The women of the Apostolate had fallen in love
with the Belgian priest: his copper curls,

his porcelain blue eyes. They vied
with each other to bring him treats: fish

and fruit, native cakes sticky with coconut
milk and sugar. They formed a choir and practiced

twice a week in the rectory. Their husbands
were not jealous, or they did not show it—

How could they? If this man was their conductor
to the afterlife, surely he, too, could be bribed.


In response to Via Negativa: Skylark.

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