them with the one hand while keeping the other on the wheel.rnThe hand groped, and as he straightened up in the seat hernsaw through the frosty blur a red round light overhead. Hernjammed his foot on the brake, and felt an impact like a dullrnblow to the head. By the time he had the door open andrnstepped out onto the ice-covered street, a patrol car had arrivedrnand children were piling out from the big station wagon, builtrnlike a truck, that had hit him. His own car had been spunrncompletely around on the ice, so that it now faced uphill in therndirection from which he had come. The priest could not believernthat so many children had been riding in one vehicle.rnWhen all of them were out of it, they began to whoop and yellrnand stamp around in the street like red hidians, shouting,rn”Mommy’s had an accident! Mommy’s had an accident!”rnFather Hillary went over to them, asking, “Are all of yournchildren all right?” but they paid liim no attention, therndriver of the station wagon, a fat young woman in a quiltedrncoat, stood talking to the police officer; as the priest turned towardrnthem, he was approached by a second officer who wantedrnto know, “Arc you hurt, Father?” He was a heavvset youngrnman with a thin blond mustache whom the priest recognizedrnas one of his more irregular parishioners. “I’m fine,” FatherrnHillary told him. “Are yon certain that none of the children isrninjured?”rnThe officer looked over his shoulder at the children, whornwent on stamping in circles and yelling while their motherrncontinued to speak with the other policeman. “They’d damnrnsure 1:)C injured if they was my kids,” he said. “Their mom saysrnshe’s okay too. How about yourself. Father? Maybe you’d likerna ride up to the hospital and kind of have yourself checkedrnout?”rnSomething in his voice made the priest suddenly alert tornwhat he was saying. The young man seemed uncertain ofrnhimself, a little hesitant. Beyond the uniformed figure, a constellationrnof blinking lights swam disconcertingly in a blur ofrncolors. “My glasses,” Father Hillary said, passing a hand downwardrnover his face. “I left my eyeglasses in the car.”rnInstantly, the wide simple face of the policeman cleared,rnas though the weight of centuries had been lifted from him.rn”Your glasses! You bet. Either! You just stand right here wherernyou’re at now, while I go and find them for you.”rnThe priest passed his hand again across his face, from left tornright this time. A pain had started behind his temple and hernfelt light-headed and disoriented, as if he were awakening fromrna dream to some urgent obligation he found that he couldrnnot remember. “On the floor somewhere, underneath thernwheel,” he told the officer in a voice that sounded to him tornhave become detached from his body. “Thank you veryrnmuch.” His exploring fingers had discovered a raised place justrnin front of his right ear.rnIt took the young police officer, whose name Father Hillaryrnmanaged finally to recall was Tymanski, less than a minute tornfind the missing spectacles. The right lens was badly cracked,rnbut the priest was able to fill out the form Patrolman Tymanskirngave him, and to read the one he exchanged it with the fatrnwoman for. I ler insurance company was located in Salt LakernCity and the priest did not recognize the name she had writtenrndown, although her face was distantly familiar to him. Certainlyrnshe was not a member of his parish.rnWhile the first officer measured distances with a steel tape.rnPatrolman Tymanski invited the priest and the woman in turnrnto sit with him in the squad car while he questioned themrnabout the accident. Before, the woman, acting sullen, hadrnseemed to avoid Father Hillary’s eye, but now that she wasrnspeaking with Tymanski her voice became excited, and oncernthe priest saw her gesture strongly in his direction as he satrnwaiting inside his own automobile. He was slightly nauseous,rnand the disoriented feeling had been displaced by a growingrnsense that something crucial was happening that he had momentarilyrnforgotten but that he needed to be in touch with immediately.rnWhen Tymanski was through talking to the woman,rnhe got out of his car and slowly walked over to the priest’s.rnHis face had a strange, twisted expression, as if one side of itrnwere engaged in a critical struggle with the other side, andrnfor a moment it seemed to Father Hillary that he was unable tornspeak. Then the face became reconciled with itself, growingrnsuddenly smooth and featureless as a cheese as Patrolman Tymanskirnreached to touch the priest very gently on his rightrntemple. “You are bleeding, Father,” he said. “I will take you tornthe hospital in mv car. The ambulance is on another call.”rnThe priest startled at the touch as if he had received anrnelectric shock. “Oh, the good Lord!” he cried. “Rosa Corellirnhas just had another seizure. I was on my way to her housernwhen this happened. Will you please drive me there as fast asrnyou can? The Lord willing, we won’t be too late.”rnWhen they arrived at Rosa Corelli’s house two minutes later,rnthe ambulance was already drawing away from in front ofrnthe small fenced yard having just been dismissed by DoctorrnWhite, who stood in the open door with the recessed light atrnhis back. The doctor, looking slightly disheveled, had on arnfaded blue parka worn shiny with age over a heavy sweaterrnand held a knitted ski cap in his hand. His scant yellow hairrnwas combed over a round red head and the thick lenses of hisrnstecl-rimmed glasses magnified the bloodshot whites of hisrneyes, which were merry and preternaturally bright. He wasrnplacing a wafer of breathmint in his mouth as the priest andrnthe officer hurriedly approached him. “Take it easy, gentlemen,”rnhe said, “there’s no point in hurrying now.”rnI le stood aside for them to pass and shut the door behindrnhimself when they were inside. “She had a little bit of a problemrnwith the dosage I gave her, and panicked,” Doctor Whiternsaid. “She’s feeling all right now. Go on in and talk to her, Father,rnbut try and make it quick. I fixed her to where she oughtrnto be asleep in fifteen or twenty minutes.”rnT he priest crossed the parior among the marble-topped tables,rnantimaeassarcd chairs, and breakfronts crowded withrnporcelain and glass into the bedroom where the old woman layrnon a high-standing oak bedstead under a quilted comforter.rnHer gray hair on the pillow appeared freshly set and her nightgownrnhad been tied carefully at the throat with a piece ofrnblue ribbon. Over the gown she wore a bed-jacket that maintainedrnher head in a forward position, against the pillow, thernblack eyes open wide in a gray, eager face. Prom the glassrnhalf-filled with water on the bedside table and the firmnessrnof the wrinkled cheeks. Father Hillary saw that both sets ofrnfalse teeth had been set securely in place. One hand lay on toprnof the comforter and held a rosary. “Not yet. Father.” Althoughrnthe voice was strong enough, it seemed to the priestrnthat it was the eyes, not the mouth, that actually spoke.rn”No. Not yet, Rosa. But I’m going to anoint you all thernsame.”rn”Father, your head. You’re bleeding.”rn”I had a small accident on my way over. No one was hurt.rnAPRIL 1993/23rnrnrn