BOOKS / FICTION / EXCERPT
Book: THE SPARROW
by Mary Doria Russell
Pages 58-59
EMILIO SANDOZ - Jesuit priest from Puerto Rico
JOHN CANDOTTI - Jesuit priest from Chicago, Illinois
LOCATION - Jesuit retreat house in Naples, Italy
He had just stretched his feet out toward the fire and was wondering idly if the next Pope's election would be signaled with a sign that said "White Smoke" when, as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he realized that Sandoz was standing near the wall mullioned windows, looking down at the shoreline far below, its rocks glimmering in the moonlight, waves lacing the beach.
"I thought you'd be asleep by now," John said quietly. "Rough trip, huh?"
Sandoz didn't reply. He began to pace, restless despite the obvious fatigue, sat down briefly in a chair far from Candotti, and then stood again. Close, John thought. He's very close.
But when Sandoz spoke, it wasn't what John hoped for or expected--a cleansing breakdown, a confession that could make way for the man to forgive himself, the pouring out of a story with a plea for understanding. Some sort of emotional release.
"Do you experience God?" Sandoz asked him without preamble.
Odd how uncomfortable the question made him. The Society of Jesus rerely attracted mystics, who generally gravitated to the Carmelites or the Trappists, or wound up among the charismatics. Jesuits tended to be men who found God in their work, whether that work was scholarly or more practical social service. Whatever their calling, they devoted themselves to it and did so in the ame of God. "Not directly. Not as a friend or personality, I suppose." John examined himself. "Not, I think, even 'in a tiny whispering sound." He watched the flames for a while. "I would have to say that I find God in serving His children. 'For I was hungery and you fed me, I was thirsty and you gave me to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, sick and you cared for me, imprisoned and you came to me.'"
The words lingered in the air as the fire popped and hissed softly. Sandoz had stopped pacing and stood motionless in a far corner of the room, his face in shadows, firelight glittering on the metallic exoskeletons of this hands. "Don't hope for more than that, John," he said. "God will break your heart." And then he left.