we need. Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker will shred the truck seat.”
Outside in the truck, the three animal friends constantly looked through the windshield for sight of Harry. They had little to say to one another since coming down the mountain. The sight of the frozen monk wasn’t grotesque, but it was macabre, startling, and it had sobered all three of them.
12
B ruised air hovered over the friars as they ate in the common room. The meal was so silent, one could hear bread being torn from the freshly baked loaves. Brother Handle ate at a table perpendicular to the others. His scowl, etched on his face, accentuated the general discomfort.
Brother Mark, the youngest, sat with the other younger men—in this case, “younger” being anyone in their forties.
Brother Frank, head full of numbers, counted things. He couldn’t help it. He’d count the number of loaves of black bread. He’d count the pencils on Brother Handle’s desk, noting those with broken lead, with erasers chewed off. He’d count the number of steps from his cubicle to another cubicle. He’d count the number of long-needle pines from the large arched door of the main building to the chandler’s shop. He’d count the bee boxes at the edge of the meadows. Sitting there, he counted heads. One was missing. He made a mental note to check the infirmary.
Once the meal concluded, prayers and song again given, Brother Frank walked nimbly down the long, cold corridor to the infirmary, the flagstones shooting cold upward through his shins. Brother John and Brother Andrew, both physicians, oversaw the infirmary. Cleaner than most hospitals, it contained the basics for emergencies. Both men kept certain drugs in a locked refrigerator and a locked cabinet. Some blood packets and plasma packets were also in the refrigerator. Brother Sidney needed his transfusion but in the event of a life-threatening emergency, blood types other than O, Brother Sidney’s, were on hand. Since keeping blood in such a manner was against the laws, the two doctors felt no need to inform the Prior as to regulations. He assumed they knew what they were doing and they did. The laws about private physicians giving transfusions outside of a hospital or regulated clinic just didn’t make sense at two thousand feet above sea level in, say, a bad storm. They needed the blood. Brother Frank knew what those drugs were, since he paid the accounts. Other than the two doctors and Brother Handle, it was assumed no one else knew of these powerful painkillers. A stainless-steel table dominated the center of a small operating room, used for routine sufferings such as stitching a wound. Anything more serious was performed at Augusta Medical Center, with one of the brothers, in scrubs, in attendance. Both men kept their licenses current, which meant they attended medical conferences and did whatever was necessary to stand in good stead in their profession.
Each had left lucrative practices for different reasons, but both were regularly off the monastery grounds to serve the poor at various local clinics.
Brother Frank also attended special conferences, if they addressed new methods of accounting or finance. He picked things up speedily. He could learn from the Internet, although the computer screen in his office hurt his eyes. This irritated him enormously, since a whole new computer system had been purchased just this past summer. Each shop had a terminal and a laser printer. Each computer could talk to every other computer. The cost just about sent Brother Frank over the edge. This expensive purchase did help keep track of sales and accounts, though. Much time was saved in each of the shops. And Brother Frank could keep current with each day’s financial activities. That was all to the good, but the screen still hurt his eyes.
Some men retreat to a monastery for a life of contemplation, hoping to find a peace, an understanding, a closeness to God. Brother Frank had arrived out of profound
Outside in the truck, the three animal friends constantly looked through the windshield for sight of Harry. They had little to say to one another since coming down the mountain. The sight of the frozen monk wasn’t grotesque, but it was macabre, startling, and it had sobered all three of them.
12
B ruised air hovered over the friars as they ate in the common room. The meal was so silent, one could hear bread being torn from the freshly baked loaves. Brother Handle ate at a table perpendicular to the others. His scowl, etched on his face, accentuated the general discomfort.
Brother Mark, the youngest, sat with the other younger men—in this case, “younger” being anyone in their forties.
Brother Frank, head full of numbers, counted things. He couldn’t help it. He’d count the number of loaves of black bread. He’d count the pencils on Brother Handle’s desk, noting those with broken lead, with erasers chewed off. He’d count the number of steps from his cubicle to another cubicle. He’d count the number of long-needle pines from the large arched door of the main building to the chandler’s shop. He’d count the bee boxes at the edge of the meadows. Sitting there, he counted heads. One was missing. He made a mental note to check the infirmary.
Once the meal concluded, prayers and song again given, Brother Frank walked nimbly down the long, cold corridor to the infirmary, the flagstones shooting cold upward through his shins. Brother John and Brother Andrew, both physicians, oversaw the infirmary. Cleaner than most hospitals, it contained the basics for emergencies. Both men kept certain drugs in a locked refrigerator and a locked cabinet. Some blood packets and plasma packets were also in the refrigerator. Brother Sidney needed his transfusion but in the event of a life-threatening emergency, blood types other than O, Brother Sidney’s, were on hand. Since keeping blood in such a manner was against the laws, the two doctors felt no need to inform the Prior as to regulations. He assumed they knew what they were doing and they did. The laws about private physicians giving transfusions outside of a hospital or regulated clinic just didn’t make sense at two thousand feet above sea level in, say, a bad storm. They needed the blood. Brother Frank knew what those drugs were, since he paid the accounts. Other than the two doctors and Brother Handle, it was assumed no one else knew of these powerful painkillers. A stainless-steel table dominated the center of a small operating room, used for routine sufferings such as stitching a wound. Anything more serious was performed at Augusta Medical Center, with one of the brothers, in scrubs, in attendance. Both men kept their licenses current, which meant they attended medical conferences and did whatever was necessary to stand in good stead in their profession.
Each had left lucrative practices for different reasons, but both were regularly off the monastery grounds to serve the poor at various local clinics.
Brother Frank also attended special conferences, if they addressed new methods of accounting or finance. He picked things up speedily. He could learn from the Internet, although the computer screen in his office hurt his eyes. This irritated him enormously, since a whole new computer system had been purchased just this past summer. Each shop had a terminal and a laser printer. Each computer could talk to every other computer. The cost just about sent Brother Frank over the edge. This expensive purchase did help keep track of sales and accounts, though. Much time was saved in each of the shops. And Brother Frank could keep current with each day’s financial activities. That was all to the good, but the screen still hurt his eyes.
Some men retreat to a monastery for a life of contemplation, hoping to find a peace, an understanding, a closeness to God. Brother Frank had arrived out of profound
Similar Books
