later, awed, telling Zack. Everything down there was scar tissue—ridged, slick, gray, purple.
We panicked, scrambled away. The lights went out. We darted toward our bikes but Father Travis was unbelievably swift out the door and with a sure bound he seized Angus. Cappy and I kept running.
Come back here, you two, said Father Travis in an even voice that carried perfectly. Or I’ll rip off his head.
Angus yelped. We slowed and looked back. He had Angus by the throat.
He means it!
Say your Hail Marys, said the priest.
Hail Mary, Angus choked.
Silently, said Father Travis.
Angus’s mouth began to move. Cappy and I turned and walked back. The night wind came in and the pines sighed around us. The flickering yard lamps that lighted the church parking lot didn’t reach beneath the black trees. Father Travis walked Angus before him, to the house. Behind us. He ordered Cappy to open the door and once we were in he threw a dead bolt and kicked a chair up to the door.
As you know, there’s no back way out, he said. So you might as well make yourselves comfortable.
He flung Angus at the couch and we jumped forward and sat down on either side of Angus, hands folded in our laps. Father Travis pulled a plaid shirt on and grabbed his easy chair. He turned it to face us. Then he sat down. He was wearing the boxers and the plaid shirt hung open. His chest was massive. I noticed a set of free weights on the floor and barbells in the corner.
Long time no see, he said to me and Angus.
We were petrified.
Got an eyeful, huh? You dumb monkeys. Whaddya think?
He kicked me in the shin, and although he was barefoot my leg went numb and I rocked backwards.
Say something.
But we couldn’t.
Okay, dogface, he said to Cappy. You tell me why you were spying on me. I know these two, but I don’t know you. What’s your name?
John Pulls Leg.
A jolt of admiration shot straight through me. That Cappy could give a fake name at this moment.
Pulls Leg. What kind of frickin’ name is that?
It’s an old traditional name, Sir!
Sir? Where’d you get that Sir!
My father was a Marine, Sir!
Then you’ve disgraced him, you puling ass-wipe shit. Son of a Marine spying on a priest. What’s your dad’s name?
Same name, Sir!
So you’re Pulls Leg Junior?
Yes, Sir!
Well, Pulls Leg Junior, how’s this?
Father Travis reached out and yanked Cappy off the couch with one streaming jerk of his leg. Cappy hit the floor hard but didn’t cry out.
Pulls Leg, huh? Is that how you got your dumb-shit name?
He loomed down and Cappy put his dukes up but the priest just reached down and threw Cappy back on the couch.
All right, Pulls Leg Junior, what’s your real traditional old-time name?
Cappy Lafournais.
Doe’s your father?
Yeah.
Good man. He pointed a thick finger at Angus. And I know who your aunt is.
He stuck his finger in my face next. I couldn’t breathe.
I know your dad, and I think I know why you pathetic scum-butts are here, spying on me. You. I started thinking about your question earlier this evening. Why you would ask me what I was doing on Sunday, May fifteenth, at such and such a time. Like you were asking for my alibi. I thought it was funny. Then I remembered what happened to your mom. And bingo.
Our knees, our feet, our shoes, had taken on a profound significance. We were studying them closely. We could feel his hammered silver eyes on us.
So you think I hurt your ma, he said softly. Well? Answer.
He kicked me again. The numbness turned to pain.
Yeah. No. I thought maybe.
Maybe. Then the answer came in a flash, so to speak, huh? Im-poss-ee-bley. So you know. And just for your information, you little rat-pukes, you cat farts, you jerk-off freaks, I wouldn’t use my dick that way even if I still could. You yellow-shit horndogs, I have a mother and I have a sister. I also had a girlfriend.
Father Travis leaned back. I glanced up at him. He was watching us from under his brow, his hands folded in his lap. His eyes had taken on that cyborg gleam. His cheekbones looked like they were going to break right through his skin. Not only did he own a copy of
You had a girlfriend?
Father Travis’s face tightened to bone-white. I could not believe Cappy’s nerve. For a moment I thought he was dead. But Cappy hadn’t asked it in a taunting or sarcastic way at all. That was the thing about Cappy. He really wanted to know. He’d asked the question the way I know now a good lawyer might interview a potential witness. To find out about the other person. To hear his story.
Father Travis didn’t speak for a time, but Cappy maintained a silent willingness to listen.
Yes, said Father Travis, at last. His voice was thicker now, and low. You skinny creamers don’t know about women yet. You may think you do, but you don’t. I was engaged to a real one. Extremely beautiful. Faithful. Never faltered. Not even when I got hit. She would have stayed. I was the one who ... Do you boys like girls?
I do, said Cappy, the only one who dared answer.
Don’t waste your time on sluts, said Father Travis. You in high school?
Going into high school, Cappy said.
All the better. There’s a beautiful girl nobody else has noticed. You be the one to notice her.
All right, said Cappy.
So, said Father Travis. So.
He spread his hands over the arms of the chair. He watched us in silence until finally we raised our eyes to meet his lock-in stare.
You want to know how it happened. You want to know how I deal with it. You want to know things that you have no right to know. But you’re not bad boys. I can see that now. You wanted to find out who hurt your mother, his mother. He stared at me.
I was at the U.S. Embassy in ’83 and got lucky. I’m here, right? The spigot works. I have to take extremely good care of it. Otherwise, infections. Some sex drive. All sublimated. I was in seminary school before becoming a Marine. Had a spell of anger. Came home like this, a sign. Finished up. Ordained. Shipped here. Any questions?
I told him no priest here had ever shot the gophers.
Sisters gas ’em. You like to be gassed in a tunnel? Better thing to die clean, outside. They die like that. He snapped his fingers. Turn over and look at the sky, huh? The clouds.
He wasn’t looking at us. He wasn’t looking at anything now. He waved his hand, dismissing us. We half rose. He was far away. He steepled his hands together and lowered his forehead to rest against his fingers. We edged past him to the door, quietly moved the chair, and undid the dead bolt. We shut the door carefully and then we walked over to our bikes. The wind was blowing harder now. Beating the hood of the yard light so it flickered. The
