top of things again. 'Probably too old and beaten up to get around a diamond now anyway. But I had good hands once.'

'What position did you play?' John asked.

'Second base, usually. Not enough arm to play outfield. I was pretty consistent at bat, mostly singles and doubles. I wasn't that good but I loved it.'

'The Father General claims he's still got a bruise where you took his ankle out sliding in to steal third once. He says you were savage.'

'This is slander!' Emilio cried. Indignant, he pushed his way out the door again and carried the basket to the line. 'Serious, yes. Barbaric, quite possibly. But savage? Only if the score was close.'

They worked their way through the basket together, listening to the late morning sounds, pots and pans banging in the kitchen nearby as Brother Cosimo started on lunch, and now the silence was companionable. 'You follow baseball, John?' Emilio asked after a while, his voice coming through the rows of wet fabric.

'Cubs fan,' John muttered. The Chicagoan's curse.

Sandoz pushed a towel aside, eyes wide. 'How bad?'

'Anybody can have a couple of lousy centuries.'

'I guess. Wow.' Sandoz let the towel fall back into place. There was a thoughtful silence. 'Well, that explains why Giuliani brought you over.' Suddenly John heard the Father General's voice saying: 'Voelker, I need someone to take care of a hopeless wreck coming back from Rakhat. Get me a Cubs fan!'

'You're not hopeless, Emilio.'

'John, I could tell you things about hopeless that even a Cubs fan wouldn't understand.'

'Try me.'

When Sandoz spoke next from the other side of the laundry, it was to change the subject. 'So. How's San Juan doing this year?'

'Three games out of first. They took the Series in 58,' John said, pleased to be delivering good news. Emilio reappeared, smiling beatifically, nodded a couple of times and returned to his work, a contented man. John paused in his progress down the clothesline and looked at Sandoz through a gap in the sheets. 'Do you know that this is the first time you've asked about current events? Listen, this has been driving me crazy! I mean, you've been gone since before I was born! Don't you wonder how things turned out? What wars are over and who won and stuff like that? Technological revolutions, medical advances? Aren't you even curious?'

Sandoz stared at him, open-mouthed. Finally, he dropped a towel into the basket and backed up a few steps to the stone wall, where he sat down, suddenly exhausted. He laughed a little and shook his head before looking up at John through the veil of black and silver hair that fell over his eyes. 'My dear Father Candotti,' he said wearily, 'allow me to explain something. In the past fifteen years or so, I must have lived in what? Thirty different places? Four continents, two islands. Two planets! An asteroid! Seven or eight ecosystems, from desert to tundra. Dormitories, huts, caves, tents, shacks, hampiys…I have been required to function in over a dozen foreign languages, often three at a time. I have contended with thousands of strangers, in cultures involving three sentient species and perhaps twenty nationalities. I am sorry to disappoint you, but my capacity for curiosity is tapped out.' Emilio sighed and put his head in his hands, careful not to tangle the joint mechanisms in his hair. 'John, if I had my way, nothing new or interesting would happen to me ever again as long as I live. Laundry is just about my speed. No quick movements, no sudden noises, no intellectual demands.'

'And no damned questions?' John suggested ruefully, sitting next to Sandoz on the wall.

'No damned questions,' Emilio confirmed. He looked up, eyes on the rocky hills to the east. 'And very little potential for death, destruction and degradation, my friend. I've had a couple of rough years.'

It no longer came as a surprise to John Candotti that people found him easy to confess to. He was tolerant of human failings and it was rarely difficult for him to say, 'Well, you screwed up. Everybody screws up. It's okay.' His greatest satisfaction as a priest was to grant absolution, to help people forgive themselves for not being perfect, make amends, and get on with life. This might be the opening, he thought. 'Want to tell me about it?'

Sandoz stood and went back to his basket of towels. When it was empty he turned and saw that Candotti was still sitting there. 'I can finish this myself,' he said curtly and disappeared back into the basement.

Vincenzo Giuliani was not idle during this time, nor did the Rakhat inquiry come to a halt. The Father General used the hiatus to rethink his strategies. The situation required a different tack and more sail, he decided, and called a meeting with Candotti, Behr, Reyes and Voelker. They were charged with two tasks during these hearings, he told them. One was institutional: to gather information about the mission itself and about Rakhat and its inhabitants. But the other was pastoral. A fellow priest had been through an extraordinary experience and needed help, whether he was willing to admit that or not.

'Upon much reflection,' the Father General told them, 'I have decided to release to you transcripts of the mission reports by Yarbrough and Robichaux, as well as certain private communications from them.' He gave them the passwords necessary to unlock the files. 'I am sure I don't have to tell you that this information is confidential. You will find as you read that Emilio has been entirely forthcoming about the mission facts. I believe he means to cooperate fully with us in our first task. He will tell us what happened on Rakhat as long as it does not touch on his personal state of mind, past or present. Which brings us to our second task.'

Giuliani rose. 'It has become clear to me that there is some private theological aspect to Emilio's emotional problems. I am, personally, convinced of the sincerity of his spiritual engagement at the beginning of the mission.' Giuliani stopped pacing and came to rest directly across the table from Johannes Voelker. 'I do not ask you to be credulous as you read the mission reports, but I ask you to accept as a working hypothesis the accuracy of the statements of his superiors on this subject.' Voelker nodded noncommittally and Giuliani resumed his circuit of the room, coming to a halt by the windows. He pushed the gauzy curtain back and looked outside. 'Something happened to him. It changed everything. Until we know what that was, we are sailing in the dark.'

As the days went on, Giuliani observed and responded to the sea change in Sandoz himself. The man's general health began to improve again, due to some lifting of the depression and to a set of newly implanted semipermeable rods that released steady doses of vitamins C and D as well as calcitonin derivatives and osteoclast