His Excellency Cometh
by Gary Clifton
Summer 1854: The scattered small mountain villages were alive with a fervor not known in years. The king’s own Minister of Good-Stuff was traveling down the valley on a donkey, stopping to take sustenance while blessing nearly every citizen of every village, small or smaller. Only good fortune could prevail to those blessed, but woe be it to those disfavored. Armageddon could surely follow.
Fernando, the tall, morose church janitor said, “I’ll make the parish spotless. I’ll clean and scrub until St. Margarita’s shines like new. His Excellency will surely bestow a double blessing on the good people of the Village of San Juan Copa De Basura.”
Father Ricardo, balding and short of breath said, “Brother Fernando, making St. Margarita’s appear new might take a miracle beyond the reach of your broom.”
“Nonetheless,” declared Fernando, “I must do my best for the minister.” He set about brooming and mopping with the energy of a man twenty years younger.
Father Ricardo gathered the villagers in the churchyard. “Everyone must take a bath, so His Excellency isn’t repelled by the stench of goats.”
“But we are not goats,” exclaimed the widow Lucinda Mammacita Fiesta.
Father Ricardo stammered, “Well, madam, most of us smell like them, but as a result of our Holy confabulation sessions in my chambers, I’m a bit more familiar with your terrific body... er uh, personal hygiene. But try a whiff of some of the odorous specimens in this crowd.”
He continued. “Emilio, all villagers will come to your barbershop, El Pela Cielo. Ensure that each villager’s ears show beneath their locks.
“Carlos, you must make certain that all liquor available in your Cantina de Borracha is concealed out of sight.
“Raphael, you are to take care that adequate tortillas and frijoles are prepared, in your Cafe de Raton. His Excellency will be hungry after riding such a great distance on his ass.
“Conchita, you must hide all the girls in your Felice Casa de las Señoritas. Place a sign out front: Escuela para Señoritas.”
“But Padre,” Conchita replied, “what if the Monsignor wants to inspect this Escuela?”
“Then ensure the girls wear white.”
Near midday, shouts and cheers wafted down the valley. The Venerated One was nearby. His Excellency appeared from the jungle, fat, pompous, with intermittent yellow teeth. As he bounced along on an exhausted donkey being led by his exhausted Servitor, a great hurrah reverberated throughout the village.
Father Ricardo stood at the head of the glut of joyous villagers. Bowing deeply, he grasped the Minister’s hand and kissed it reverently. “Thank you, Excellency, for visiting our humble pueblo.”
His Excellency slid heavily off the donkey and wiped his hand on his servitor’s robe, then massaged his backside. “Dummy up, Priest. I’ve traveled far on my ass in this Godforsaken sweltering wilderness. I’m in great need of food and drink. Tequila, tortillas, and frijoles would do nicely.”
“Well, er, uh,” Father Ricardo stammered. “Tequila, the nectar of the devil—”
“Great Heavenly wrath, Priest, the cantina stands right there,” he pointed. “If it has no tequila, I’ll have my man burn its useless presence to the ground. Have the proprietor of that café bring nourishment immediately. And why in the Saint’s name is the church bell not tolling for the arrival of the Minister?”
Father Ricardo turned to Fernando, the janitor. “Well, fool, why is the bell not pealing?”
Fernando studied his feet. “Father, as you might recall, the rope broke during the wedding last week and the replacement has not arrived from Amazon.”
Just then, two attractive, white-clad fallen doves from Conchita’s Felice Casa de las Señoritas appeared with a tray of frijoles and a decanter of tequila.
His Excellency sat at a small table in the plaza and gorged like a starving sow with piglets.
A hand tugged surreptitiously at Father Ricardo’s robe. It was a slow fellow, commonly called the village idiot. “Father, I can climb the tower and ring the bell. It will sound and pray please His Excellency.”
Ricardo studied the little person. “Yes, if the minister leaves while unhappy, he may curse the village. We could all be transformed into frogs. Go forth, young man.”
The little fellow scrambled up the tower ladder, retired to a corner, then charged the bell, colliding with great force with his forehead. A beautiful tone drifted outward which surely must have pleased the Minister.
Unfortunately, the idiot was knocked unconscious and plunged eighty feet to splatter on the stone floor below.
His Excellency, hearing the sounds, and well imbibed with tequila and frijoles, with a fair young maiden on each arm, strode into the church and studied the carnage.
Father Ricardo, in the throes of grief, exclaimed, “Great Heavens, now who will ring the bell for His Excellency?”
“Yes,” echoed His Excellency, freeing an arm sufficiently from his brace of sweet young things to down a snort of tequila. “Who?”
Forward bravely stepped another young man. “I, the twin brother of the recently deceased idiot will ring the bell for His Excellency.”
Father Ricardo inquired, “Tell us you have an improved process?”
Without replying, the second volunteer clambered up the ladder. He retired to a corner and charged the bell, face first, creating a melodious peal. Alas, unconscious, he, too, plunged eighty feet, landing at His Excellency’s feet next to the flattened body of his twin.
“Holy buckets!” exclaimed His Excellency.
Father Ricardo cried out, his dismay echoed by a host of freshly bathed and hair-trimmed villagers. “Great Heaven, I only just recalled we don’t know the names of these two noble warriors of piety and grace. Their faces are intact, sort of. Does anyone—?”
His Excellency stepped closer. “I don’t know these idiots’ names, but both faces certainly ring a bell for me.”
Stooping to study the perished pair more closely, he remarked sagely, “This second one is definitely a dead ringer for the first. Bless this village. Bring more tequila... and señoritas de la Escuela.”
A great cheer resounded.
Copyright © 2024 by Gary Clifton
