Read Online The Story of Her Holding an Orange by Milos Bogetic - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Milos Bogetic
Tags: Fiction
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to.”
They spoke for a few more minutes, and when my dad realized that he wasn’t getting either answers or a baptism for me, he took my hand and we left.
“What the hell did you do?” Dad asked me in the car, looking angry. I suppose the first logical assumption was that I somehow messed things up. Maybe he thought I pissed behind the church and got caught or something.
“I was with you the whole time,” I answered truthfully, which silenced him.
When we got home, my dad’s phone rang. It was Father Srdjan. He wanted us to come back without any further explanation. Now, the ride to Ostrog was a good 35 minutes long, but apparently, my dad really wanted me soaked in the holy water, so we got back into his old Volkswagen and got on the road. When we arrived at the church grounds, the priest was waiting for us.
“I decided to baptize your son despite…” said Srdjan while stroking his beard and looking away into the distance.
“Despite what?” asked my dad.
“Never mind. Let’s hurry.”
So I walked in circles while the priest spoke prayers I didn’t understand and sprayed me with holy water I didn’t want. When it was all done, he shook my dad’s hand and said, “Go now, and don’t come back unless something strange happens.”
I could tell that my dad wanted answers, but he was already irritated by the priest’s strange behavior, so he just made a donation to thank him for the services, and we left. That was twenty years ago.
I needed to know what Rose meant by “my priest,” so I begged my dad to go back to the church and see if the man who baptized me still worked there. After some talking into, my father finally caved in and went to Ostrog. Father Srdjan was still there, although retired. He now only lived on the premises. My dad said that the man was really unresponsive, but some convincing and a hefty donation made him open up.
I was baptized on February 13, 1992. One night, before the ceremony, “my” priest was handling his sheep at the field near the church. Back in the day, priests handled their own animals for food, not like today where they rock Cadillacs and iPhones. While working with the sheep, Father Srdjan noticed a dark figure in the distance. This was strange because the church premises had closed a few hours earlier and the rest of the clerical staff were already in their designated housing.
“Hello? Who is that?” he asked.
“Come, Father,” answered a calm, womanly voice from the dark.
Srdjan thought maybe a sick person or a beggar had wandered on the premises looking for help. This wasn’t all that uncommon. But as soon as he stepped towards the figure, he felt something “unholy”, as he said. He claimed that the sheep started acting scared, and he wasn’t doing much better.
“What is it that you want?” asked the priest in an aggressive, confident voice. He had a strong feeling that he wasn’t dealing with a well-meaning individual, and he wanted to show that he wasn’t afraid.
“Tomorrow,” answered the voice, “tomorrow, a boy will come to your church. His name is Milos. You will not baptize him.”
Srdjan told my father that, despite all of the unholy things he encountered in his life, including many exorcisms, he felt scared.
“You and your kind aren’t welcome on God’s ground,” the priest said.
“My kind, Father?” asked the woman, stepping forward. Father said she looked white as a ghost, with eyes that gave away her lack of a soul. “And what would my kind be?”
“You demons.”
She laughed.
“Demons? Father, I know you’re a man of the cloth, but believing in demons? That demands a lot of faith.”
“Leave, now!” yelled the priest, raising his golden crucifix towards her.
“Listen to me, you pitiful man, you don’t know what you have here. You had better do as I say, or you will never sleep peacefully again.”
Then, she turned around and left. Srdjan stood there for quite some time, shaking in fear for the
They spoke for a few more minutes, and when my dad realized that he wasn’t getting either answers or a baptism for me, he took my hand and we left.
“What the hell did you do?” Dad asked me in the car, looking angry. I suppose the first logical assumption was that I somehow messed things up. Maybe he thought I pissed behind the church and got caught or something.
“I was with you the whole time,” I answered truthfully, which silenced him.
When we got home, my dad’s phone rang. It was Father Srdjan. He wanted us to come back without any further explanation. Now, the ride to Ostrog was a good 35 minutes long, but apparently, my dad really wanted me soaked in the holy water, so we got back into his old Volkswagen and got on the road. When we arrived at the church grounds, the priest was waiting for us.
“I decided to baptize your son despite…” said Srdjan while stroking his beard and looking away into the distance.
“Despite what?” asked my dad.
“Never mind. Let’s hurry.”
So I walked in circles while the priest spoke prayers I didn’t understand and sprayed me with holy water I didn’t want. When it was all done, he shook my dad’s hand and said, “Go now, and don’t come back unless something strange happens.”
I could tell that my dad wanted answers, but he was already irritated by the priest’s strange behavior, so he just made a donation to thank him for the services, and we left. That was twenty years ago.
I needed to know what Rose meant by “my priest,” so I begged my dad to go back to the church and see if the man who baptized me still worked there. After some talking into, my father finally caved in and went to Ostrog. Father Srdjan was still there, although retired. He now only lived on the premises. My dad said that the man was really unresponsive, but some convincing and a hefty donation made him open up.
I was baptized on February 13, 1992. One night, before the ceremony, “my” priest was handling his sheep at the field near the church. Back in the day, priests handled their own animals for food, not like today where they rock Cadillacs and iPhones. While working with the sheep, Father Srdjan noticed a dark figure in the distance. This was strange because the church premises had closed a few hours earlier and the rest of the clerical staff were already in their designated housing.
“Hello? Who is that?” he asked.
“Come, Father,” answered a calm, womanly voice from the dark.
Srdjan thought maybe a sick person or a beggar had wandered on the premises looking for help. This wasn’t all that uncommon. But as soon as he stepped towards the figure, he felt something “unholy”, as he said. He claimed that the sheep started acting scared, and he wasn’t doing much better.
“What is it that you want?” asked the priest in an aggressive, confident voice. He had a strong feeling that he wasn’t dealing with a well-meaning individual, and he wanted to show that he wasn’t afraid.
“Tomorrow,” answered the voice, “tomorrow, a boy will come to your church. His name is Milos. You will not baptize him.”
Srdjan told my father that, despite all of the unholy things he encountered in his life, including many exorcisms, he felt scared.
“You and your kind aren’t welcome on God’s ground,” the priest said.
“My kind, Father?” asked the woman, stepping forward. Father said she looked white as a ghost, with eyes that gave away her lack of a soul. “And what would my kind be?”
“You demons.”
She laughed.
“Demons? Father, I know you’re a man of the cloth, but believing in demons? That demands a lot of faith.”
“Leave, now!” yelled the priest, raising his golden crucifix towards her.
“Listen to me, you pitiful man, you don’t know what you have here. You had better do as I say, or you will never sleep peacefully again.”
Then, she turned around and left. Srdjan stood there for quite some time, shaking in fear for the
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