The Plague of Doves Read Online Free PDF

made him look ridiculous. “Which would be something…”
    “Tragic!” said Joseph. He tried to cover a snorting laugh with several quick card shuffles.
    “Tragic…as we’d end up in the bad place without warning, were we to die!”
    “Could these impure thoughts send us to hell?”
    Paralyzed with alarm, both men sat bolt upright. The priest frowned cross-eyed into his empty glass and Mooshum neatly filled it.
    “Concupiscence,” said Father Cassidy, raising one finger beside the glass, which he held slightly out at the level of his clerical collar. With his other hand, he tugged at the collar itself, as though it was tightening. “From the Latin, concu piss erry , I believe, meaning, ah, to dwell upon unclean emissions in one’s past or to anticipate such as…any act of imaginary or ejaculatory fornication. Bluntly speaking!”
    “Ah, fornication!” The brothers grew animated and tipped their glasses to each other, then to Father Cassidy, who inadvertently tipped his in automatic fellowship and then stared confusedly down, mumbling, “from the Latin…”
    “From the Latin forn , as in foreign , for relations with foreigners,” cried Joseph.
    “Ho, ho!” exclaimed the brothers, toasting again as Joseph set his cards down and skimmed out the door.
    I quickly followed, but Father Cassidy and Mama were out the door right behind us and Mama said, “Now you two stop right there, and apologize to Father.” But Father Cassidy, perhaps to prove what a horse-savvy Montanan he was, strode up behind us with his great chin of dough bulging over his collar and said, “No need, no need, yours, eh? Nice little docile scrub ponies, awful conformation, of course, positively knock-kneed and they do need the currycomb something worse.” A nasty light sparked in the long-necked pinto’s eye. Father Cassidy stepped up to her face and put his hand out. Quick as a rattlesnake, she struck and crushed his fleshy bicep in her teeth. Father Cassidy screamed and began to skip in place. But the mare held on firmly, like a mother might grip a naughty boy. Father Cassidytried to swat her nose with his open hand. Her eye rolled back, she gave some coughing grunts that sounded like sobs of laughter, and bit down harder before she finally released his arm. There was hot shock in Father Cassidy’s eyes.
    “Oh,” said Mama, “I am so sorry, Father. Please come back in and let me ice that little nip.”
    “Little nip!” cried Father Cassidy. He clapped his hand over his upper arm as if to keep the meat of it in place and was edging backwards now, heading for his automobile, which was parked in the road before our house. “Good-bye, Clemence, much gratified, the drop did no harm. Aghhh. Who knew I’d need the anesthetic!”
    “From the Latin anesthed , meaning numskull,” said Joseph to me.
    Father Cassidy got into the car. “Tell your father and his brother that they flirt with damnation by resisting Mass!”
    “I’ll tell them, Father, yes, don’t you worry.”
    Mama stepped forward to wave politely to Father Cassidy, and by the time she’d turned around to come at us full steam we’d mounted up and sped away. So I believe on that day she walked into the house and poured her frustration out on her father and her uncle, even though she was normally gentle with the two old men, whom she loved as greatly as she loved us. They were chastened and quiet when we returned for supper. Shamengwa stayed on because she had not allowed him to “slink off,” as she put it. The television blared out and the picture scrolled slowly along, edging up the screen and sticking halfway so that a woman’s legs would be on top of her talking head. Then her head would rise and the legs would tremble for one moment beneath her, until her head disappeared and popped up below. The two old men leaned back and closed their eyes, unable to bear the disorienting sight. They fell asleep. They were snoring lightly in profound innocence.
     
    THAT WAS