Embracing Darkness Read Online Free PDF Page A

of where he was standing. He slowly brought his two fat thumbs and two stubby index fingers up to straighten it. Then Father Poole heard Father Carroll muttering to himself, “The complete and utter n-nonsense of bothering every w-week. I n-no longer have the f-fortitude. The s-sloppiness of it all.”
    Father Poole, taken completely aback by the news about his situation, neglected to keep out of the direction of Father Carroll’s awful breath and was immediately hit with a fresh gust of garlic and pickles.
    “The letter I received from Manchester told me I’d have a staff,” Father Poole informed Father Carroll.
    “STAFF! Ha! Th-that’s a good one,” Carroll blurted out.
    “They lied to me?” Father Poole said flatly in an incredulous voice.
    For a moment Father Poole thought that he was going to be reprimanded for speaking out against the Church, but instead Father Carroll laughed heartily. “Oh, they d-didn’t lie to you,” and gave another energetic laugh. “Y-y-you’ll have a staff, alr-right! Ha! Y-y-y-y-y-yeah.” Carroll closed his eyes once more to get out the “yeah.”
    Just then Father Carroll recognized a bit of patronizing remorse in the young priest’s eyes. He coldly shunned Father Poole, knowing this patronizing look very well. The old priest had seen it many times before in other people’s eyes, those who had felt sorry for him because he stammered. Yet as much as people pitied him, no one did anything to help him overcome it.
    There was Mr. Stevenson, the corner store owner who would give little Albert Carroll a piece of candy every day, more as an act of sympathy rather than because the boy had done something that merited the treat, such as receiving a perfect score on his homework or helping an old lady across the street.
    Then there was Mrs. Purdy, who always gave little Albert Carroll first pick of any batch of cookies fresh from her oven. Albert had heard her say once to a neighbor, just as he was coming up the stairs to see her, “I’m saving first choice as I always do for Mathilda Carroll’s boy. You know him, the one who always stutters.”
    With Albert Carroll people were either too kind or fantastically cruel. At sixty years old he couldn’t think of anyone in his life besides his parents who were good to him just for being himself. It’s no surprise that Albert turned to food at a young age as a source of comfort. By the time he was twelve years old, Albert Carroll was thirty pounds overweight, and his family doctor had told him privately, “At this rate you’re going to see God a lot sooner than your parents.”
    Dr. Burns had come to the Carroll home because Albert was stricken with a terrible bellyache, which kept him home from school one Thursday morning. The night before Albert had eaten an entire chocolate fudge cake that his mother had made for her Rotary Club meeting. Dr. Burns had given Mrs. Carroll a bottle of Paregoric, along with instructions, and all of this came after his dire prognosis.
    In a way Albert was grateful to his family physician. Although food would continue to be his constant companion, since no one else was going to be, Albert Carroll decided to get as close to God as he possibly could, so that when death came for him, whether at forty-five or fifty-eight, he’d go right on through into heaven without needing to endure the remission of his sins in Purgatory. If Dr. Burns had seen Albert Carroll outlive both his parents, he might have given up his practice or perhaps, less drastically, simply learned a better bedside manner.
    Father Poole started again, “A staff? Who? Where are they?”
    Father Carroll breathed heavily through his nose, adjusted his pants just below his bulky gut, and exhaled loudly. “Sister Mary Ignatius,” he said slowly.
    “Sister Mary Ignatius?” Father Poole echoed skeptically. Where on earth would a nun live? he wondered. There was no convent attached to the church.
    He was yanked out of his contemplation by Father