Complete Short Stories by Robert Graves Page A

gentlemen whom we sandbagged in Barcelona during General Goded’s visit, and kept them in our pockets in case of need. But get on with your prayer, without unseemly laughter, because the dawn, of which you will not see the corresponding sunrise, is nearly here.”
    ‘I was trembling like a valleypoplar in the sea-breeze, yet would not admit to myself that my last five minutes had come. There was still hope of rescue; for, as I say, I know this region well, and all that normally happens here, day and night. So I advanced alone to the
mirador
and made my genuflexion to the East, as if in Church, and then settled down to pray with my head on the bench where you were seated just now. I prayedin a low, clear voice so that the gunmen should hear every word. My brain was working with great clarity, though my body was shaken with spasms.
    ‘“Most blessed and illustrious Saint Peter,” I prayed, “you who jangle at your belt the great keys of Heaven, the silver and the gold! Most merciful and humane Saint, once the chief of sinners – your colleague Paul alone excepted – insomuch as you cursedand swore from first cockcrow to second cockcrow, denying our Saviour Jesus Christ. Deign to listen to one who is neither a great saint nor a great sinner, but a villager of villagers who calls upon you in his extreme hour of necessity. Permit me respectfully to remind your Holiness that your servant has a peculiar lien upon your care. He is called by your name; he was born upon the very daywhich you share with your colleague St Paul; he was baptized in the Parish Church of which you are patron; and for the last ten years, as the senior Pedro in the village has been your
Obrero
– he has been charged with the organization of your annual fiesta, when we glorify your name with a religious service, a candled procession, and with dances, fireworks, a football match and agreeable diversionsfor the children in the Plaza.”
    ‘“Eloquent, is he not?” interrupted the younger gunman, tossing a pebble at me. “He prays like a bishop’s bastard.”
    ‘“Leave him alone,” said the elder. “This is as good as the graveyard scene in
Don Juan Tenorio.
”
    ‘“Peter, Peter!” I continued. “Magnanimous Apostle, who alone of the Twelve had the guts of a man and dared draw a sword in defence of your innocentMaster, when the gangsters came to arrest him a little before dawn on Holy Friday. Glorious Saint, whose name signified ‘The Rock,’ upon you I build my hopes, and call upon you with all my heart and soul. It is for no favour at the Celestial Gates that I am pleading: I ask for immediate help. I conjure you, beloved Patron, by the blue waters of the Galilean Lake, and the blue waters that surroundour island, until the other day called ‘The Island of Calm’; I conjure you, Saint, by the nets that you spread from the boat of Zebedee, your father, and by the nets that we spread from our boats at the Port for
salmonete
and the tunny; I conjure you by the silver coin which you found in the fish’s mouth, and by the silver coins which I yearly pay towards the upkeep of your Church and the gloryof your name – Peter, my Peter, come, be present, appear ! Help, Peter, help!” These last words I shouted with such passion that they could be heard a kilometre away.
    ‘“Silence, man!” exclaimed the elder gunman, flinging away his cigarette butt. “Come, Miguel, over the cliff with him.”
    ‘But I pointed with my finger: “Lo! Behold!” I cried.
    ‘They looked, and gaped with astonishment, and the youngergunman whimpered like a dog: “Alas! See who comes! You should never have allowed him to pray with such force.” Both stood irresolute, and in the silence that ensued I heard the distant crowing of a cock from Ca’n Bi, and the distant
pam-pam-pam
of a fishing boat as it chugged towards the Port with the night’s catch. I closed my eyes again, and waited.
    ‘“Hand over those pistols,” cried St Peter,waving his bundle of