The
church of Ulcanus stressed the importance of confession. Their
priests like to say that secrets are weapons the wicked can use
against the otherwise
righteous. Now, I’m not sure if I endorse the church but I can
vouch for one thing. Secrets are fantastic weapons.
We
walked into the church sometime around two in the afternoon, and the
place was pretty much empty. It’s not like it was a deli or
something. A church is probably the last place a person wants to be
on their day off. Nobody wakes up at seven in the morning on a
Saturday and says, yeah, I want to sit on a hard bench for two hours
in a non-air-conditioned room with a hundred other sweaty people. You
go because you believe you have no choice.
Murals
of ancient battles were painted between every ceiling beam, and
statues of the seven stances of virtue marked every third pew on
either side of a long and wide red carpet while the seventh statue,
by far the largest, loomed high above the pulpit. All of the statues
were of men posed in a stage of sadness. The one behind the pulpit
depicted a man cupping his face in the palm of his hands.
There
was a conversation coming from the confessional, so I did my best to
ignore what was being said. We sat in a pew nearby and waited, and in
a few minutes the curtain to the confessional opened. A middle-aged
elf in a tailored grey suit power-walked from the booth to the front
doors with his head down.
Incense
assaulted my senses and made my eyes water after I drew back the
curtain and entered the confessional. The light was swallowed up
behind me by the curtain and only a shaft of light illuminated the
wall. It carved out the shape of a man. His face looked droopy, like
the shadow of a slowly melting man. Through the window, I could make
out a black veil which covered his face. A black nylon cap covered
his cleanly shaven head. He reminded me of a novelty condom I won at
the boardwalk last year. It was plastic figurine for your key chain.
There was a pickle man in the condom with little thin arms and fat
cartoon hands. That was a pretty good description of the priest,
actually. He had all these brown moles on his cheeks which looked
like plant bulbs about to bud under the nylon. The veil was pulled
back revealing a rummy, ruddy face that protruded and bulged through
an opening in front making his face look like the top half of a
muffin.
“Hello
father.” I closed the curtain behind me and sat on a tiny bench. As
my eyes adjusted to the dark, the priest’s face became clear. He
was old, like someone’s grandfather. His nose was a fat, blood
vessel flecked bulb of flesh dangling from a collapsed nose bridge.
“This is my first time… Doing this.”
“What
do you seek to unburden yourself with?” The priest replied.
He
said it like he was just repeating what the home office told him to
say to every new customer. It was hurried and matter of fact. I
expected this moment to be much more intimate but instead it felt
like I was going to be buying something soon. I expected disdain. A
part of me really wanted to be hated.
“I’ve
been thinking about someone from high school lately? She was someone
I kinda… Well, I wasn’t very nice to. Every now and then the
memory will just pop into my head, and it’s so vivid that it’s
like I’m living through it again. All I can do is shout the memory
away. I’ve got a lot of debt on my soul, and I’m not totally sure
it should be forgiven.”
“Ulcanus
doesn’t forgive, but he will unburden you. Take sin into himself
and make it his own.”
“Does
he? Can he? No matter what?”
“Yes.”
“But
how do I forgive myself?” I watched the priest carefully.
“Is
forgiveness what you need, or is it something you want? What
difference does forgiveness make if the sin is no longer yours?”
The priest said.
“I
guess that’s why that guy that just came out before me look so
relieved. He just got done dumping all his problems in your lap. That
makes you a sort of saint, don’t you think?” I watched for a
change in his expression, but I got nothing. He just sat there, arms
crossed, staring off away from me into the darkness.
“Son,
do you have something to confess?” The priest seemed to be getting
anxious already, and I hadn’t even started to confess.
“Sorry
father. I’m just a little nervous is all.” I sat there thinking
about what I was doing, why I was doing it, all that. I couldn’t
think of a good reason to stop so I just kept going. And you know
what they say about secrets. They aren’t secret if everybody knows.
“So… Okay. I was about thirteen. I used to go to one of those
kinds of schools that used to bus people in from all over. Real
diverse crowd, you know? Which means you get into a lot of fights,
form cliques, do you know what I mean?”
“Yes,
go on.”
“Well,
I was one of those kids that listened to rock music. Had long hair,
plaid button downs, all that shit… Sorry, stuff.”
