Free The Exorcist by William Peter Blatty

directly before the tabernacle.
     
    "Oh, that really is sick." Mrs. Perrin grimaced.
     
    "Well, the other's even worse," remarked the dean; then employed indirection and one or two euphemisms to explain how a massive phallus sculpted in clay had been found glued firmly to a statue of Christ on the left side altar.
     
    "Sick enough?" he concluded.
     
    Chris noticed that Mary Jo seemed genuinely disturbed as she said, "Oh, that's enough, now. I'm sorry that I asked. Let's change the subject, please."
     
    "No, I'm fascinated," said Chris.
     
    "Yes, of course. I'm a fascinating human."
     
    It was Father Dyer. He was hovering over her with his plate. "Listen, give me just a minute, and then I'll be back. I think I've got something going over there with the astronaut."
     
    "Like what?" asked the dean.
     
    Father Dyer raised his eyebrows in deadpan surmise. "Would you believe," he asked, "first missionary on the moon?"
     
    They burst into laughter.
     
    "You're just the right size," said Mrs. Perrin "They could stow you in the nose cone."
     
    "No, not me," he corrected her solemnly, and then turned to the dean to explain: "I've been trying to fix it up for Emory."
     
    "That's our disciplinarian on campus," Dyer explained in an aside to the women. "Nobody's up there and that's what he likes, you see; he sort of likes things quiet."
     
    "And so who would he convert?" Mrs. Perrin asked.
     
    "What do you mean?" Dyer frowned at her earnestly. "He'd convert the astronauts. That's it. I mean, that's what he likes: You know, one or two people. No groups. Just a couple."
     
    With deadpan gaze, Dyer glanced toward the astronaut.
     
    "Excuse me," he said and walked away.
     
    "I like him," said Mrs. Perrin.
     
    "Me too," Chris agreed. Then she turned to the dean. "You haven't told me what goes on in that cottage," she reminded him. "Big secret? Who's that priest I keep seeing there? You know, sort of dark? Do you know the one I mean?"
     
    "Father Karras," said the dean in a lowered tone; with a trace of regret.
     
    "What's he do?"
     
    "He's a counselor." He put down his wineglass and turned it by the stem. "Had a pretty rough knock last night, poor guy."
     
    "Oh, what?" asked Chris with a sudden concern.
     
    "Well, his mother passed away."
     
    Chris felt a melting sensation of grief that she couldn't explain. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said.
     
    "He seems to be taking it pretty hard," resumed the Jesuit. "She was living by herself, and I guess she was dead for a couple of days before they found her."
     
    "Oh, how awful," Mrs. Perrin murmured.
     
    "Who found her?" Chris asked solemnly.
     
    "The superintendent of her apartment building. I guess they wouldn't have found her even now except... Well, the next-door neighbors complained about her radio going all the time."
     
    "That's sad," Chris murmured.
     
    "Excuse me, please, madam."
     
    She looked up at Karl. He held a tray filled with glasses and liqueurs.
     
    "Sure, set it down here, Karl, that'll be fine."
     
    Chris liked to serve the liqueurs to her guests herself. It added an intimacy, she felt, that might otherwise be lacking.
     
    "Well, let's see now, I'll start with you," she told the dean and Mrs. Perrin; and served them. Then she moved about the room, taking orders and fetching for each of her guests, and by the time she had made the rounds, the various clusters had shifted to new combinations, except for Dyer and the astronaut, who seemed to be getting thicker. "No, I'm really not a priest," Chris heard Dyer say solemnly, his arm on the astronaut's chuckle-heaved shoulder. "I'm actually a terribly avant-garde rabbi." And not long after, she overheard Dyer inquiring of the astronaut. "What is space?" and when the astronaut shrugged and said he really didn't know, Father Dyer had fixed him with an earnest frown and said, "You should."
     
    Chris was standing with Ellen Cleary afterward, reminiscing about Moscow, when she heard a familiar, strident voice ringing