White Dove, Tell Me by Martin Etchart

Author:Martin Etchart [Etchart, Martin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC051000 FICTION / Cultural Heritage, FIC043000 FICTION / Coming of Age, FIC019000 FICTION / Literary
Publisher: University of Nevada Press
Published: 2024-04-16T00:00:00+00:00

telling a story

As I sit with Father Kieran on the porch, both of us still shaken, I think about telling him the story of the lamiak as a way to explain what I was doing in the barn.

But the lamiak story doesn’t quite work. The lamiak try to fix things like chairs and lamps, things that can be fixed if the lamiak only knew how. Nothing can fix the way my father died.

Flies buzz around us as Father Kieran sips a glass of water. “That was . . . dangerous.”

I swat at a fly. “I know.”

Sweat beads along the top of the apaiza’s clerical white collar. “What exactly were you trying to accomplish?”

“Not kill myself,” I say, and wish I hadn’t. Probably not something an apaiza wants to hear.

I think of taking Idetta’s advice and giving Father Kieran my confession. Safe in the knowledge of his oath of silence, I could tell him how I was trying to prove my father’s death was an accident so whatever Jenny says won’t matter and I’ll get all the money from the life insurance policy and save the ranch and make Dad proud.

But all those things really come down to one reason. “I want to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“What happened the day he died in the barn.”

Txauri has resumed her position in the dirt by the open barn door. A gust of wind skitters over the ground and kicks up a flurry; Txauri closes her eyes as it passes over her. Once gone, the dog gets up, shakes off the dust, and slips into the barn.

“So do you?”

“Not yet.”

Father Kieran sets his glass of water on the porch. “Saint Augustine said, ‘All truth and understanding is a result of a divine light which is God himself.’”

“I have no idea what that means.”

He shrugs. “We don’t know what we don’t know.”

“Now that I understand.”

We share a brief laugh. When it dies away, the apaiza says, “Back in Ireland, my da was struck by a car while making a delivery—he was a butcher.”

“How long?”

“Five years now.” Father Kieran presses his hands together. “After it happened, I searched for a long while to understand why that day on that road at that time.”

“And?”

“Understanding is like a shadow dancing on the wall.” Father Kieran gazes off into space, like he does in church, as if searching for another quote from Saint whoever. “Try and close your hands on that shadow and it slips right through your fingers.”

“Who said that?”

Father Kieran’s cheeks redden. “Me.”

“You should think about using more of your own quotes in the Homily.”

“I’ll do that,” he says with a shy smile.

Txauri pokes her head out of the barn and fixes her gaze on me, as if she has found something inside—another shadow of understanding dancing on the wall?

“It took a long time after Da died for me to recognize that you don’t have to understand everything that happens in life, Xabier—you just have to find a way to accept it.”

“That’s what Idetta said.”

“Smart woman.”

“Amen to that, Father,”

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