Hillerman, Tony - [Leaphorn & Chee 03] by Listening Woman [txt] Page A

into the hogan. Leaphorn lowered the binoculars and thought about it.
    No glasses. No goldrims. That might simply mean that the man had them in his pocket. Leaphorn studied the layout of the buildings below him. He located a place where he could climb down the mesa without being seen and approach the hogan away from its east-facing entrance. Before he could move, the man emerged again. He was dressed now, wearing black trousers, with what looked like a purple scarf over his shoulders. He was carrying something. Through the binoculars Leaphorn identified two bottles and a small black case.
    What appeared to be a white towel hung over his wrist. The man walked rapidly to the brush arbor and put the bottles, the case and the towel on the plank table there. Shaving, Leaphorn thought. But what the man was doing had nothing to do with shaving. He had taken several objects from the case and arranged them on the table. And then he stood motionless, apparently simply staring down at them. He dropped suddenly to one knee, then rose again almost immediately.
    Leaphorn frowned. He examined the bottles. One seemed to be half filled with a red liquid. The other held something as clear as water.
    Now the man had taken an object small and white and held it up to the light, staring at it. He held it in the fingers of both hands, as if it were heavy, or extremely fragile. Through the binoculars it appeared to be a broken piece of bread. The man was pouring the red liquid into a cup, adding a few drops of the clear, raising the cup in both hands to above eye level. His face was rapt and his lips moved slightly, as if he spoke to the cup. Abruptly Leaphorn’s memory served him—something he had witnessed years ago and which had then dominated his thoughts for weeks. Leaphorn knew what the man was doing and even the words he was speaking: his … this is the cup of my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant. It will be shed for you and for all men so that sins may be forgiven … ” Leaphorn lowered the binoculars. The man at the Tso hogan was a Roman Catholic priest. As the rules of his priesthood required of him each day, he was celebrating the Mass. Back at the carryall, Leaphorn found the girl asleep. She lay curled on the front seat, her head cushioned on her purse, her mouth slightly open. Leaphorn examined her a moment, then unlocked the driver-side door, moved her bare feet and slid under the steering wheel. “You were gone long enough,” Theodora Adams said. She sat up, pushed the hair away from her face. “Did you find the place?”
    “We’re going to make this simple and easy to understand,” Leaphorn said. He started the engine. “If you’ll answer my questions about this man, I’ll take you there. If you start lying, I’ll take you back to Short Mountain. And I know enough to tell when the lying starts.”
    “He was there, then,” she said. It wasn’t really a question. The girl hadn’t doubted he’d be there. But there was a new expectancy in her face “He was there,” Leaphorn said. “About six foot, black hair. That sound like the man you expected?”
    “Yes,” she said. “Who is he?”
    “I’m going to raise hell about this,” the girl said. “You don’t have any right.”
    “Okay,” Leaphorn said. “Do that. Who is he?”
    “I told you who he is. Benjamin Tso.”
    “What does he do?”
    “Do?” She laughed. “You mean for a living? I don’t know.”
    “You’re lying,” Leaphorn said.
    “Tell me, or we go back to Short Mountain.”
    “He’s a priest,” the girl said. “A member of the Order of Friars Minor … a Franciscan.”
    Her voice was resentful, perhaps at the information, perhaps at having been forced to reveal it. “What’s he doing here?”
    “Resting.
    He was tired. He had a long trip.”
    “From where?”
    “From Rome.”
    “Italy?”
    “Italy.” She laughed. “That’s where Rome is.” Leaphorn turned off the ignition. “We stop playing these