In the winter at the village of Seven, six men in heavy blue cloaks walked sternly down the center of the boulevard. Each had over his shoulder a long wooden ladle, which they bobbed in unison. Behind them, children followed in small groups of twos and threes. They made their way to the center of town to the church called St. Augustines Church, which for a long time had been strictly reactionary, but now had taken a stance against price gauging usury forced on the villagers by city grain officials. The church was communist. The men with ladles reached the church steps just as the bells rang ten. They waited. The church doors swung open and an old priest soon found himself with six ladles up his ass, breaking him.