A Canticle for Leibowitz (St. Leibowitz, #1)

by Walter M. Miller Jr.

Brother Joshua stammered for a moment, then shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’ ‘Would you like half an hour? Would you like a glass of water? You go so gray. I tell you, son, if you’re to lead the flock, you’ll have to be able to decide things here-and-now. You need to now. Well, can you speak?’ ‘Domne, I’m not – certain—’ ‘You can croak anyhow, eh? Are you going to submit to the yoke, son? Or aren’t you broken yet? You’ll be asked to be the ass He rides into Jerusalem, but it’s a heavy load, and it’ll break your back, because He’s carrying the sins of the world.’ ‘I don’t think I’m able.’ ‘Croak and wheeze. But you can growl too, and that’s well for the leader of the pack. Listen, none of us has been really able. But we’ve tried, and we’ve been tried. It tries you to destruction, but you’re here for that. This Order has had abbots of gold, abbots of cold tough steel, abbots of corroded lead, and none of them was able, although some were abler than others, some saints even. The gold got battered, the steel got brittle and broke, and the corroded lead got stamped into ashes by Heaven. Me, I’ve been lucky enough to be quicksilver; I spatter, but I run back together somehow. I feel another spattering coming on, though, Brother, and I think it’s for keeps this time. What are you made of, son? What’s to be tried?’ ‘Puppy dog tails. I’m meat, and I’m scared, Reverend Father.’ ‘Steel screams when it’s forged, it gasps when it’s quenched. It creaks when it goes under load. I think ev...