Gospel Read Online Free PDF Page B

“All the Spanish and Italians and French, on their knees, weeping —what a show it can be when these foreign-student groups come through. Fifteen, sixteen years old, first time away from home, can’t stand our food, can’t stand our weather, so they come to St. Aloysius to weep.”
    Lucy took a small liqueur glass from the tray. It held a lavender aromatic liquor that seemed to taste of violets. It was called violette, explained the sister, a unique libation of Toulouse. “It was my turn this year to bring an aperitif. Each year,” she added, “three of us bring a bottle of something extraordinary, with an ecclesiastical past. Three for the trinity,” she added.
    â€œWhich is not a difficult task,” added Father Beaufoix, “since most libation was originated by the Church at one time or another.”
    â€œOnce, I recall,” said Dr. Gribbles, “ dear Patrick O’Hanrahan brought some moonshine from America, claiming we were to sample the wares of born-again Southern Baptists. Typical O’Hanrahan, I must say.”
    And speaking of the great man, he had arrived.
    Reunited with his companions for this one rare time a year transformed Dr. O’Hanrahan; his blue eyes seemed to be in some afterglow of a dirty joke. He wore a gray crumpled suit with a black tie and Lucy smiled, noting that his top shirt-button had long lost the ability to fasten and the tie was not pulled tight either. Rumpled though he was, what a sight! He hugged his old friends, pinched at Sister Marie-Berthe pantomiming reaching under her habit; his eyes crinkled as he trumpeted his loud war-cry laugh.
    Lucy hadn’t been detected yet. She was suddenly fearful that he would see her and make a public scene, banishing her from the festivities. Maybe she should defuse the situation by announcing her presence. She crept up on O’Hanrahan, as he and Father Beaufoix were talking:
    â€œPaddy,” said the Dominican, “you know you want to tell me what you’re after. Don’t tell me you’re chasing that worthless Acts of Stephen again. Mon ami, I have fifteen copies of that lying around in my office in Cairo.”
    â€œNo,” said O’Hanrahan, “no such latter-day riff-raff as Stephen for me. Nothing less than one of the Twelve.”
    Father Beaufoix laughed in O’Hanrahan’s face: “Pooh! You don’t believe you have found a real disciple’s gospel, do you?”
    â€œYou’ll read all about it one day, Philip, in the newspapers.”
    Father Beaufoix, despite the smiles, suddenly seemed to Lucy to be unpleasantly needling Dr. O’Hanrahan. “You’re sure you are really chasing a lost gospel, dear friend, or is this another one of your schemes to bankrupt your department? I suppose, this research trip,” continued the Dominican, patting O’Hanrahan’s belly, “just happens to take you to Rome and Paris and every five-star restaurant in between.”
    O’Hanrahan mustered a good-natured laugh.
    â€œAnd in any event,” Father Beaufoix bellowed, without malice, but offensively nonetheless, “who is going to write your book for you? Don’t tell me at seventy years old you will make your literary debut, n’est-ce pas? ”
    â€œYou’ll excuse me, Philip,” O’Hanrahan said, turning aside to intercept a waiter and his drinks tray but only discovering Lucy.
    â€œHello again,” she said with a weak smile. “Dr. Shaughnesy worked it out so I could attend.”
    â€œLucy, wasn’t it?” he breathed, with a trace of annoyance.
    â€œLook, if you want me to leave, I’ll leave—”
    â€œYeah, you can leave.”
    â€œI have to say, sir, that attending this banquet would be an unforgettable experience for me.”
    â€œWhat do you know about theology? Do you have a brain in your head?”
    â€œWell, I am a grad student at