"For what reason?" Norberto asked. It should have been enough that General Superior González wanted him. González reported directly to the Pope and his word carried the authority of the Vatican. But when it came to matters involving this province and its five thousand Jesuits, González usually consulted his old friend Father Iglesias in nearby Bilbao. Which was the way Norberto preferred it. He cared about ministering to his parish, not his own advancement.

"I can only say that he asked for you and several others specifically," Father Francisco replied.

"Has Father Iglesias been sent for?"

"He is not on my list," the caller replied. "An airplane has been arranged for you at eight-thirty a.m. It is the General Superior's private airplane. Can I tell him that you will be on it?"

"If I'm so ordered," Norberto said.

"It is the General Superior's wish," Father Francisco gently corrected him.

When it came to ecclesiastic euphemisms, Norberto knew that that was the same thing. The priest said he would be there. The caller thanked him perfunctorily and hung up. Norberto returned to the church.

He took the Bible from Grandfather José and continued reading to the congregation from Matthew. But while the words came, warm and familiar. Father Norberto's heart and mind were elsewhere. They were with his brother and with his congregation. Most of the members were here now, cramming the pews and standing shoulder to shoulder along the three walls. Norberto had to decide who would help the people through the day and night. This would be especially important if friends or relatives had been lost at the factory-and if the fighting were only the start of something terrible. From the way Adolfo had been speaking the night before, the strife was just beginning.

When a calm had come over the congregation-after seven years, Norberto could sense these things-he closed the Bible and spoke to them in general terms about the sorrows and dangers that might lie ahead. He asked them to open their homes and hearts to those who had suffered a loss. Then he told them that he must go to Madrid to confer with the General Superior about the crisis that was facing their nation. He said he would be leaving later that morning.

The congregation was silent after he made his announcement. He knew that the people were never surprised when they were abandoned by the government. That had been true when he was growing up during the Franco years; it had been true during the rape of the coastal seas during the 1970's; and from all appearances it was true now. But for Father Norberto to be leaving them at a time of crisis had to come as a shock.

"Father Norberto, we need you," said a young woman in the first row.

"Dear Isabella," Norberto said, "it is not my desire to go. It is the General Superior's wish."