The Last Moments

After spending some time in Las Casas, a city that was rumored to have Mass everyday, looking for the whiskey priest, I decided to leave and search smaller areas for him. Thankfully the first town I decided to investigate was able to provide a very good lead on the whiskey priest. Apparently, he had just left the day before I arrived. Some locals were kind enough to guide me to Mr. Lehr and his sister's place, where the priest had stayed during his time in the town.
Mr. Lehr and Miss Lehr are Protestants living in Mexico. They are of German heritage, and look down at the Catholic church. When asking why they did so, Mr. Lehr told me that he felt it was too much about the ceremonies, and  not focused on true worship. The siblings had taken in the priest, knowing it was the Christ-like thing to do. Miss Lehr informed me about how the people had given the priest a warm welcome and eagerly asked him to take care of the baptisms for them. Apparently it had been years since a priest last visited them. Before leaving, the priest had given all the money he had earned from doing the baptisms to a school teacher. A local informed me that a mestizo had come asking for the priest to follow him.
Determined not to lose his trail once more, I set out after the two. I was able to get close enough to catch bits and pieces of their conversations. From what I gathered, the mestizo was leading the priest to his doom. With this now weighing on my mind, I was tempted to turn around and try to forget about what I had seen and heard. I was a mere foreigner in their land, I could not break their law. Yet I someone managed to follow the priest to the hut, where the gringo laid dying. I took refuge from the rain under a tree when the lieutenant showed up, knowing the priest's end was nearing. I watched the hut, listening closely for any conversations, but the rain drowned it out.
Once the rain stopped, I followed the priest and the lieutenant to the city where the priest would live his last moments. I knew my chances of speaking with the priest were gone. I remained in the area until I heard the shot that took the life of a man who I had followed for so long, looking for a story. He was far from perfect, yet I can't help but think his story had more to it than what I knew. As a friend once said, "Everyone is the hero of their own story." Perhaps the whiskey priest was a better hero than what I give him credit for.

Timing Matters

To only be a few days late in getting the chance to meet the whiskey priest has caused me great frustration. After temporarily losing his trail, I had decided to go back to the Fellows and see if they or anyone around them could provide me with enough information to point me in the correct direction of the whiskey priest. I was met with any empty plantation and a nearly empty village close by. The only one left was a woman who was about to leave until she saw me approaching.
As the only person left I could get information from, the woman sadly told me about what had happened. The gringo, which I had been unaware of while searching for the priest, had come to the village and murdered her baby. While trying to get to the body of her dead child, a man came to the village and went into the hut her child was in. The man turned out to be the whiskey priest. He accompanied her to the cemetery where the woman laid her child to rest. At some point while she was praying the priest had departed, off to whatever destination he had in mind. Feeling guilty about not being able to tell me where he was headed, the woman suggested that I head north, to where many priests had tried to escape to since it meant leaving the country that persecuted them.

Whiskey and the Daughter

My search for more information on the elusive priest lead me to a small village. I had not expected to find much information, perhaps a small clue of the priest's name if I was lucky. What I found there, however, was more information on the priest than what those hunting him down would dream of finding. Apparently, this priest was not so great of a priest as many had first thought.
It was through talking with a woman named Maria that I learned more about this whiskey priest. That is correct, the priest was addicted to alcohol and would carry some with him if he could. I remember a very faint and brief flicker of amusement in Maria's eyes when I commented about the priest not only breaking the law for remaining a priest but also for not being able to give up drinking. That flicker went away as Maria began to tell me about her daughter, Brigitta, who was the illegitimate child of the priest. The way I witnessed Brigitta behave, it was hard to believe a man who was supposed to devote his life to God was her father. I suspect she received a deal of teasing for her father not being around or for being a an illegitimate child. Such is the cruel way of the world. Perhaps I will be able to catch up to this whiskey priest soon and ask him my questions, if nothing prevents me from doing so that is.

Bananas and a Clue

My search for more information on the mysterious man who talked with Mr. Tench led me to a banana plantation of all places. Coincidentally, the plantation is owned by an American family living in Mexico, a similar situation to Mr. Tench. The owner is Captain Fellow, whose wife and daughter help him with the plantation. It was from the Captain and his daughter that I was able to learn more about the "doctor" who had talked with Mr. Tench.
According to both father and daughter, the man was not a doctor at all! He was a priest on the run from the government. This explains the Latin in the book he left behind at the dentist's place, which I believe could have been related to his duties as a priest. After her father was out of hearing range, Coral told me she had informed the priest he was welcomed back to the plantation if he ever returned. It was touching to see her kindness towards the man, even if it could lead to dangerous consequences later on. To drop the story of the priest on the run now would be a waste, I will continue on and see what more I'm able to discover.

A Chat leads to more

I was given the opportunity to go down to Mexico to have an interview with one of the locals, a dentist known as Mr. Tench. He told me about some of the basic living conditions of the area, like the water not being the best choice for a drink, and the limitations he was forced to deal with. Mr. Tench had a drill from Japan which was quickly wearing down and he could not afford to get a better quality one from America. As interesting as hearing about how he had to use sand to cast teeth, it was the story of a mysterious visitor that got my attention.
A strange man who had claimed to be a doctor once overheard Mr. Tench talking in English at the docks. The two men had taken to talking before ending up back at Mr. Tench's dwelling to enjoy some brandy on what was a rather hot day. Mr. Tench had told the other man much of what he had told me about, his dentistry, his children, and his desire to leave Mexico. What piqued my interest in the stranger was what he left behind. A book that was printed in Latin. Perhaps I'll be able to find more information about this stranger, and the book he left behind.