Then she presented me to the priest, who welcomed me. The other singer stood quietly by.
“And this is Christoph,” whispered Jennifer, and we shook hands. He was a tall, calm man with aristocratic bearing. I suddenly thought of my tear-stained cheeks, and wished I had a lipstick.
“So very pleased to meet you,” he said, in the correct manner that Germans always know indicates good family background. But his smile was genuine, and his grip was warm.
“This was beautiful,” I said to the priest, sotto voce and somewhat abashed.
“Did you like it?” the priest said, a pleased grin lighting up his face. “Was it your first time, then?”
“Y-yes,” I admitted. “I-I had no idea…”
“…I’ve been trying to bring her here, Father,” Jennifer said, grinning.
“But she is no doubt a very busy person at the clinic, no?” said the priest, still smiling.
“I-I am,” I faltered, not sure of what to say.
“Perhaps you will join us for supper?” he said cordially.
“N-now?” I said, somewhat nonplussed.
“Yes, now,” said Christoph, with a teasing smile. I liked his dark eyes. “Your Jennifer has taught us her casual American ways. Nowadays we often will simply go and eat something together, after Mass.”
“And a glass of wine is mandatory,” said Josef, laughing. “Shall we go?”
As we filed out of the empty church, I watched as each of my companions genuflected briefly, then crossed themselves, eyes on the altar. Once outside, we shivered in the cold night air.
“’Wherever the Catholic sun doth shine…’” Jennifer said, in English.
Christoph took up the refrain, smiling broadly. “’…there’s always laughter and good red wine.’”
“’At least I’ve always found it so…’” continued Josef, his arm
around Jennifer.
“’…Benedicamus domino,’” finished Father, smiling at me. The group laughed.
“W-what is this?” I asked, amused but perplexed.
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