Read Online The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse by Louise Erdrich - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Louise Erdrich
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fumbled two letter-folded pages from his gown and thrust them at Father Miller, who read in some bewilderment.
Most Estimable Pontiff,
Having revealed to you the specifics of my story, it is my profound hope that you will take into consideration my motives in assuming the identity of your drowned and wretched servant Modeste. I can only think how heavily my unusual act must weigh upon your sense of the right and proper order of your servants’ vocations. However, should you be indisposed to mercy, may I request that you take into consideration the seven principal goods I have accomplished on this most lonely of God’s outposts?
Number one: I have vanquished the devil, who has come to me in the form of a black dog.
I have also contained, discharged, influenced, and negated the dangerous pieties of a nun of questionable allegiance (this requires a separate letter).
Two: I have caused there to be cleanly disposal of wastes that threatened the health of our parish. I have made improvements in the style, location, and comfort of the venerable institution known as the outhouse.
Three: I have introduced the wholesome peanut to the diet of the indigenes.
Four: I have willingly exchanged my prospects for eternal joy in return for the salvation of the soul of one of the more troublesome of my charges (who loves me but who doesn’t in the least appreciate my sacrifice).
Five: In resolving a specific injustice levied by the ignorance of government officials, I have assisted in attempting to add twelve townships to the tribal land base.
Six: Although my mind is a tissue of holes, I have learned something of the formidable language of my people, and translated catechism as well as specific teachings. I have also rendered into English certain points of their own philosophy that illuminate the precious being of the Holy Ghost.
Seven: I have discovered an unlikely truth that may interest Your Holiness. The ordinary as well as esoteric forms of worship engaged in by the Ojibwe are sound, even compatible with the teachings of Christ.
Lastly, this. May I ask if you would be so specifically kind as to answer this letter!
I remain, a hopeful penitent,
Yours in the Lamb.
Father Damien Modeste
As though suddenly realizing he had broken some taboo, the old priest snatched the letter from Jude Miller’s hands.
“Who are you?”
Trying to regain his balance, Father Jude introduced himself.
“Believe it or not,” he said, with self-deprecating amusement, “I am sent here by the Vatican.”
There was an eerie sweep of wind through the trees. Then silence. The old priest took this news like an electric blow and went rigid in his chair. The current of the statement so held him that Father Jude became concerned, at last, that the old priest’s heart had seized. Just as he was reaching forward to take his pulse, Father Damien sagged forward onto his knees. Arms outstretched, he tried to speak but could not, although an odd sound caught in his throat, eft, eft . His head nodded back and forth, slowly, unbelievingly. An expression of wordless wonder gradually fixed itself onto his features and then joy welled in Father Damien’s eyes, spilled over, sank down his cheeks.
A good long while passed before Father Jude Miller dared address the old priest again, for the palpitations of the old man’s frail heart caused a dizzy sweat and then his lungs, brittle with age, shuddered in his chest like rawhide sacks and refused to inflate properly. But, although when he tried to speak, Father Damien’s skin mottled and his lips went cyotic blue, he managed to welcome the visitor he believed had come straight from the Pope. He even managed to address him in Italian phrases he had memorized for the occasion. All of this alarmed Jude, but just as he was about to rush for the phone to summon an ambulance from the reservation hospital, Father Damien emitted a huge dragging cough. Loud as a death rattle, it had the effect of clearing his chest and restoring
Most Estimable Pontiff,
Having revealed to you the specifics of my story, it is my profound hope that you will take into consideration my motives in assuming the identity of your drowned and wretched servant Modeste. I can only think how heavily my unusual act must weigh upon your sense of the right and proper order of your servants’ vocations. However, should you be indisposed to mercy, may I request that you take into consideration the seven principal goods I have accomplished on this most lonely of God’s outposts?
Number one: I have vanquished the devil, who has come to me in the form of a black dog.
I have also contained, discharged, influenced, and negated the dangerous pieties of a nun of questionable allegiance (this requires a separate letter).
Two: I have caused there to be cleanly disposal of wastes that threatened the health of our parish. I have made improvements in the style, location, and comfort of the venerable institution known as the outhouse.
Three: I have introduced the wholesome peanut to the diet of the indigenes.
Four: I have willingly exchanged my prospects for eternal joy in return for the salvation of the soul of one of the more troublesome of my charges (who loves me but who doesn’t in the least appreciate my sacrifice).
Five: In resolving a specific injustice levied by the ignorance of government officials, I have assisted in attempting to add twelve townships to the tribal land base.
Six: Although my mind is a tissue of holes, I have learned something of the formidable language of my people, and translated catechism as well as specific teachings. I have also rendered into English certain points of their own philosophy that illuminate the precious being of the Holy Ghost.
Seven: I have discovered an unlikely truth that may interest Your Holiness. The ordinary as well as esoteric forms of worship engaged in by the Ojibwe are sound, even compatible with the teachings of Christ.
Lastly, this. May I ask if you would be so specifically kind as to answer this letter!
I remain, a hopeful penitent,
Yours in the Lamb.
Father Damien Modeste
As though suddenly realizing he had broken some taboo, the old priest snatched the letter from Jude Miller’s hands.
“Who are you?”
Trying to regain his balance, Father Jude introduced himself.
“Believe it or not,” he said, with self-deprecating amusement, “I am sent here by the Vatican.”
There was an eerie sweep of wind through the trees. Then silence. The old priest took this news like an electric blow and went rigid in his chair. The current of the statement so held him that Father Jude became concerned, at last, that the old priest’s heart had seized. Just as he was reaching forward to take his pulse, Father Damien sagged forward onto his knees. Arms outstretched, he tried to speak but could not, although an odd sound caught in his throat, eft, eft . His head nodded back and forth, slowly, unbelievingly. An expression of wordless wonder gradually fixed itself onto his features and then joy welled in Father Damien’s eyes, spilled over, sank down his cheeks.
A good long while passed before Father Jude Miller dared address the old priest again, for the palpitations of the old man’s frail heart caused a dizzy sweat and then his lungs, brittle with age, shuddered in his chest like rawhide sacks and refused to inflate properly. But, although when he tried to speak, Father Damien’s skin mottled and his lips went cyotic blue, he managed to welcome the visitor he believed had come straight from the Pope. He even managed to address him in Italian phrases he had memorized for the occasion. All of this alarmed Jude, but just as he was about to rush for the phone to summon an ambulance from the reservation hospital, Father Damien emitted a huge dragging cough. Loud as a death rattle, it had the effect of clearing his chest and restoring
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