Some of my
colleagues – said Father Hyacinth, while they stopped at a small town near a
lake to have some zanders for lunch in a street bar – are bell-ringers who do
not want to pull a rope, but would rather hang themselves down and strike the
bell from inside with their heads.
- Write a
poem about it - advised Master Adalbert.
"It
reminds me," said Monsignor Paul, carefully separating a spine from flesh
– of my obese ... I think it is important in this story; so, of an obese
colleague of mine, who, any time he did something wrong, like, for example, glancing at a bust of a young woman, he immediately ran to the church to recite his
rosary. He told me once - " I do not really like Our Father in the rosary -
because father never has time for you. But, as I say, Holy Mary, Mother of God
- and often I pass over “holy” - I have the feeling that she listens and
understands me. "-" A woman has to absolve you of your sexism?,
"I asked him. "Sure, because I imagine she says to me:" What
would our busts mean without your looks? "- says my obese colleague.
"Well,"
continued Paul, "had this guy fallen into my hands at an earlier
stage, in the seminary, then I would have sent him to hell ... that is, I would
refuse him to recite the rosary more than once a month. Unfortunately, he had been already fifteen years in the profession... In this situation, I could
only persuade him to buy a new church bell. We met half a year later. He was overflown
with joy. "You have no idea how beautifully this bell rocks," he
said.