The Haunted

“Forgive me, Your Holiness, but the truth is that Brother Francisco has not been of sound mind. He has claimed to have visions of spirits and demons, and asserts that the ground you have consecrated is evil and unclean. He has fallen prey to local superstitions and has grown afraid of this place. He has refused for weeks to perform even the most basic of his duties, and, in truth, none of us were surprised to find him gone. And, yes, I believe the most likely reason is that Brother Francisco has fled.”

“Is this why my church has not been built? Is this why it has not even been started?” The anger came out now, and Father Juarez lashed out at the men he had left behind in this village, excoriating them for not carrying out the will of God, for forsaking His church and their Christian duty, for indulging in the sin of sloth. He wished Brother Francisco were here so he could upbraid the friar to his face, but he unleashed a verbal attack on the man before going on to denounce those who had not had the fortitude to stand up to such blatant defiance of Church and country.

“You appointed Brother Francisco and gave him authority over all of us,” Jacinto Paredes reminded him gently. “It was not our place to question his decisions.”

Father Juarez stared at the man, fuming. Such insubordination would not have been tolerated in the civilized world, but here in the wild, apparently all decency and respect had been forgotten. Despite his anger, however, he recognized the truth of the soldier’s words. It had been Brother Francisco’s duty to see that the church was built; it was his fault that it had not been, and Father Juarez stated to all who had gathered that if Brother Francisco was captured—and captured was the word he used—he would not only be stripped of all authority but punished severely for failing to follow orders.

When he had finished, another man stepped forward, Brother Rodrigo, the friar appointed to succeed Brother Francisco in the event of death or incapacitation. “It is not all the fault of Brother Francisco,” the friar said. “Even before he began succumbing to these delusions, he was unable to convince the natives to work on the church, though most of them had been converted. They were frightened of this ground, and I fear he may have surrendered to their superstitions.”

Father Juarez frowned. It was not this man’s place to speak. Was insubordination tolerated by everyone here? Still, once again he recognized the truth in these words. He looked back across the muddy stretch of ground that served as the village’s main road and saw natives tentatively approaching in small groups of two or three. He turned toward Jacinto Paredes. “I want you to gather all of the savages in this village, as well as a translator who can impart my words to them. I am going to give them direction myself, and order them to do God’s bidding and build this church. After I eat and freshen up, I shall address the local populace, and you and your men will begin leading teams who will take turns excavating the site and constructing the foundation. They will work from sunup to sundown on all but the Lord’s day, and we will have our church before another year is past.”

The soldier bowed his acquiescence. “Yes, Your Holiness.”

Father Juarez spoke to the men who had accompanied him and bade them have the slaves unpack his belongings. After choosing the least mean house to occupy for the length of his stay, he was presented with food, and while it was not unlike the repasts he had had in similar outposts, it seemed all the more satisfying for being delivered amid such wretched surroundings.

Finally, he was ready to address the converts, and he stood on a raised cart before the spot where the church was to be built, facing the friars, soldiers and natives who had gathered on the adjoining field, the location where Father Juarez foresaw the installation of a rectory garden. He began with a prayer, an invocation, and with his words being translated by Brother Augusto, all bowed their heads in unison. He went on to stress the importance of erecting a church in the village, a physical building dedicated to worship. The other churches had already been built, he said, or were currently under construction, and the workers here needed to get busy and follow suit or risk the wrath of God.

There was nervous muttering at the translation of this last, worried looks exchanged by the natives, and Father Juarez nodded in satisfaction. Finally, his point was getting across.

“Brother Francisco is gone,” he concluded. “I am in charge now, and I hereby order you to begin construction on God’s church under the direction of myself and Brother Rodrigo.”

To this, there was an answer from a man who seemed to be the leader of the savages.

Insubordination again.