“You there!” Father Bartholomew shouted, pointing a wobbly finger at Canseco.
Four boys stood up.
Father closed his eyes and said a prayer. His large hands were trembling, and he could not hold his index finger steady. The boys were making sport of it.
“Was it me you called, Father?”
“At your service, Father!”
Father Bart’s sermons, no matter how diplomatically he phrased them, revealed an affinity for the poor that disturbed the civic leadership of the communities to which he was assigned. That was bad for the Catholic Church, and worse for Father Bart. His superiors worked hard to keep him alive during a time when Catholic priests were getting assassinated for the content of their sermons. They moved him from parish to parish well into his 70’s. Finally the Cardinal of Lima told him that if he wished to continue risking life and limb, he may as well try his hand at educating the boys of La Virgen del Pinar.
Excerpt from Chapter 34, Ghecko on God, in Part II of Tocayos, which I hope to publish in 2016.
And, as so often happens in Catholic school and horror movies, a figure materialized on the teacher’s platform. No one saw or heard him walk in. A little unsettled, one by one we, the students, we turned in our seats to face the apparition. He was a towering man in a dull black cassock and crisp white priests’ collar. His giant hands clasped a bedraggled Bible against the front of his body. He was completely bald. He was ancient, and his old cassock hung thinly over his broad, bony shoulders, the sleeves not long enough to cover his arms or hide his powerful hands. Though 2 meters of height, he stood straight as a redwood. A priest that tall had to be North American, I thought, but his leathery skin was more olive than pink, and his features were almost indian, his eyes almost black.
He studied us with great concern, and remained silent until the last student had turned around.
“I am Father Bartolome,” he said in a voice that crumbled like old wood. “I am here to teach you social justice.”
Excerpt from Chapter 33, Burguese’s Lower Lip, in Part II of Tocayos, which I’ll publish in 2016. Part I is available from Smashwords.
Photo courtesy of Nice Cool Pics.
I stopped breathing. She was a beauty of such astonishment that my sense of time folded back over itself and I was suddenly unsure whether I was seeing her for the first time or remembering her from the moment of creation when God, as the centerpiece of his plan to make man strive for eternity, gave me a glimpse of the perfection that would remain forever out of my reach.
I had to see more of her. Her dark hair cascaded, thick and loose, to the middle of her shoulders. The face it framed was exquisite. I examined it like a reckless boy, jumping from the lips of a sculpture to the eyebrows of a movie star, skipping beneath the shadow of her hair and tracing the contour of her cheekbones to rest again on her lips, where I paused to breathe many times. I lingered in a state of awe along her elegant jaw line, moving aside her hair with the back of my hand to reveal the earlobes of an angel, pierced with a single pearl. Hidden from the world beneath the curtain of her hair I kissed the length of her neck until the gymnasium swayed. Leaning back, I stared into her eyes. Chocolate brown like her hair, they were priceless gems that defeated space, collapsing the distance of the court between them. Them? Between them? Why not between us? No! She was staring at Charly!
Excerpt from Chapter 10, the Gospel According to Carlos, from Part I of Tocayos. Part I is available from Smashwords. I will publish Part II and a hardcover version of both parts in 2016.