gesture with his hands which was valueless, because no one saw him-"everything." He said in a dull voice: "You. You there. I'll take you."
A woman screamed: "That's my boy. That's Miguel. You can't take my boy."
He said dully: "Every man here is somebody's husband or somebody's son. I know that."
The priest stood silently with his hands clasped: his knuckles whitened as he gripped... he could feel all round him the beginning of hate. Because he was no one's husband or son. He said: "Lieutenant...
"What do you want?"
"I'm getting too old to be much good in the fields. Take me." A rout of pigs came rushing round the corner of a hut, taking no notice of anybody. The soldier finished his puttee and stood up. The sunlight coming up above the forest winked on the bottles of the gaseosa stall.
The lieutenant said: "I'm choosing a hostage, not offering free board and lodging to the lazy. If you are no good in the fields, you are no good as a hostage." He gave an order. "Tie the man's hands and bring him along."
It took no time at all for the police to be gone-they took with them two or three chickens, a turkey, and the man called Miguel. The priest said aloud: "I did my best." He went on: "It's your job-to give me up. What do you expect me to do? It's my job not to be caught."
One of the men said: "That's all right, father. Only will you be careful... to see that you don't leave any wine behind... like you did at Conception?"
Another said: "It's no good staying, father. They'll get you in the end. They won't forget your face again. Better go north, to the mountains. Over the border."
"It's a fine state over the border," a woman said. "They've still got churches there. Nobody can go in them, of course-but they are there. Why, I've heard that there are priests too in the towns. A cousin of mine went over the mountains to Las Casas once and heard Mass-in a house, with a proper altar, and the priest all dressed up like in the old days. You'd be happy there, father."
The priest followed Maria to the hut. The bottle of brandy lay on the table: he touched it with his fingers-there wasn't much left. He said: "My case, Maria? Where's my case?"
"It's too dangerous to carry that around any more," Maria said.
"How else can I take the wine?" "There isn't any wine."
"What do you mean?"
She said: "I'm not going to bring trouble on you and everyone else. I've broken the bottle. Even if it brings a curse..." He said gently and sadly: "You mustn't be superstitious. That was simply-wine. There's nothing sacred in wine. Only it's hard to get hold of here. That's why I kept a store of it in Concepcion. But they've found that."
"Now perhaps you'll go-go away altogether. You're no good any more to anyone," she said fiercely. "Don't you understand, father? We don't want you any more."
"Oh, yes," he said. "I understand. But it's not what you want-or I want..."
She said savagely: "I know about things. I went to school. I'm not like these others-ignorant. I know you're a bad priest. That time we were together-I bet that wasn't all you've done. I've heard things, I can tell you. Do you think God wants you to stay and die-a whisky priest like you?" He stood patiently in front of her, as he had stood in front of the lieutenant, listening. He hadn't known she was capable of all this thought. She said: "Suppose you die. You'll be a martyr, won't you? What kind of a martyr do you think you'll make? It's enough to make people mock."
That had never occurred to him-that anybody would consider him a martyr. He said: "It's difficult. Very difficult. I'll think about it. I wouldn't want the Church to be mocked. …"
"Think about it over the border then..."
"Well..."
She said: "When you-know-what happened, I was proud. I thought the good days would come back. It's not everyone who's a priest's woman. And the child... I thought you could do a lot for her. But you might as well be a thief for all the good..."
He said vaguely: "There've been a lot of
A woman screamed: "That's my boy. That's Miguel. You can't take my boy."
He said dully: "Every man here is somebody's husband or somebody's son. I know that."
The priest stood silently with his hands clasped: his knuckles whitened as he gripped... he could feel all round him the beginning of hate. Because he was no one's husband or son. He said: "Lieutenant...
"What do you want?"
"I'm getting too old to be much good in the fields. Take me." A rout of pigs came rushing round the corner of a hut, taking no notice of anybody. The soldier finished his puttee and stood up. The sunlight coming up above the forest winked on the bottles of the gaseosa stall.
The lieutenant said: "I'm choosing a hostage, not offering free board and lodging to the lazy. If you are no good in the fields, you are no good as a hostage." He gave an order. "Tie the man's hands and bring him along."
It took no time at all for the police to be gone-they took with them two or three chickens, a turkey, and the man called Miguel. The priest said aloud: "I did my best." He went on: "It's your job-to give me up. What do you expect me to do? It's my job not to be caught."
One of the men said: "That's all right, father. Only will you be careful... to see that you don't leave any wine behind... like you did at Conception?"
Another said: "It's no good staying, father. They'll get you in the end. They won't forget your face again. Better go north, to the mountains. Over the border."
"It's a fine state over the border," a woman said. "They've still got churches there. Nobody can go in them, of course-but they are there. Why, I've heard that there are priests too in the towns. A cousin of mine went over the mountains to Las Casas once and heard Mass-in a house, with a proper altar, and the priest all dressed up like in the old days. You'd be happy there, father."
The priest followed Maria to the hut. The bottle of brandy lay on the table: he touched it with his fingers-there wasn't much left. He said: "My case, Maria? Where's my case?"
"It's too dangerous to carry that around any more," Maria said.
"How else can I take the wine?" "There isn't any wine."
"What do you mean?"
She said: "I'm not going to bring trouble on you and everyone else. I've broken the bottle. Even if it brings a curse..." He said gently and sadly: "You mustn't be superstitious. That was simply-wine. There's nothing sacred in wine. Only it's hard to get hold of here. That's why I kept a store of it in Concepcion. But they've found that."
"Now perhaps you'll go-go away altogether. You're no good any more to anyone," she said fiercely. "Don't you understand, father? We don't want you any more."
"Oh, yes," he said. "I understand. But it's not what you want-or I want..."
She said savagely: "I know about things. I went to school. I'm not like these others-ignorant. I know you're a bad priest. That time we were together-I bet that wasn't all you've done. I've heard things, I can tell you. Do you think God wants you to stay and die-a whisky priest like you?" He stood patiently in front of her, as he had stood in front of the lieutenant, listening. He hadn't known she was capable of all this thought. She said: "Suppose you die. You'll be a martyr, won't you? What kind of a martyr do you think you'll make? It's enough to make people mock."
That had never occurred to him-that anybody would consider him a martyr. He said: "It's difficult. Very difficult. I'll think about it. I wouldn't want the Church to be mocked. …"
"Think about it over the border then..."
"Well..."
She said: "When you-know-what happened, I was proud. I thought the good days would come back. It's not everyone who's a priest's woman. And the child... I thought you could do a lot for her. But you might as well be a thief for all the good..."
He said vaguely: "There've been a lot of
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