The Presence by T. Davis Bunn Read Free Book Online

heathens.’ He recalls the time the preacher wrote a letter to every Catholic in town, urgin’ them to become Baptists and save their immortal souls. He remembers the revivals where loudspeakers shouted out the town’s shame over havin’ those ‘Yankee Pope-lovers with their loose morals and shameful ways come down and take away good factory jobs from the Baptist brethren.’ Father Coughlin thinks about all those things and a couple of others your grandmother here won’t let me mention, and he decides it was time for a little fun.
    â€œThe father kind of eases himself up, little by little, from behind Saint Peter’s desk. It takes a moment for Preacher Jones to realize who it is, but when he does his eyes bug out and his jaw hits his chest. Coulda knocked that preacher over with a feather. He takes this scary look around, and you could tell exactly what he was thinkin’—like, hey, did I take a wrong turn somewhere? Father Coughlin knows it too, and says, ‘If it’s heaven you’re lookin’ for, you’ve found it.’ Then he makes his face real stern. ‘ ‘Course, we’ll have to see whether it’s the right place for you.’
    â€œPreacher Jones is busy remembering the same things as Father Coughlin. You can tell on account of how he commences to sweat. But being Baptist, he decides the best thing to do is bluster. ‘What d’ya mean by that?’
    â€œâ€˜Exactly what I said,’ the father told him. Then the Catholic man makes this big to-do about turnin’ a couple of pages in Saint Peter’s book. He leans down close and starts squintin’ his way up and down the page, runnin’ his finger up and down the lines, flippin’ the pages back and forth, pretendin’ to search that old book. Couldn’t make hide nor hair of it, of course. Peter wrote everything down in that old language, you know, Arabic.”
    â€œAramaic,” Catherine corrected.
    â€œJust what I said. Anyway, all the while Preacher Jones is busy bein’ about as scared as any man ever deserves to get.
    â€œFinally Father Coughlin heaves this big sigh, pulls at his lower lip with two fingers, and scrunches up his forehead like he’s real concerned. He flips one more page, decides Preacher Jones has cooked about long enough, and says, ‘It don’t look like your name is down here anywheres.’
    â€œThe preacher had to grab hold of the gate to keep his legs from bucklin’. His voice gets all squeaky with panic. ‘Could you look one more time? Maybe you missed it.’
    â€œâ€˜I done checked it twice already,’ the father said. ‘I think you oughta go on down and ask by that other door. See if they got your reservation.’
    â€œOld Preacher Jones looks about ready for his second fatal heart attack of the day. ‘Couldn’t you maybe just write my name in there yourself?’
    â€œFather Coughlin gets this shocked look on his face and slams the book shut. ‘Not on your life!’
    â€œThen old Preacher Jones drops down on his knees and starts cryin’. ‘I’m beggin’ you, brother, one Carolina Christian to another. You just gotta let me in.’
    â€œThis was about the most fun Father Coughlin’d had in years. He gets this sublime expression on his face and says, ‘Well, maybe there is one way.’
    â€œPreacher Jones grabs for it like he was catchin’ hold of a lifeline. ‘Anything, brother, anything at all.’
    â€œâ€˜Well, it means you gotta become a Catholic.’
    â€œâ€˜I what ?’
    â€œâ€˜Yessir,’ Father Coughlin says, ‘we got us a special on Catholics this week. All you gotta do is convert, then confess your sins and get absolution. After that I can let you in.’
    â€œPreacher Jones leaps to his feet, ‘I’d rather roast in hell!’
    â€œâ€˜Fine,’ said Father Coughlin, and