8

Soon after dark one night, Pete was lying in his cell when he heard someone whistling. He rose and went to the window. The moon was out, so he could see that there was a figure standing at the gate. He stood in a pale moonbeam but his face was wreathed in darkness. Even so, the whites of his eyes shone through, as bright as stars. His whistle came in short, tuneless bursts, a few loose notes and then a long silence, over and over. It was no song Pete could name. After a long while, the man lit a cigarette. When he struck the match, Pete saw his face in the light of the flame. He wore a full black beard, and his hair was long and tangled. As he drew on the cigarette, Pete heard the rattle of his breath carrying across the distance. Pete shivered.

The next day the man came into the church just as Father Gabriel was beginning to speak. He wore overalls and soiled white sneakers, one of them unlaced. He sauntered in front of the altar, facing the assembly, and put his finger to his lips, making a long, quiet shushing noise. “What is this?” roared Father Gabriel. “Who in blazes are you?”

The man did not turn to look at him. “I am the saint with no name,” he said, “but you can call me Amos. I have come very far, from the other edge of the land. It is the eighth day of the ninth month of the tenth year, and I bring you news of the world. But not the one you can see. I bring you news of the real world.”

“Why do you all just sit there?” Father Gabriel thumped on the altar. “Somebody do something!”

“I do not set my face against you,” the stranger went on. “The revealed Word is not easy to hear but it will save us all. Follow me.” He walked slowly to the door and went out.

“Did he mean we were supposed to go after him?” Brother Walter asked meekly.

“Shut your gob, you simpleton,” howled Father Gabriel. “Who let this madman in? Do you think we can have crazy people coming in and out, on top of everything else? I will get to the bottom of this if it’s the last thing I do.”

“I found him sleeping in the bakery this morning,” said Brother James. “He told me he was hungry. I gave him food. We deal in charity here, Father.”

“Don’t talk to me about charity. The man is a loon. I can’t help it if everything’s gone to hell in a handbasket, but I’ll be damned if we will give refuge to a maniac. I am calling in the authorities.”

“Do you think that’s wise, Father?”

“I will be the judge of what is wise, Brother James.”