‘Would a figment of your sinful imagination have kicked you in the behind?’
‘Um…probably not.’
‘There you are.’
‘But…but…’ The priest’s eyes didn’t seem to be able to make up their minds whether they wanted to fasten on me or jump out of his head and run away as fast as possible. They flickered back and forth with amazing speed. It wasn’t really as if he wanted to stare. It was more as if he really, really didn’t, but had to, just in order to make sure that what he was seeing was really there. ‘But you’re a senhora, a lady in a…a nightshirt!’
He looked as if he felt sinful even saying the word. I hurried to reassure him.
‘Oh, that’s not a nightshirt. It’s a chemise. You know, it’s what women usually have under all their other clothing during the day. You just don’t usually see it, unless they take everything else off.’
This didn’t seem to reassure him a lot.
‘Pai nosso, que estais no céu
Santificado seja o Vosso nome,
Venha a nós o Vosso reino…’
‘Are you starting with that again? I thought we had established that I am not a satanic vision sent to tempt you.’
‘I would not be so sure about that, if I were you,’ Karim advised the priest.
‘Oh, shut up, you!’
For the first time, the priest noticed the third member of our little band. His jaw dropped in horror. ‘A heathen!’
Karim gave him a hard stare. ‘That’s a matter of opinion, Kafir.’[17]
‘Deus, me ajude!’ The priest’s eyes flickered fearfully from me to Mr Ambrose to Karim, and back to me again. ‘What kind of embassy from the pit has come to tempt me off the path of righteousness?’
‘A very busy one.’ Mr Ambrose stepped forward. ‘So, if you’ll just give us what I told you we want, father, we’ll be out of your hair.’ He eyed the priest’s receding hairline. ‘Inasmuch as you still have any.’
Grabbing the doorframe of his little hut, the priest pulled himself up on his feet again. His gaze went from me to Mr Ambrose once more, and he seemed to realise that we were not about to try and tempt him into satanic rituals.
‘Ehem.’ He did his best to rally. ‘You should not seek what you want, my son. For, as the Evangelist Timothy says, the desire of money is the root of all evils; which some coveting have erred from the faith, and have entangled themselves in…’
‘Why don’t you just get on with your praying and we’ll get on with our coveting?’ Mr Ambrose cut him off. ‘We won’t take up much of your time. We only need directions.’
‘Directions? Um…I see. Well.’ The priest seemed to be floundering, abruptly cut off in his delivery. But he caught himself tolerably well. ‘Err…certainly. As you wish. Who am I to deny you help in finding your way? For, as the good book says Show, O Lord, thy ways to me, and teach me thy paths. Direct me in thy truth, and teach me; for thou art God my Saviour; and on thee have I…’
‘Yes, quite, quite. Can we get on with it, father?’
‘Err…yes. Certainly, yes. Please, come into my humble abode, and we will discuss everything like civilised men.’
‘And women!’ I added sharply.
The priest’s eyes slid over me in my ragged, stained chemise, rather doubtfully. ‘Um…yes. Civilised women. Of course. Please, follow me.’
*~*~**~*~*
We followed Father Marcos, for that was his name, into the little two-room cabin, where he served us a meal of corn bread, water and biblical quotations. Except for the fact that he repeatedly tried to foist clothes on me which, really, in this hot weather, were completely unnecessary, he was a model host. I had figured out by now that Father Marcos was not our final destination. It hadn’t really been hard. I remembered Mr Ambrose’s words exactly.
We’ll be going deep into potential enemy territory, giving ourselves into the power of people we don’t know and cannot trust.
Father Marcos looked as hostile as Baby Jesus and as untrustworthy as St Peter waiting for you with a smile at the gates of Heaven. Whoever we must be headed towards, it was not Father Marcos. Oh no, he was just supposed to point us in the right direction - a fact that puzzled me exceedingly. How could anyone as harmless and as peaceful as this little priest know anyone dangerous and wily enough to make Mr Rikkard Ambrose hesitate?
I wasn’t going to find out any time soon. After the meal, when I was ready to start pelting Mr Ambrose and the priest with questions, Mr Ambrose rose abruptly and tugged him off into the next room. Father Marcos looked only too happy to be dragged out of sight of female temptation. The moment the door shut behind them, I sprang up and ran over to it, pressing my ear against the rough wooden planks.