Elders by Ryan McIlvain Page B

making his mother proud. “My little scholar,” she used to say, smiling down at him—large brown eyes, her face framed in curls. Passos felt expansive, full of promise, in the warmth of that smile. He redoubled his efforts at school. A few years later Passos started to note something of himself in the way Tiago took time out from the store or pickup football games to do his homework or study for his tests. And now in Tiago’s letters, however brief, he found other echoes of his younger self: the small, careful penmanship, the serious tone, the adult phrasing. “In regards to your recent letter …” he’d write. “Things continue as usual here …” he’d write. The familiar motions of precocity. Passos felt certain that Tiago could go on to college, either in Brazil, or, lately he thought, in America. But why was he skipping school? And where were the precocious letters lately? Where was Tiago?
    The water still ran in the bathroom sink, a lulling sound, and Passos still circled and circled the raised postmark with his thumb, like a stuck machine. He only noticed the movement now, and stopped it, on account of a building muscular tension at the base of his palm. He tucked the envelope back into his shoulder bag, turned the water off. How long had he been in here? It must have been at least five minutes. More? He looked in the mirror to arrange his face in an expression of listlessness, or extra listlessness. He flushed the toilet again for good measure.
    Out in the living room Elder McLeod and Josefina sat quietly, not quite looking at each other, sipping from glasses of water. Passos’s glass sat on the coffee table in a hoop of settled liquid. He took a seat beside his junior companion, took a long draft of the drink. He showed a weak, apologetic smile to Josefina.
    “Are you feeling all right?” she said.
    “I’m okay,” Elder Passos said in a voice meant to suggest he really wasn’t, was merely bearing up well.
    “Well,” Josefina said, “drink up. This summer heat can test even you northeasterners, can’t it?”
    Passos smiled, put the glass of water to his lips again, finishing most of it.
    “Anyway,” McLeod came in, “as I said, we just wanted to drop by for a few minutes and make sure that you’re doing okay, Josefina. Is there anything you need? Anything we can do for you?”
    “Just keep doing what you’re doing.” She smiled. “Our next lesson is Saturday, right? Should Leandro and I read anything in specific? Which number is it?”
    “Nothing specific,” Passos said. He paused. He had the impression that Josefina wanted them to leave, though at the moment he didn’t actually mind. An unannounced visit in the middle of the morning? A P-Day morning at that? It must be as inconvenient for her as for them. What had gotten into McLeod anyway? Had Passos created a monster? Josefina looked at him, still waiting. “No, nothing specific to read. Just keep reading the Book of Mormon every night. We’ll start in on the fourth discussion this Saturday. That’s the green pamphlet we gave you, if you want to preview it.”
    “We already have,” Josefina said. “We read all the preview pamphlets together. The green pamphlet is all about how alcoholand drugs defile the body, right? How the body is a temple? Leandro and I read that again just recently.”
    “That’s excellent,” Elder McLeod said. “We love to hear about that kind of initiative.”
    “Yes,” Passos said, “yes, we do.”
    The elders finished their waters and thanked Josefina for her time, leaving her with a prayer. On the way back to the bus stop McLeod thanked Passos for indulging him. “I just wanted to make sure things were going all right for them, you know? Josefina said everything was fine, and that was all I needed to hear. I just got nervous, I guess.”
    “You had a ‘feeling,’ you said. In the shower.”
    “It came to me there. I guess it was a prompting.”
    “A prompting? That doesn’t sound like