OCR Text |
Show 46 the Market Church. As we entered the doorway into the shadowy, arched interior, I watched him out of the corner of my eye to see what he would do. He did not dip his hand into the holy water to make the sign of the cross as I did, but he advanced with me along the cool stone floor until we were directly in front of the altar. Although he was not a Christian, he certainly seemed comfortable enough inside a church. He stood at ease beside me looking like he had done it a thousand times before. I hardly noticed what was going on at the altar because I was so busy trying to read Gast's expression. How could a person with evil in him, I wondered, appear so composed in God's presence? He felt me staring at him and turned his dark eyes to meet mine, solemnly and placidly. Then he looked again at the altar where Father Johann was elevating the host. I saw that Gast's hands were folded as if in prayer. I dropped my head to my hands in total confusion. Was I wrong about Gast? He was acting so kind and decent that morning, bringing me new clothes, coming to mass. Was he really as evil as I had imagined the night before? What did I know of right or wrong, good or evil, confined to a dusty bake shop as I was. Maybe Gast had nothing to do with the viay the children had behaved - maybe the wickedness was inside the children themselves, not Gast. When the scene on the riverbank rose again before my eyes, I tried to push it away by filling my mind with the words of the closing prayer. Gast knelt beside me for the final blessing. After the mass was ended, the altar boy blew out the flames atop |