The Great Santini by Pat Conroy Read Free Book Online

because the Marine Corps puts its bases in these goddam southern swamps."
    "With the taking of the Lord's name in vain, I suggest we now say a rosary for a safe trip," Lillian announced.
    "Good idea. Then maybe everybody will quit yappin'."
    Lillian opened the glove compartment and fumbled for her rosary beads.
    "I know they're here somewhere," she declared. "They're those precious ivory beads your father bought me in Rome, Italy, blessed by Pope John the twenty-third."
    "You haven't lost 'em already for godsakes," her husband grumbled.
    "Of course not," she replied. "Certain things in automobiles never work longer than a month. Clocks for one. The lights of glove compartments for another. Here they are. Children, did you see this rosary? I don't believe I showed any of you. It is a treasure. Each bead is individually carved."
    "Was it really blessed by the Pope, Daddy?" Karen asked.
    "Yeah, I think the ol' pontiff blesses box cars full of rosaries for the tourists."
    Lillian rebuked him angrily. "Bull, what a sacrilegious thing to say.
    "What do you mean? Everyone's got a gimmick. Even Popes. I'm sure it's for a worthy cause like sending Maryknolls to Tanganyika to convert spearchuckers, but it's still a gimmick. I priced all the rosaries before I picked that one out for ya. I was going to get one blessed by the Pope and with a silver of the real cross inside it, but I could have bought the Pietà for less money."
    "How did they know it was the real cross, Dad?" Ben asked.
    "Damned if I know, son. I think Jesus would have had to be strung up ten thousand times to supply enough wood for that rosary racket."
    "I think we've had enough," Mrs. Meecham announced. "Let's say the rosary for the intention of a safe journey and the salvation of your father's endangered soul," she said to her children behind her.
    Colonel Meecham laughed. "I'll buy that," he said. "Your poor ol' dad needs all the prayers he can get, sportsfans."
    "Let's also pray for the conversion of Russia," Mrs. Meecham added.
    "That's just small potatoes, Mama. Let's pray for something big," Mary Anne deadpanned.
    "Don't be a snip, young lady," her mother shot back.
    "Yeah, Mary Anne, or your father's gonna take you dancing down at knuckle junction."
    "That won't be necessary, Bull. I can handle the children without your help, thank you."
    "I'm just trying to be supportive, dear," the colonel said. His wife did not answer. Instead, she began a slow recitation of the Apostles' Creed to begin the rosary. "I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth."
    In the back seat, brimming with hidden intentions, Ben drifted like a cloud into secret prayer leaning back on his pillow and silently turning his thoughts to God.
    When he returned to the rosary Lillian was speaking the first part of the angel's greeting to Mary. Her enunciation was flawless as she spoke with such reverent clarity that it seemed like she was speaking the words for the first time. "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus."
    The whole family bowed their heads at the spoken name of the Lord. But their response was given in breathless haste: Holymarymotherofgod, prayforussinnersnowandatthehourofourdeathAmen. The words were packed together in an unintelligible lathered herd. As Lillian's fingers circumnavigated the beads, Ben's mind wandered and the prayers became thoughtless, untongued words whose meaning was bled out of them by repetition. Mary Anne kicked him with her bare foot and shot him the finger, making sure that the sign was too low to be intercepted by her father's omniscient eyes scanning the rearview mirror. The upraised finger almost caused Ben to laugh aloud, but sterner laws of self-preservation prevailed. Ben did remember the scurrilous version of the Hail Mary Mary Anne had written the year before that Lillian had overheard. "Hail, Benny, full of shit, a turd is on thee, blessed art