“This was a mistake,” Joshua said as they reached the center island and paused for breath. “Look who’s standing over there.”
The abbot peered for a moment, then clapped his forehead. “Mrs. Grales! I clean forgot: it’s her night to prowl me down. She’s sold her tomatoes to the sisters’ refectory, and now she’s after me again.”
“After you? She was there last night, and the night before, too. I thought she was waiting for a ride. What does she want from you?”
“Oh, nothing really. She’s finished gypping the sisters on the price of tomatoes, and now she’ll donate the surplus profit to me for the poor box. It’s a little ritual. I don’t mind the ritual. It’s what comes afterwards that’s bad. You’ll see.”
“Shall we go back?”
“And hurt her feelings? Nonsense. She’s seen us by now. Come on.”
They plunged into the thin stream of trucks again.
The two-headed woman and her six-legged dog waited with an empty vegetable basket by the new gate; the woman crooned softly to the dog. Four of the dog’s legs were healthy legs, but an extra pair dangled uselessly at its sides. As for the woman, one head was as useless as the extra legs of the dog. It was a small head, a cherubic head, but it never opened its eyes. It gave no evidence of sharing in her breathing or her understanding. It lolled uselessly on one shoulder, blind, deaf, mute, and only vegetatively alive. Perhaps it lacked a brain, for it showed no sign of independent consciousness or personality. Her other face had aged, grown wrinkled, but the superfluous head retained the features of infancy, although it had been toughened by the gritty wind and darkened by the desert sun.
The old woman curtsied at their approach, and her dog drew back with a snarl. “Evenin’, Father Zerchi,” she drawled, “a most pleasant evenin’ to yer — and to yer, Brother.”
“Why, hello, Mrs. Grales—”
The dog barked, bristled, and began a frenzied dance, feinting toward the abbot’s ankles with fangs bared for slashing. Mrs. Grales promptly struck her pet with the vegetable basket. The dog’s teeth slashed the basket; the dog turned on its mistress. Mrs. Grales kept it away with the basket; and after receiving a few resounding whacks, the dog retired to sit growling in the gateway.
“What a fine mood Priscilla’s in” Zerchi observed pleasantly. “Is she going to have pups?”
“Beg shriv’ness, yet honors,” said Mrs. Grales, “but’s not the pup’s motherful condition as makes her so, devil fret her! but ‘tis ‘at man of mine. He’s witched the piteous pup, he has — for love of witchin — and it makes her ‘feared of all. I beg yet honors’ shriv’ness for her naughties.”
“It’s all right. Well, good night, Mrs. Grales.”
But escape proved not that easy. She caught at the abbot’s sleeve and smiled her toothlessly irresistible smile.
“A minute, Father, only a minute for ‘n old tumater woman, if ye have it to spare.”
“Why, of course! I’d be glad—”
Joshua gave the abbot a sidelong grin and went over to negotiate with the dog concerning right of way. Priscilla eyed him with plain contempt.
“Here, Father, here,” Mrs. Grales was saying. “Take a little something for yer box. Here—” Coins rattled while Zerchi protested. “No, here, take of it, take of it,” she insisted. “Oh, I know as how ye always say, by fret! but I be not so poor’s ye might think on me. And ye do good work. If ye don’t take of it, that no-good man of mine’ll have it from me, and do him the Devil’s work. Here — I sold my tumaters, and I got my price, near, and I bought my feed for the week and even a play-pretty for Rachel. I want ye to have of it. Here.”
“It’s very kind…”
“Grryumpf!” came an authoritative bark from the gateway. “Grryumpf! Rowf! rowf! RrrrrrrOWWFF!” — followed by a rapid sequence of yaps, yeeps, and Priscilla’s howling in full retreat.
Joshua came wandering back with his hands in his sleeves.
“Are you wounded, man?”
“Grryumpf!” said the monk.
“What on earth did you do to her?”
“Grryumpf!” Brother Joshua repeated. “Rowf! Rowf! RrrrrrOWWFF!” — then explained: “Priscilla believes in werewolves. The yelping was hers. We can get past the gate now.”
The dog had vanished; but again Mrs. Grales caught at the abbot’s sleeve. “Only a minute more of yer, Father, and I’ll keep ye no longer. It’s little Rachel I wanted to see yer about. There’s the baptism and the christenin’ to be thought of, and I wished to ask yer if ye’d do the honor of—”
“Mrs. Grales,” he put in gently, “go see your own parish priest. He should handle these matters, not I. I have no parish — only the abbey. Talk to Father Selo at Saint Michael’s. Our church doesn’t even have a font. Women aren’t permitted, except in the tribune—”
“The sister’s chapel has a font, and women can—”
“It’s for Father Selo, not for me. It has to be recorded in your own parish. Only as an emergency could I—”
“Ay, ay, that I know, but I saw Father Selo. I brought Rachel to his church and the fool of a man would not touch her.”
“He refused to baptize Rachel?”
“That he did, the fool of a man.”
“It’s a priest you’re talking of, Mrs. Grales, and no fool, for I know him well. He must have his reasons for refusing. If you don’t agree with his reasons, then see someone else-but not a monastic priest. Talk to the pastor at Saint Maisie’s perhaps.”
“Ay, and that too have I done…” She launched into what promised to be a prolonged account of her skirmishings on behalf of the unbaptized Rachel. The monks listened patiently at first, but while Joshua was watching her, he seized the abbot’s arm above the elbow; his lingers gradually dug into Zerchi’s arm until the abbot winched in pain and tore the fingers away with his free hand.
“What are you doing?” he whispered, but then noticed the monk’s expression. Joshua’s eyes were fixed on the old woman as if she were a cockatrice. Zerchi followed his gaze, but saw nothing stranger than usual; her extra head was half concealed by a sort of veil, but Brother Joshua had certainly seen that often enough.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Grales,” Zerchi interrupted as soon as she fell short of breath. “I really must go now. I’ll tell you what: I’ll call Father Selo for you, but that’s all I can do. We’ll see you again, I’m sure.”
“Thank yer kindly, and beg yer shriv’ness for keeping yer.”
“Good night, Mrs. Grales.”
They entered the gate and walked toward the refectory. Joshua thumped the heel of his hand against his temple several times as if to jar something back into place.
“Why were you staring at her like that?” the abbot demanded. “I thought it rude”
“Didn’t you notice?”
“Notice what?”
“Then you didn’t notice. Well… let it pass. But who is Rachel? Why won’t they baptize the child? Is she the woman’s daughter?”
The abbot smiled without humor. “That’s what Mrs. Grales contends. But there’s some question as to whether Rachel is her daughter, her sister — or merely an excrescence growing out of her shoulder.”
“Rachel! — her other head?”
“Don’t shout so. She’ll hear you yet.”
“And she wants it baptized?”
“Rather urgently, wouldn’t you say? It seems to be an obsession.”
Joshua waved his arms. “How do they settle such things?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. I’m grateful to Heaven that it’s not up to me to figure it out. If it werea simple case of siamese twins, it would be easy. But it isn’t. The old-timers say Rachel wasn’t there when Mrs. Grales was born.”