The power and the glory by Graham Greene

Author:Graham Greene [Greene, Graham]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Unread
ISBN: 9780142437308
Publisher: Penguin Books
Published: 2003-02-14T23:00:00+00:00

The beetles had disappeared: the rain had apparently washed them away: it came perpendicularly down, with a sort of measured intensity, as if it were driving nails into a coffin lid. But the air was no clearer: sweat and rain hung together on the clothes. The priest stood for a few seconds in the doorway of the hotel, the dynamo thudding behind him, then he darted a few yards into another doorway and hesitated, staring over past the bust of the general to the tethered sailing-boats and one old barge with a tin funnel. He had nowhere to go: rain hadn't entered into his calculations: he had believed that it would be possible just to hang on somehow, sleeping on benches or by the river.

A couple of soldiers arguing furiously came down the street towards the quay-they just let the rain fall on them, as if it didn't matter, as if things were so bad anyway you couldn't notice. ... The priest pushed the wooden door against which he stood-a cantina door coming down only to the knees-and went in out of the rain: stacks of gaseosa bottles and a single billiard table with the score strung on rings, three or four men-somebody had laid his holster on the bar. The priest moved too quickly and jolted the elbow of a man who was making a shot. He turned furiously: Mother of God! : he was a Red Shirt. Was there no safety anywhere, even for a moment?

The priest apologized humbly, edging back towards the door, but again he was too quick-his pocket caught against the wall and the brandy bottle chinked. Three or four faces looked at him with malicious amusement: he was a stranger and they were going to have fun. What's that you've got in your pocket? the Red Shirt asked. He was a youth not out of his teens, with gold teeth and a jesting conceited mouth.

Lemonade, the priest said.

What do you want to carry lemonade with you for?

[109] I take it at night-with my quinine.

The Red Shirt swaggered up and poked the pocket with the butt of his cue. Lemonade, eh?

Yes, lemonade.

Let's have a look at the lemonade. He turned proudly to the others and said: I can scent a smuggler at ten paces. He thrust his hand into the priest's pocket and hauled at the brandy bottle: There, he said. Didn't I tell you- The priest flung himself against the swing door and burst out into the rain. A voice shouted: Catch him. They were having the time of their lives.

He was off up the street towards the plaza, turned left and right again-it was lucky the streets were dark and the moon obscured. As long as he kept away from lighted windows he was almost invisible-he could hear them calling to each other. They were not giving up: it was better than billiards: somewhere a whistle blew-the police were joining in.

This was the town to which it had been his ambition to be

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