Black Olives
2004; University of Missouri; Volume: 27; Issue: 1 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1353/mis.2004.0037
ISSN1548-9930
Autores Tópico(s)Archaeology and Historical Studies
ResumoI take my father for an interview with Jesus, who has rented temporary headquarters in a cave. My father is not very mobile, so I have to carry him in pieces, one piece at a time over the dusty heat of the stones. Jesus is there, sitting cross-legged on a rug, eating black olives. My father laboriously reassembles himself in the silence. Suddenly Jesus is next to him, placing an olive on his lips. The olive glints wetly in the cave light. Then I remember: olives are one of the foods my father hates. I look away, hoping he does not say something to insult Our Lord. When I look back it's just me and Dad. I manipulate his arms and legs, turn his creaky head 360 degrees. And, hell: he seems no better than before. But then I lift my father and he is light, light enough to carry in one piece, and the evening air has cooled the stones, and the scent of myrrh trails down from a gigantic moon.
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