"Walter M. Miller - The Lost Masters - Volume 01" - читать интересную книгу автора (Miller Walter M)

would be to bark out his self-accusations one, two, three, in a neat orderly manner, without all this
prodding and prompting. Francis seemed to find difficulty in formulating whatever he was about to say;
the priest waited.
тАЬI think my vocation has come to me, Father, butтАУтАЭ Francis moistened his cracked lips and stared
at a bug on a rock.
тАЬOh, has it?тАЭ CherokiтАЩs voice was toneless
тАЬYes, I thinkтАУbut would it be a sin, Father, if when I first got it, I thought rather scornfully of the
handwriting? I mean?тАЭ
Cheroki blinked. Handwriting? Vocation? What kind of a question wasтАУHe studied the noviceтАЩs
serious expression for a few seconds, then frowned.
тАЬHave you and Brother Alfred been passing notes to each other?тАЭ he asked ominously.
тАЬOh, no, Father!тАЭ
тАЬThen whose handwriting are you talking about?тАЭ
тАЬThe Blessed Leibowitz.тАЭ
Cheroki paused to think. Did there, or did there not, exist in the abbeyтАЩs collection of ancient
documents, any manuscript penned personally by the founder of the Order?тАУan original copy? After a
momentтАЩs reflection, he decided in the affirmative; yes, there were a few scraps of it left, carefully kept
under lock and key.
тАЬAre you talking about something that happened back at the abbey? Before you came out here?тАЭ
тАЬNo, Father. It happened right over thereтАУтАЭ He nodded toward the left. тАЬThree mounds over, near
the tall cactus.тАЭ
тАЬInvolving your vocation, you say?тАЭ
тАЬY-yes, butтАУтАЭ
тАЬOf course,тАЭ Cheroki said sharply, тАЬyou could NOT POSSIBLY be trying to say thatтАУyou have
receivedтАУfrom the Blessed Leibowitz, dead now, lo, the last six hundred yearsтАУa handwritten invitation to
profess your solemn vows? And you, uh, deplored his handwriting?тАУForgive me, but thatтАЩs the
impression I was getting.тАЭ
тАЬWell, itтАЩs something like that, Father.тАЭ
Cberoki sputtered. Becoming alarmed, Brother Francis produced a scrap of paper from his sleeve
and handed it to the priest. It was brittle with age and stained. The ink was faded.
тАЬPound pastrami,тАЭ Father Cheroki pronounced, slurring over some of the unfamiliar words, тАЬcan
kraut, six bagelsтАУbring home for Emma.тАЭ He stared fixedly at Brother Francis for several seconds
тАЬThis was written by whom?тАЭ
Francis told him.
Cheroki thought it over. тАЬItтАЩs not possible for you to make a good confession while youтАЩre in this
condition. And it wouldnтАЩt be proper for me to absolve you when youтАЩre not in your right mind.тАЭ Seeing
Francis wince, the priest touched him reassuringly on the shoulder. тАЬDonтАЩt worry, son, weтАЩll talk it over
after youтАЩre better. IтАЩll hear your confession then. For the presentтАУтАЭ He glanced nervously at the vessel
containing the Eucharist. тАЬI want you to gather up your things and return to the abbey at once.тАЭ
тАЬBut, Father, IтАУтАЭ
тАЬI command you,тАЭ the priest said tonelessly, тАЬto return to the abbey at once.тАЭ
тАЬY-yes, Father.тАЭ
тАЬNow, IтАЩm not going to absolve you, but you might make good act of contrition and offer two
decades of the rosary as penance anyhow. Would you like my blessing?тАЭ
The novice nodded, fighting tears. The priest blessed him arose, genuflected before the Sacrament,
recovered the golden vessel, and reattached it to the chain around his neck. Having pocketed the candle,
collapsed the table, and strapped it in place behind the saddle, he gave Francis a last solemn nod, then
mounted and rode away on his mare to complete his circuit of the Lenten hermitages. Francis sat in the
hot sand and wept.
It would have been simple if he could have taken the priest to the crypt to show him the ancient