Damned!

Bad News for Gandans

Father McNalster did not consider himself good at speeches. On Saturday liturgical days, he often delivered his sermons deep with religious traditions, the chalice, the offering, the songs sung at appropriate times, and added to this a chapter or two from the scriptures. With a certain anxiety, he looked upon his audience who had come as faithful parishioners. Stepping down from the podium and gathering his hands together the speech he spilled out was entirely in the moment. Laying out the watershed project, he reminded the people that there was not much choice in the matter. They in turn looked at each other in bewilderment and then directed their gaze to him in anger.

"You are our spokesperson to the capitol, fix this!" was the overall reply. The men stared at him with no mercy.

He had tried to relay the change in the times meant that the rural areas might not be protected and job training in the project meant they would be able to provide for their children's future. Housing would be provided. The people would be looked after.

"But we have good houses here. And as long as the river provides, and the banks are soiled, we have no need," was their reply.

Father McNalster sighed inwardly. He knew this would be an uphill battle. His choice to deliver the news gently and show sympathy was starting to weigh heavy on him. In anger he decided to make the situation clear.

"We have no choice. You need to start preparing your belongings to be transported. This is not easy for anyone, but I can tell you this is the will of Archbishop Dominez as well as the capitol. Let me remind you, in times of flood and times of drought, they have provided for our community."

A silence settled over the congregation. A few of the women began to cry. Then an older man with a leather tanned river burned face slowly stood up.

"I have lived in a house just off the river bank all my life. The river has always been our god, welcoming the goddess bird Horah and the god fish Calo. Just as our river god shared his house with others, when you first came to Medium Cruces, asking for a religious community you could shepherd, we accepted your Catholic faith, even after you told us not to pray to our river. Now once again you are asking us to give up our faith, and this time to perhaps never inhabit our land again? This god of yours must not care for us, and I not for him. I will fight for our traditions, our rights, and our homes. That is the answer you may take back to the capitol."

A resounding chorus of "Si!" started to echo in the audience. Father McNalster hung his head, delivered the sign of the cross. The parishioners stood up and slowly walked out to leave, leaving the old priest alone in his thoughts of whether to encourage the mutiny or threaten with anger their disobedience. Indeed he had enjoyed the comforts provided by the capitol, but he was by no means a man that was empowered by riches. Instead, the power he enjoyed was recognition and purpose of which he found plenty, despite his numerous indiscretions.

Walking down into the basement of the chapel after the meeting at the cafe, he mused over the events of the past week. The question of which side to choose weighed heavy on him. In his heart, he knew his work to be monumental in Medium Cruces yet trivial in the capitol. The archbishop and Mayor Mignon had hinted at this when they had offered a position as an archivist, where his service would be categorization and filing of liturgical papers. The other offer was retirement, neither of which sounded desirable to one who had so enjoyed the respect and company of his parishioners.

Father McNalster grabbed a bottle of wine from the shelf. A little relaxation would do him good. He proceeded to pour himself a glass to take to his sleeping quarters but found his mind was not at ease. He substituted one glass for many until he finally drifted to sleep. The cool late afternoon breeze with a buzzing fly having flown through the open window, woke him and irritated him. He decided to meander up to his office but was disappointed to have not come to any conclusion on the path forward.

He sat down at his desk, hesitatingly he reached for the land phone. The phone rang on the other end endlessly before a woman's voice answered asking the caller to leave a message. Of course she was not answering his calls. He slammed the receiver down. Gathering his cloak, he hurried out into the night to go and try to remedy the quarrel with his lover.