The Monk Upstairs by Tim Farrington

Author:Tim Farrington
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

Mike and Phoebe went for the “noon walk,” as Phoebe called it, at 11:17. Mike could see that it was important to Phoebe to feel there was wiggle room in her daily routine now; to bust out of the in-law apartment forty-three minutes early probably felt like a jail break to her. They walked west down Judah Street toward the ocean, with Phoebe taking his arm after two blocks for support. But she was cheerful, as she almost always was these days. She told Mike that she wanted to keep going today, to go all the way to Mexico.

“We should take a left turn soon, then,” Mike said. “What’s in Mexico?”

“God knows,” Phoebe said. “That’s the point, dearie.”

“There’s a little Bethanite monastery on the Yucatán peninsula, near Guatemala. It’s built near some old Mayan ruins.”

“That’s the kind of thing I’m talking about. Exactly.”

“We’ll have to be careful about drinking the water.”

“You don’t live to be my age without learning a thing or two about Mexican water,” Phoebe said. “Is it time to rest yet?”

“Not if we’re going to make it to Mexico today.”

“I never said I was in a hurry,” Phoebe said, and she sat on the bench at a train stop. Her favorite bench, the outer limit of her mobility now. The N-Judah drivers had long since learned not to stop for her; they would just wave as they went by. Mike sat down beside her.

“So Mary Martha is going to make her first communion?” Phoebe said when she had gotten her breath back.

Mike shrugged. “Unless I kill the pastor first. Or he kills me. She’s pretty excited about it.”

“I’m glad.”

“We have to get her baptized first, of course.”

“Oh, she’s already baptized.”

Mike glanced at her in surprise. “Rebecca told me—”

“What does Rebecca know?” Phoebe said. “I wanted Mary Martha baptized when she was born, but Becca wouldn’t have it. So I did it myself.”

Mike laughed. “Really?”

“In the bathtub. Mary Martha was about two weeks old, I think. Right after the shampoo: In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Amen.”

“Lather, rinse, and repeat as necessary,” Mike said.

“Do you think it counts?”

He shrugged. “Ecce aqua: Quid prohibet me baptizari? It’s not like John the Baptist had a license. It was you or the angels, at that point.”

A train rattled by, the driver waving. Phoebe waved back cheerfully.

“You can’t really count on angels for anything,” she noted. “As a rule.”

“They mean well,” Mike allowed.

“Piff,” Phoebe said. It was clear what she thought of angels.

They sat quietly. The fog was burning off at last; they were beneath gray sky, but you could see blue sky and sunlight if you looked east. Like a promise.

“I think I would like a beach party for my memorial service,” Phoebe said after a while.

Mike smiled. “A beach party?”

“Yes. With a band. And barbecue grills.”

“No funeral mass?”

“Been there, done that.” Phoebe added, “None of my old Marin County friends would be caught dead in a Catholic church anyway.”

This was true enough, Mike thought.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.