Academic journal article Chicago Review

Landlords

Academic journal article Chicago Review

Landlords

Article excerpt

My priest, who was born in the countryside, has lived in the city for many years watching the dying day and night and gathering a few left over pennies for the hospital. He ministers to only the lost women and children, and in the new hospital they have their own section, full of small, iron beds painted white. Those who have survived still come back to visit him for advice with their affairs, but his emaciated zeal has dwindled among the smell of beds and conversations with wheezing patients, and in accompanying his dead, whenever he has time, to the grave to bless them with water and pray for them.

One evening in March, already hot, my priest buried an old woman covered with sores: she had been his mother. The woman had died in her village because the hospital frightened her and she wished to die in her own bed. That day my priest carried the same stole as for his other deceased, but he sprinkled holy water for a long time upon her coffin and prayed much longer. In the sweltering evening, the earth piled above the coffin smelled of rot: the old woman had died from despair, eaten away from watching her land disappear while she, remaining alone, tried to save it by herself. …

Search by... Author
Show... All Results Primary Sources Peer-reviewed

Oops!

An unknown error has occurred. Please click the button below to reload the page. If the problem persists, please try again in a little while.