"Father Karras!"
He turned. Saw Karl with his sweater.
"Very sorry," said the servant as he handed it over. "I was thinking to finish much before. But I forget."
The vomit stains were gone and it had a sweet smell. "That was thoughtful of you, Karl," the priest said gently. "Thank you."
"Thank you, Father Karras."
There was a tremor in his voice and his eyes were full.
"Thank you for your helping Miss Regan," Karl finished. Then he averted his head, selfconscioius, and swiftly left the entry.
Karras watched, remembering hin in Kinderman's car. More mystery. Confusion. Wearily he opened the door. It was night. Despairing, he stepped out of darkness into darkness.
He crossed to the residence, groping toward sleep, but as he entered his room he looked down and saw a message slip pink on the floor. He picked it up. From Frank. The tapes. Home number. "Please call...."
He picked up the telephone and requested the number. Waited. His hands shook with desperate hope.
"Hello?" A young boy. Piping voice.
"May I speak to your father, please."
"Yes. just a minute." Phone clattering. Then quickly picked up. Still the boy. "Who is this?"
"Father Karras."
"Father Karits?"
His heart thumping, Karras spoke evenly, "Karras. Father Karras..."
Down went the phone again.
Karras pressed digging fingers against his brow.
Phone noise.
"Father Karras?"
'Yes, hello, Frank. I've been trying to reach you."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I've been working on your tapes at the house."
"Are you finished?"
"Yes, I am. By the way, this is pretty weird stuff."
"I know." Karras tried to flatten the tension in his voice. "What's the story, Frank? What have you found?"
"Well, this 'type-token' ratio, first..."
"Yes?"
"Well, I didn't have enough of a sampling to be absolutely accurate, you understand, but I'd say it's pretty close, or at least as close as you can get with these things. Well, at any rate, the two different voices on the tapes, I would say, are probably separate personalities."
"Probably?"
"Well, I wouldn't want to swear to it in court. In fact, I'd have to say the variance is really pretty minimal."
"Minimal..." Karras repeated dully. Well, that's the ball game. "And what about the gibberish?" he asked without hope. "Is it any kind of language?" Frank chuckled.
"What's funny?" asked the Jesuit moodily.
"Was this really some sneaky psychological testing, Father?"
"I don't know what you mean, Frank."
"Well, I guess you got your tapes mixed around or something. It's---" "Frank, is it a language or not?" cut in Karras.
"Oh, I'd say it was a language, all right."
Karras stiffened. "Are you kidding?"
'No, I'm not."
"What's the language?" he asked, unbelieving.
"English."
