"The Missionary Fathers of St. Martin de Porres," Chantelle said,

"the same name as the church."

"And they assigned him to this place?"

She hesitated before saying, "What difference does it make how he came here?"

Laurent believed he had her in a corner. He said, "You look tired," and motioned to the table.

They sat across from each other, Chantelle with her hand cupping the stump of her mutilation. The light was fading now, the air filling with the sound of insects and the sight of dark specks against the sky, bats swooping into the eucalyptus trees.

She said, "You sound like a policeman with your questions. I can tell you only that Fr. Dunn came or was sent here because the old priest, Fr. Toreki, was his uncle, the brother of his mother who died."

Laurent said, "Oh?" It seemed to interest him.

"Every five years," Chantelle said, "Fr. Toreki would go home to America to preach and raise money for his mission. And each time he would stay with Fr. Dunn's family, doing this ever since Terry was a small boy."

Now Laurent was nodding. "So during these visits the old priest was able to brainwash the boy with stories of Ah-fri-ca, how he lived among savages who painted their faces and killed lions with a spear."

Chantelle said, "Do you want to talk or listen?"

Laurent gestured with the glass in his hand saying, "Please," inviting her to go on.

"During these years," Chantelle said, "he and Fr. Toreki became very close and would write letters to each other, He didn't brainwash him, he showed Fr. Dunn the boy how to be the kind of man he was, to care for people and their lives."

Laurent nodded, keeping his mouth shut.

"Fr. Dunn said it was his mother who pressed him to be a priest, saying how proud she would be, as any mother would."