Chapter 11

           Itwasduskwhenthepriestcame.TheyhadbroughtthesoupandafterwardtakenawaythebowlsandIwaslyinglookingattherowsofbedsandoutthewindowatthetree-topthatmovedalittleintheeveningbreeze.Thebreezecameinthroughthewindowanditwascoolerwiththeevening.Theflieswereontheceilingnowandontheelectriclightbulbsthathungonwires.Thelightswereonlyturnedonwhensomeonewasbroughtinatnightorwhensomethingwasbeingdone.Itmademefeelveryyoungtohavethedarkcomeaftertheduskandthenremain.Itwaslikebeingputtobedafterearlysupper.Theorderlycamedownbetweenthebedsandstopped.Someonewaswithhim.Itwasthepriest.Hestoodtheresmall,brown-faced,andembarrassed.

           "Howdoyoudo?"heasked.Heputsomepackagesdownbythebed,onthefloor.

           "Allright,father."

           HesatdowninthechairthathadbeenbroughtforRinaldiandlookedoutofthewindowembarrassedly.Inoticedhisfacelookedverytired.

           "Icanonlystayaminute,"hesaid."Itislate."

           "It’snotlate.Howisthemess?"

           Hesmiled."Iamstillagreatjoke,"hesoundedtiredtoo."ThankGodtheyareallwell.

           "Iamsogladyouareallright,"hesaid."Ihopeyoudon’tsuffer."HeseemedverytiredandIwasnotusedtoseeinghimtired.

           "Notanymore."