The two caretakers spread ash from the pyre atop the decomposing bodies in the pit. Then, with the mangy dog watching from a few feet off, begin shoveling dirt. The Cardinal, asleep in the grass by the tree, wakes in time to offer a blessing. He blesses the bodies of the passed duelists, bows his head, and asks for the caretakers to join him in prayer.
The Cardinal prays:
Nihil est in intellectu quod non sit prius in sensu, he says.
The caretakers look at each other. The thin man shrugs. The stand silently.
And yet what, the Cardinal says, prepares man’s intellect for the final meeting with our Lord? Can any sense pave the road for the intellect’s understanding?
The dog wanders off toward a spot along the northern fence.
Help us only to accept with very unthinking serenity that Moment, That at the time You appoint. Without undue panic, or terror, or shrieking, or weeping. Without wailing, or pleading, or bargaining. Without fainting at the first sign of It, or contorting one’s face into a maddened grimace with hands clutching air, or rending garments.
None of the senses, he concludes, founds a base upon which the intellect can stand, and survey past the towers of ignorance - to the nature of That Which Takes. And even though you have given us nothing to come close to figuring the face behind the cowl, at least, Lord, give us a bit of dignity at the end.
And so we say in Your name, Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum. Amen.
The fat man peers over to where the dog stands, sniffing intently.
Pepple, he says, you bury those two by the fence?
The thin man looks over.
The dog rips a hunk of hide from the Background Artist’s green-black midriff.
Pepple indicates that he may have forgotten.
The Cardinal waves his hand over the grave, making the sign of the cross. Without nodding to the others, he returns heavy-hearted to the oak. Full of introspection, full of regrets. What if I’d followed my passion and chosen a career as a Park Ranger? he wonders. What good was all the striving, the politicing for this red garment, this golden ring, this high station?
Thus the Cardinal falls into a profound funk.
Yet when the Carpenter arrives, the Cardinal plays his well-worn role to perfection, standing upright, smiling expectantly, aloof, stern, serene.
The Carpenter, not sure what to do, takes off his baseball cap and - slightly paniced - bows. Never would have expected to a man as yourself here, he says.
When will people realize that the Church is everywhere? wonders the Cardinal.
They raise their guns. Their guns go off.
