Parishioners and Other Stories

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Joseph Dylan. Parishioners and Other Stories

Parishioners

Zhang Heng

Ash Wednesday

Departures

Four Strong Winds

Tomb Sweeper’s Holiday

Terrace Court

Sutter

Russell McGuire

Julie Castelli

North of the River

Zhao Xilai

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Once a month, the first Tuesday of each month, they met informally, gathering at the home of some member of the group. Originally, there were twelve of them, but cancer claimed one, and two in retirement had moved on to bigger cities. Now, there were nine of them, nine men who had gone to the same church for decades, kneeling and praying next to each other, some of them knowing each other for over twenty or thirty years. They had witnessed the baptisms and confirmations and weddings of each other’s children, and they had attended the funerals of many mutual friends. There was no set purpose of the group. There was no set agenda. They were just old friends getting together for a few drinks and a little conversation.

Outside, in the cold of this wintry December night, the air hung thick and heavy with the temperature well below freezing. Under the startlingly clear skies, the stars shone like dying fires. Tonight, it was John Seymour’s turn to host the gathering. By seven, all had arrived. Inside his house, in the living room, the fireplace glowed with burning pine. It glowed and flickered in the dark room where the nine men all stood around holding their drinks.

.....

“You think that that’s the land of milk and honey?”

“Yeah, the land of milk and honey” The land of all your dreams?” Levinson was fidgeted with his chopsticks. He ate with more grace than the average foreigner, but he still had not mastered the fine art of eating with chopsticks. The large pieces of chicken he managed to snare with his chopsticks, but he was hopeless with the smaller, greasier morsels of meat. Rosenthal was a finicky eater. Perhaps that was why he was so slender for a man his age.

.....