Read Online Captain Corelli's mandolin by Louis De Bernières - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Louis De Bernières
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he could be sure that the flow of penitent presents had ceased. He began to regret vehemently the bottle he had drunk before coming out; `This is the retribution of God against the bibulous,' he thought, `I will never touch another drop.'
He prayed to St Gerasimos for relief.
Upon conclusion of the prayer he was visited by, inspiration. Out in the church was a large supply of bottles. He listened intently for the approach of footsteps, heard none, and nipped out as quickly as his girth would permit. He waddled rapidly to the entrance, leaned down painfully for a bottle, and then retreated to his concealment behind the screen. He pulled the cork with his teeth and considered the next problem; in order to be able to employ the bottle it would have to be empty. What could he do with the wine? It seemed a shame to waste it. He tipped back the bottle and poured it down his throat. Rivulets of the sweet liquid tunnelled down his beard and onto his cassock. He inspected the bottle, found one or two drops left, and shook them with a flourish into his mouth.
Father Arsenios peeped through the hole to ensure that he would not be heard, lifted his cassock, and released a formidable stream of urine into the bottle. It hammered against the glass of the bottom, and then splashed and hissed as the bottle filled. He noted with alarm that as the neck of the vessel narrowed, it filled at as exponential rare. `They should make bottles uniformly cylindrical,' reflected the priest, and was promptly taken by surprise. He rubbed the splashback into the dust of the floor with his foot, and realised that he would have to wait in the church until the damp patches on his robes had dried. `A priest,' he thought, `cannot be seen to have pissed himself.'
He put the bottle of urine down and reseated himself. Someone came in and left him a pair of socks.
A quarter of an hour passed, and Velisarios came in, hoping to apologise in person. He looked in the campanile and in the main body of the church, and was about to leave when he heard a long and gurgling belch emanate from behind the screen.
`Patir?' called Velisarios. `I have come to apologise.'
`Go away,' came the petulant reply, and then, `I am trying to pray.'
'But Patir, I want to apologise and kiss your hand.'
`I can't come out. For various reasons.'
Velisarios scratched his head, `What reasons?'
'Religious ones. Besides, I don't feel well.'
`Do you want me to fetch Doctor Iannis?'
`No.'
`I apologise, Patir, for what I did, and to make amends I have left you a bottle of wine. I will pray to God to forgive me.'
He left the church and returned to the donor's house to see how Mandras was getting on, finding him gazing at Pelagia with positively canine adoration. He went to tell the doctor that the priest was unwell.
Father Arsenios was finding that his solution to the problem of a distended bladder was itself the cause of further distension. After Velisarios' departure he had emptied another book, and refilled it with the transmogrified produce of the previous one. This time his aim, his balance, and his judgement of the right moment at which to stop all lacked even the suspect precision of the earlier enterprise. There was further mess to be rubbed into the dust with his foot, and more dampening of the robe. Arsenios resented himself blearily, and began to feel nauseous. He slipped heavily off the stool, bruising his coccyx, and was woken twenty minutes later by the urgent need to empty and refill another bottle. He vowed to stop before the narrowing neck could create another venturi effect, but was so oppressed by now with high pressure that once more his judgement failed. Dismally.
Dr Iannis walked to the church in the transparent light of the 39 afternoon. On weekdays he wore the kind of clothes that peasants wore on holidays and church days; a bedraggled black suit with shiny patches, and a collarless shirt, black shoes embellished with dust and scuffs, and a wide-brimmed hat. He was
He prayed to St Gerasimos for relief.
Upon conclusion of the prayer he was visited by, inspiration. Out in the church was a large supply of bottles. He listened intently for the approach of footsteps, heard none, and nipped out as quickly as his girth would permit. He waddled rapidly to the entrance, leaned down painfully for a bottle, and then retreated to his concealment behind the screen. He pulled the cork with his teeth and considered the next problem; in order to be able to employ the bottle it would have to be empty. What could he do with the wine? It seemed a shame to waste it. He tipped back the bottle and poured it down his throat. Rivulets of the sweet liquid tunnelled down his beard and onto his cassock. He inspected the bottle, found one or two drops left, and shook them with a flourish into his mouth.
Father Arsenios peeped through the hole to ensure that he would not be heard, lifted his cassock, and released a formidable stream of urine into the bottle. It hammered against the glass of the bottom, and then splashed and hissed as the bottle filled. He noted with alarm that as the neck of the vessel narrowed, it filled at as exponential rare. `They should make bottles uniformly cylindrical,' reflected the priest, and was promptly taken by surprise. He rubbed the splashback into the dust of the floor with his foot, and realised that he would have to wait in the church until the damp patches on his robes had dried. `A priest,' he thought, `cannot be seen to have pissed himself.'
He put the bottle of urine down and reseated himself. Someone came in and left him a pair of socks.
A quarter of an hour passed, and Velisarios came in, hoping to apologise in person. He looked in the campanile and in the main body of the church, and was about to leave when he heard a long and gurgling belch emanate from behind the screen.
`Patir?' called Velisarios. `I have come to apologise.'
`Go away,' came the petulant reply, and then, `I am trying to pray.'
'But Patir, I want to apologise and kiss your hand.'
`I can't come out. For various reasons.'
Velisarios scratched his head, `What reasons?'
'Religious ones. Besides, I don't feel well.'
`Do you want me to fetch Doctor Iannis?'
`No.'
`I apologise, Patir, for what I did, and to make amends I have left you a bottle of wine. I will pray to God to forgive me.'
He left the church and returned to the donor's house to see how Mandras was getting on, finding him gazing at Pelagia with positively canine adoration. He went to tell the doctor that the priest was unwell.
Father Arsenios was finding that his solution to the problem of a distended bladder was itself the cause of further distension. After Velisarios' departure he had emptied another book, and refilled it with the transmogrified produce of the previous one. This time his aim, his balance, and his judgement of the right moment at which to stop all lacked even the suspect precision of the earlier enterprise. There was further mess to be rubbed into the dust with his foot, and more dampening of the robe. Arsenios resented himself blearily, and began to feel nauseous. He slipped heavily off the stool, bruising his coccyx, and was woken twenty minutes later by the urgent need to empty and refill another bottle. He vowed to stop before the narrowing neck could create another venturi effect, but was so oppressed by now with high pressure that once more his judgement failed. Dismally.
Dr Iannis walked to the church in the transparent light of the 39 afternoon. On weekdays he wore the kind of clothes that peasants wore on holidays and church days; a bedraggled black suit with shiny patches, and a collarless shirt, black shoes embellished with dust and scuffs, and a wide-brimmed hat. He was
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