"Good. He needs your prayers as no man probably ever needed them before. I'll see him now." I crossed her small room and opened the inner door and went in.
Father Phillip was lying flat in the narrow white bed, his arms lying listlessly on either side of the slight hump of his body under the sheet. The big bulge halfway down was his knees over a pillow, the usual position for post-operative appendectomies.
He squeezed out a smile with an effort. "Morning, doctor," he said.
"Father Nick," I smiled back. "Father Nick Molina of Pathology, Father."
His wasted body jerked as if with a knife thrust. Then he said, "Excuse me. I had forgotten that there were doctors who were not laymen. I'm sorry." He drew up a shoulder against his cheek in a curious gesture, then shivered.
"Sorry for what?" I asked.
"Just sorry, I guess...." He winced and was silent.
"Sorry for me?"
"Well, yes."