Page 78

By Jack Joseph Smith

; 98 i the movement of centuriess His black eyes would sometimes light with a smile showing his jagged tenths: Never lie he used to say, there is nothing to be afraid : of; Do what: you have to do, but never argue, If someone needs to be told to go to hell, then tell them 4o go to hell, But never argue about hell;, just remember that it is-theres He used to come down the winding stairs, put his . claw-bone hand on the iron railing and spit on the dust that covered his shoes, | oa ee along*the cements He would wipe his shoes-on the back of his panty legs grining, and then. step down and walk along, His forehead wes v4 : with linesy that might as well been running across: the earths His chin: was always: : high and‘ even with his shoulderss and as his arms ewyng strdight like the cut of ; : a: butohers nie pou knew he saw everything around; No telling how old he wass ' The story-was-that he spent his youth in the ooal'mines and this might have been: the reason for the cold yaderstanding of the devil, that appeared in the form of a vibrations If there-was an illusion im front of him it would be out im half : Yefore-he reached its Like his vestments, his-priests suit that he wore: around’ the: F grounds: was whit®e with stréeke of frays And this hat of his looked like it had spent its entire life on the desert, He had a Tong days He said Mass at six of clock every morning and went to bed late at night after leaning over his desk Pilled with editorials against ,he cops, Or at least this how I immagined it, when on Friday nights-I would see the pear truck pull up in front of the reotory§ He must get tired and then take a can of beer or two, or maybe he drank the whole damn. cases That's probably why he stayed up in his attic in the nights He didn't want’ to shock anybody that might see him really pissed offs: Christ, they mere -atress of himg He used to stand up on that alter with his hands spread like the oe cat man and let tliis droning moan come from deep within his guts

Original Scan

Page 78

AI Interpretation

GPT

Papa Joe is remembered in bodily detail as a frayed, coal-mined, beer-drinking, dust-spitting priest whose jagged smile, butcher-like stride, and hard gaze make him seem ancient, cold, and impossible to fool.

The writing builds him out of clothing, posture, and rumor rather than doctrine, which makes his authority feel physical before it feels spiritual. Even the attic room, broken shoes, and imagined editorials against the cops turn austerity into a kind of menace.


Claude

The physical Lawnegan is sketched as a coal-mines-hardened figure with stone face, frayed vestments, a desert hat, and the Friday beer truck pulling up to the rectory — already legend before he ever directly addresses Michael.