"It means a man who's damned enough to fill his Skin with alcohol, my
boy, fill it until he's no longer a man but a beast."
"Alcohol? What is that?"
"The stuff that's in the wine, my boy. You don't know what I'm talking
about because the knowledge was long ago forbidden except to us of the
cloth. Cloth, he says! Bah! We go around like everybody, naked except
for these extradermal monstrosities which reveal rather than conceal,
which not only serve us as clothing but as mentors, parents, censors,
interpreters, and, yes, even as priests. Where's a bottle that's not
empty? I'm thirsty."
Rastignac stuck to the subject "Why was the making of this alcohol
forbidden?"
"How should I know?" said Father Jules. "I'm old, but not so ancient
that I came with the Six Flying Stars.... Where is that bottle?"
Rastignac was not offended by his crossness. Priests were notorious
for being the most ill-tempered, obstreperous, and unstable of men.
They were not at all like the clerics of Earth, whom everybody knew
from legend had been sweet-tempered, meek, humble, and obedient to
authority. But on L'Bawpfey these men of the Church had reason to be
out of sorts. Everybody attended Mass, paid their tithes, went to
confession, and did not fall asleep during sermons. Everybody believed
what the priests told them and were as good as it was possible for
human beings to be. So, the priests had no real incentive to work, no
evil to fight.
Then why the prohibition against alcohol?
"_Sacre Bleu!_" groaned Father Jules. "Drink as much as I did last
night and you'll find out. Never again, I say. Ah, there's another
bottle, hidden by a providential fate under my traveling robe. Where's
that corkscrew?"
Father Jules swallowed half of the bottle, smacked his lips, picked up
his Skin from the floor, brushed off the dirt and said, "I must be
going, my sons. I've a noon appointment with the bishop, and I've a
good twelve kilometers to travel. Perhaps one of you gentlemen has a
car?"
Rastignac shook his head and said he was sorry but their car was tired and
had, besides, thrown a shoe. Father Jules shrugged philosophically, put on
his Skin and reached out again for the bottle.