The Geographer's Library

The Geographer’ s Library
“Why Lincoln and not New Haven?”
“To speak frankly, I am not entirely sure. I have just gone where I was
assigned. I work in New Haven three nights each week, but more as a volunteer
than a parish priest. There would seem to be more need of counsel there
than here. Forgive me for saying so if it offends you.”
“Not at all. What do you do in New Haven?”
“I work at a canteen, a soup kitchen, as people seem to call it here, run
by the church. Cooking, cleaning, listening.” He drove one stake firmly
into the turf and grabbed another. “And you are a reporter here? Do you
like your work?” He looked at me steadily, with a warm and open expression.
“I guess I do.”
“Guessing is no good. You are an educated man, so you have the opportunity
to select a profession that you may love, no guessing needed. Your friend
Hannah seems fond of her work.” He paused and threw me a sly smile, his
eyes twinkling mischievously. “And you seem quite fond of her, too. You
looked at her all the way as she walked up to the church.” I blushed and said
nothing, and Reverend Makgabo laughed. “Ah, you see. I knew it. I have a
wife myself, and I look at her in just the very same way. Because I am a priest,
this doesn’t mean I’m not human.” He had an infectious, full-throated laugh
that I couldn’t resist.
“Yeah, she’s okay,” I admitted, which provoked even more laughter from
Reverend Makgabo.
“Okay. Indeed. Yes, indeed she is that.” He looked at me again, in the
same sidelong, half-smiling way. There was something lively, elfin, and winning
about him. “If you don’t mind the observation, you would make an
excellent hooker.”
“Excuse me?”
Twinkly eyes and more laughter. “Yes, I know this word in American has a
meaning perhaps ...well, perhaps not altogether salubrious. I am talking
about rugby, though. Do you play?”
“I never have.”
“Ah, well then, you must play with us. A group of about twenty of us
plays on weekends, when we can. Aside from myself, nobody has ever played
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