I was outside St Cecilia’s Rectory
smoking a cigarette when a goat appeared beside me.
It was mostly black and white, with a little reddish
brown here and there. When I started to walk away,
it followed. I was amused and delighted, but wondered
what the laws were on this kind of thing. There’s
a leash law for dogs, but what about goats? People
smiled at me and admired the goat. ‘It’s not my goat,’
I explained. ‘It’s the town’s goat. I’m just taking
my turn caring for it.’ ‘I didn’t know we had a goat,’
one of them said. ‘I wonder when my turn is.’ ‘Soon,’
I said. ‘Be patient. Your time is coming.’ The goat
stayed by my side. It stopped when I stopped. It looked
up at me and I stared into its eyes. I felt he knew
everything essential about me. We walked on. A police-
man on his beat looked us over. ‘That’s a mighty
fine goat you got there,’ he said, stopping to admire.
‘It’s the town’s goat,’ I said. ‘His family goes back
three-hundred years with us,’ I said, ‘from the beginning.’
The officer leaned forward to touch him, then stopped
and looked up at me. ‘Mind if I pat him?’ he asked.
‘Touching this goat will change your life,’ I said.
‘It’s your decision.’ He thought real hard for a minute,
and then stood up and said, ‘What’s his name?’ ‘He’s
called the Prince of Peace,’ I said. ‘God! This town
is like a fairy tale. Everywhere you turn there’s mystery
and wonder. And I’m just a child playing cops and robbers
forever. Please forgive me if I cry.’ ‘We forgive you,
Officer,’ I said. ‘And we understand why you, more than
anybody, should never touch the Prince.’ The goat and
I walked on. It was getting dark and we were beginning
to wonder where we would spend the night.
JAMES TATE