Read Online A Flag for Sunrise by Robert Stone - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Stone
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self-satisfaction. A creep, was what she called him.
They talked for a while about American politics and Schleicher introduced the girl with him as a community planner. When their conversation ran thin, they all turned toward the interior of the church to look for more to talk about.
Inside, a great many people were crowded in a semicircle around the dead Cristo, kneeling on the floor.
“It’s an incredible statue,” Justin said. “Isn’t it strange to see him presented like that—I mean laid out ?”
“When I first saw it,” Schleicher said, “it reminded me of Che. You know, the picture taken after he was killed? It still makes me think of him.”
The Tecanecan girl smiled slightly and nodded.
“I wonder what it’s made of,” Justin said.
The Tecanecan girl laughed, a bit too merrily for Justin, and turned to Schleicher.
“It’s such a North American question,” the girl said. “What’s it made of?”
Schleicher laughed as though he thought it was such a North American question too.
“I’m like that,” Sister Justin said. “When I saw Notre DameCathedral I wondered what it weighed. We’re all like that where I come from.”
The girl’s laughter was a little less assured. Father Schleicher hastened to ask her where it was that she came from, but Justin ignored him. She had told him often enough before.
“Did you study in the States?” Justin asked the Tecanecan girl.
“Yes. Yes, in New Orleans. At Loyola.”
“That must have been fun,” Justin said. “Community planning.”
“Yes,” the girl said warily.
Godoy disengaged himself from the old Spaniards and joined them for a moment’s stiff exchange of pleasantries. Then he and Justin said their goodbyes and went back down the steps to the square. Justin found herself wondering whether the hip Father Schleicher might be sleeping with his young community planner. She sighed, despising her own petty malice. That night she was against anyone with a purpose to declare, anyone less lonely and beaten than herself.
The plaza was emptying as she and Godoy walked across it. Men approached them in the shadow of the trees, begging, calling for a blessing against bad visions from the cane alcohol. A youth warbled a birdcall after them and a woman laughed.
The crowds, the lights and the music were on the other side of the church now, where they had set up a market and a fun fair for the children. The trees had been stripped of garlands and lanterns by the crowd and the central street ran deserted toward the harsh bright lights of the company piers.
“Hungry?” Godoy asked.
Justin was not at all hungry but she supposed that he must be. She nodded pleasantly.
“We’ll give the kids some time at the games,” the priest said, “before we go and arrest them. Now we can go to the Chino’s if you like.”
The Chino’s was a restaurant that called itself the Gran Mura de China. It had a small balcony section with two tables that overlooked the harbor.
The lower floor of the Gran Mura de China was empty when they arrived; the Chino’s wife and daughter sat at a table stringing firecrackers. Justin and Godoy smiled at them and went upstairs to the balcony. They sat down and Godoy lighted a Winston.
“Do you know what Father Schleicher said about the image?” Justin asked Godoy. “He said he thought it looked like Che.”
Godoy looked at her evenly, unsmiling.
“Father Schleicher said that? Was he joking?”
“Not exactly joking. I think he had a point to make.”
“Iconography,” Godoy said vaguely, tapping his ash and looking out over the pier lights at the dark ocean.
After a minute the Chino’s daughter came up to serve them. Under her apron, the child wore a white party dress; she had been up to the plaza.
Godoy asked for shrimp and rice; Justin a bottle of Germania.
“You may have heard about our troubles,” Justin said, when they had ordered. She found the puzzled look Godoy gave her disingenuous. It was
They talked for a while about American politics and Schleicher introduced the girl with him as a community planner. When their conversation ran thin, they all turned toward the interior of the church to look for more to talk about.
Inside, a great many people were crowded in a semicircle around the dead Cristo, kneeling on the floor.
“It’s an incredible statue,” Justin said. “Isn’t it strange to see him presented like that—I mean laid out ?”
“When I first saw it,” Schleicher said, “it reminded me of Che. You know, the picture taken after he was killed? It still makes me think of him.”
The Tecanecan girl smiled slightly and nodded.
“I wonder what it’s made of,” Justin said.
The Tecanecan girl laughed, a bit too merrily for Justin, and turned to Schleicher.
“It’s such a North American question,” the girl said. “What’s it made of?”
Schleicher laughed as though he thought it was such a North American question too.
“I’m like that,” Sister Justin said. “When I saw Notre DameCathedral I wondered what it weighed. We’re all like that where I come from.”
The girl’s laughter was a little less assured. Father Schleicher hastened to ask her where it was that she came from, but Justin ignored him. She had told him often enough before.
“Did you study in the States?” Justin asked the Tecanecan girl.
“Yes. Yes, in New Orleans. At Loyola.”
“That must have been fun,” Justin said. “Community planning.”
“Yes,” the girl said warily.
Godoy disengaged himself from the old Spaniards and joined them for a moment’s stiff exchange of pleasantries. Then he and Justin said their goodbyes and went back down the steps to the square. Justin found herself wondering whether the hip Father Schleicher might be sleeping with his young community planner. She sighed, despising her own petty malice. That night she was against anyone with a purpose to declare, anyone less lonely and beaten than herself.
The plaza was emptying as she and Godoy walked across it. Men approached them in the shadow of the trees, begging, calling for a blessing against bad visions from the cane alcohol. A youth warbled a birdcall after them and a woman laughed.
The crowds, the lights and the music were on the other side of the church now, where they had set up a market and a fun fair for the children. The trees had been stripped of garlands and lanterns by the crowd and the central street ran deserted toward the harsh bright lights of the company piers.
“Hungry?” Godoy asked.
Justin was not at all hungry but she supposed that he must be. She nodded pleasantly.
“We’ll give the kids some time at the games,” the priest said, “before we go and arrest them. Now we can go to the Chino’s if you like.”
The Chino’s was a restaurant that called itself the Gran Mura de China. It had a small balcony section with two tables that overlooked the harbor.
The lower floor of the Gran Mura de China was empty when they arrived; the Chino’s wife and daughter sat at a table stringing firecrackers. Justin and Godoy smiled at them and went upstairs to the balcony. They sat down and Godoy lighted a Winston.
“Do you know what Father Schleicher said about the image?” Justin asked Godoy. “He said he thought it looked like Che.”
Godoy looked at her evenly, unsmiling.
“Father Schleicher said that? Was he joking?”
“Not exactly joking. I think he had a point to make.”
“Iconography,” Godoy said vaguely, tapping his ash and looking out over the pier lights at the dark ocean.
After a minute the Chino’s daughter came up to serve them. Under her apron, the child wore a white party dress; she had been up to the plaza.
Godoy asked for shrimp and rice; Justin a bottle of Germania.
“You may have heard about our troubles,” Justin said, when they had ordered. She found the puzzled look Godoy gave her disingenuous. It was
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