"It's just something I heard."
"Yes, of course, from the Jesuit secret service," twitted Mrs. Perrin.
"Not at all. I hear voices," responded the dean.
"You know, back in L.A.," mentioned Chris, "you hear an awful lot of stories about witch cults being around. I've often wondered if it's true."
"Well, as I said, I wouldn't know," said the dean. "But I'll tell you who might--- Joe Dyer.
Where's Joe?"
The dean looked around.
"Oh, over there," he said, nodding toward the other priest, who was standing at the buffet with his back to them. He was heaping a second helping onto his plate. "Hey, Joe?"
The young priest turned, his face impassive.. "You called, great dean?" The other Jesuit beckoned with his fingers.
"All right, just a second," answered Dyer, and resumed his attack on the curry and salad.
"That's the only leprechaum in the priesthood," said the dean with an edge of fondness. He sipped at his wine. "They had a couple of cases of desecration in Holy Trinity last week, and Joe said something about one of them reminding him of some things they used to do at Black Mass, so I expect he knows something about the subject." "What happened at the church?" asked Mary Jo Perrin.
"Oh, it's really too disgusting," said the dean.
"Come on, we're all through with our dinners."
"No, please. It's too much," he demurred.
"Oh, come on!"
"You mean you can't read my mind, Mary Jo?" he asked her.
"Oh, I could," she responded, "but I really don't think that I'm worthy to enter that Holy of Holies!" She chuckled.
"Well, it really is sick," began the dean.
He described the desecrations. In the first of the incidents, the elderly sacristan of the church had discovered a mound of human excrement on the altar cloth directly before the tabernacle.
"Oh, that really is sick." Mrs. Perrin grimaced.
"Well, the other's even worse," remarked the dean; then employed indirection and one or two euphemisms to explain how a massive phallus sculpted in clay had been found glued firmly to a statue of Christ on the left side altar.
"Sick enough?" he concluded.
Chris noticed that Mary Jo seemed genuinely disturbed as she said, "Oh, that's enough, now.
I'm sorry that I asked. Let's change the subject, please." "No, I'm fascinated," said Chris.
"Yes, of course. I'm a fascinating human."
It was Father Dyer. He was hovering over her with his plate. "Listen, give me just a minute, and then I'll be back. I think I've got something going over there with the astronaut." "Like what?" asked the dean.
Father Dyer raised his eyebrows in deadpan surmise. "Would you believe," he asked, "first missionary on the moon?" They burst into laughter.
"You're just the right size," said Mrs. Perrin "They could stow you in the nose cone."
"No, not me," he corrected her solemnly, and then turned to the dean to explain: "I've been trying to fix it up for Emory."
"That's our disciplinarian on campus," Dyer explained in an aside to the women. "Nobody's up there and that's what he likes, you see; he sort of likes things quiet." "And so who would he convert?" Mrs. Perrin asked.
"What do you mean?" Dyer frowned at her earnestly. "He'd convert the astronauts. That's it. I mean, that's what he likes: You know, one or two people. No groups. Just a couple." With deadpan gaze, Dyer glanced toward the astronaut.
"Excuse me," he said and walked away.
"I like him," said Mrs. Perrin.
"Me too," Chris agreed. Then she turned to the dean. "You haven't told me what goes on in that cottage," she reminded him. "Big secret? Who's that priest I keep seeing there? You know, sort of dark? Do you know the one I mean?"
"Father Karras," said the dean in a lowered tone; with a trace of regret.
"What's he do?"
"He's a counselor." He put down his wineglass and turned it by the stem. "Had a pretty rough knock last night, poor guy."
"Oh, what?" asked Chris with a sudden concern.
"Well, his mother passed away."
Chris felt a melting sensation of grief that she couldn't explain. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said.
