The Thunder Keeper
“He stood motionless, watching the shadows that clung to the walls. Finally: the almost imperceptible creak of a floorboard and a slight figure stepping out of a doorway. Shuffling down the corridor, hugging the shadows.“I know who you are, Eddie,” Father John said.The man stopped. He was only a few feet away, and Father John could see him clearly—dark, flat face and broad nostrils of a Pueblo Indian; black hair slicked back behind ears that stood away from his head; pinched, worried expression.... He was about five-feet-eight with narrow shoulders and thin arms that dangled at his side. The collar of his jeans jacket stood out from his scrawny neck.“I gotta talk to you, Father.” His voice was high-pitched, strained and unfamiliar. Not the voice in the confessional.Father John motioned the Indian into his office. He moved slowly through the door, lifting and placing each foot as if he were testing the solidity of the floor beneath him. Then he stopped, looking around at the desk and chairs, the crowded bookshelves.MoreLess
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