Bishop as Pawn Page 0,5

ago—to two parishes: St. John’s and Immaculate Conception … with disastrous consequences. The city leveled a whole area of what was called Poletown, so a Cadillac factory could be built there. It didn’t work to just about anyone’s satisfaction. And, as far as Bishop Diego is concerned, wherever he may want to go, I am simply not in his way.”

“You’re not going to deactivate the alarm system?” Carleson asked as he followed Koesler down the hall to St. Joe’s rectory kitchen.

“No. Mostly because we don’t have any.”

“You don’t have an alarm system?’

“No. Does Ste. Anne’s?”

“You betcha. State of the art.”

“I suppose we ought to get one. Just never got around to it.”

“Until you do, it might be a smart idea to leave some lights on when you’re out … to scare off the B-and-E’rs.”

“That is a good idea.” Koesler switched on the kitchen lights. Then, as an afterthought, in keeping with what had just been said, he went to turn on more lights in nearby rooms.

He returned to the kitchen. “How about a cup of coffee?”

“Sure.”

Koesler went to the stove and turned the heat on under a pot containing a dark liquid. “I’ll just heat this up.”

“Okay.”

Koesler was mildly surprised. Usually, visitors complained when he served coffee that had been made much earlier.

In quick order, the pot was steaming. Koesler poured two cups and set one before his guest. Carleson blew over the hot brew, tasted it, then smiled. So did Koesler. This was the first time in his memory that anyone had given even the appearance of actually liking his coffee, even when it was made from scratch.

Carleson had hung his hat on a peg near the door. But he hadn’t removed his coat.

“May I take your coat?” Koesler asked.

“Thanks, no. I’m comfortable. Actually, it’s kind of cold in here.”

Koesler immediately felt apologetic. “I turned up the thermostat. It should warm up soon. I usually let it go down to about sixty when I’m out. Otherwise, I keep it at about sixty-eight.”

Carleson hunched his shoulders. “It’s probably just me. I can’t seem to stay warm.”

“Actually, this is a fairly mild January. It can get bone-chillingly cold these next couple of months, especially for us. Both my parish and yours are very near the river. That and the windchill can keep one in the cabin.”

“It may be mild weather to you and everybody else who’s used to it, but it wasn’t all that long ago that I was sweating it out in Honduras. I’ve been back only a couple of months.”

“That’s right. I read where you were there—what?—about five years.”

“Uh-huh.” Carleson smiled at the memory. “I was part of an experiment at Maryknoll.”

“How’s that?”

“Usually a missioner is pretty well grounded in the local language before he’s sent anywhere. I was supposed to pick it up on the scene. On the whole, I think it worked out fairly well … except for when I arrived in a little village where I had to take a bus to an even smaller village where my parish was.

“See, I had everything I was bringing with me in a humongous duffel bag. By the time I got to the bus the luggage compartment was filled. The bus itself was packed with people, right up to the door. And there was I trying to squeeze myself on board with this huge bag.

“Everybody seemed to be yelling at me and pointing to the opposite side of the bus, but I couldn’t understand what they were saying. I only had a few Spanish words and phrases.

“Finally, in all this pandemonium, I noticed a man sitting halfway back in the bus. He was motioning to me to pass my bag back to him. Well, he was like a port in a storm. I sent the bag back, and it was enthusiastically passed from hand to hand until it reached him.

“When he got it, he threw it out the window. I thought—my God!—he just threw away everything I own! But what all these people were trying to tell me was that there was another luggage compartment on the other side of the bus.”

They laughed.

During the story, Koesler had been studying his guest. Carleson was of average height, perhaps five-feet-eight or -nine. A bit on the heavyset side, which would help keep him warm during the winter once he got used to it. His eyes were attractive and trusting in an open face. His full head of hair was white—perhaps a bit prematurely. Koesler guessed Carleson to be about ten or