I
watched the priest sit silently in the dimly lit cubicle beside me,
but he seemed oddly un-swayed. He seemed like he as hard as wood. A
soldier of god braving stories of depravity through a ten-inch
window. I doubted my story would even elicit a response, but I wanted
him to look at me like I was the most disgusting human he had ever
met.
It
would’ve lent a great sense of irony to the whole charade.
“I
only had about three friends in that school.” I continued. “They
were two guys like me that no one else wanted to hang out with. There
was this one girl. Her name was Sarah. I thought I had it bad, but
Sarah didn’t have any friends. She had this gimpy little walk where
she would bob up and down on one side, all hunched over, looking at
her feet. One of my friends used to follow her around school
imitating her walk. I laughed. I mean, I laugh even to this day, but
I always feel bad after. It was nice at the time to be the one
dishing it out for once instead of being the one taking it all the
time.”
I
sat on that thought for a moment and really turned it over in my head
as the priest listened. I had never said any of this out loud before.
The thoughts had lived inside a corner of my head for so long that
they were gathering dust. I just happened upon the memory on my way
to the church as I was searching for something worthwhile to confess
to. Memory is like that. The moment you find something hidden you
haven’t thought about in a while, and you dust off the pictures and
thumb your way through them, they tend to stick with you for a while
until you put them back where you found them.
“And
you wish to confess to this?” The priest said, breaking the
silence.
“Yes
and no. Just bear with me. We had this talent show near the end of
the year. I had done the one last year and really embarrassed myself.
I didn’t know what to do so I made like I was removing my thumb,”
I reenacted the illusion for him through the window, but he never
looked over. “Anyway,” I said, deflated. “It was a disaster.
The teachers basically made people clap for me. It was fucking
brutal… Sorry.”
The
priest sighed but didn’t respond.
“Sarah
goes up on stage and whispered something into the microphone that no
one could understand and hobbled over to the piano. She was so shy…”
I
took a breath and thought about the blurry Sarah from my memory.
There was a feeling I hadn’t felt in so long. It felt like someone
had a rope tied around my lungs and was tightening it whenever I
tried to speak. I remembered her being cuter than she probably was
which seemed to make the memory even harder to relive.
“So,
there she was behind this piano, and she started playing. I looked
over and my friends were giggling, and a part of me wanted to join
in. But I got this sinking feeling. I looked over to my friend Daly,
and he was whispering something to a friend next to him. I could see
he was planning something. I always remember moments like those in
slow motion because I was thinking at that moment that I should have
said something. Like, I should have at least tried to talk him out of
whatever he was about to do, but I couldn’t. I just sat there…
“Then
Adam, this other kid popped up out of his seat and yelled out.
Hnnnnnnnggggg! Like a retard, you know? Loud enough for Sarah to stop
playing. She just sat there on that bench in front of the piano…
Frozen. The whole crowd was silent and looking at us and within maybe
twenty seconds half of them were laughing. All two, maybe three
hundred of them. That’s when I realized everyone was looking at us.
Meanwhile, I was looking at Sarah, and she was looking back at me.
Dead at me.” I could picture her face in that moment as if it were
happening again.
“I
can’t take my goddamn eyes off her, father. As much as I want to, I
can’t do it. I can see from where I’m standing she’s about to
cry. I can tell. Then Adam slaps me in the chest and looks at me all
cockeyed as if I’m the asshole for not laughing. So… I laughed.”
I
stopped when I remembered her eyes. Those trembling wide blue eyes
staring down at me. When she ran off the stage, I felt like such an
asshole. She didn’t deserve what she got from us. She was just on
the wrong end of the pecking order. I was in that confessional for a
reason, and I was sure Benny, my partner, was getting tired of me
drawing this all out.
“How
do you do it, father? How do you forgive yourself?”
“Well,”
The priest said after a short pause. “I’m not as experienced as
you—”
“But
you’ve done things, right?”
“We’ve
all done something we regret.”
“So
how do you forgive yourself?” I let my voice drop down lower for
emphasis, and I watched as the priest shifted on the bench.
“I
confess.”
His
voice was sounding raspy and ragged. It was a sound I knew well.
Everyone starts out that way as they try to figure out if they’re
in danger.
“And
that works?”
“I
wouldn’t be a priest if I didn’t believe it did. Trust me. You’ll
feel better now that you’ve said it out loud.”
A
slight breeze blew the curtain open momentarily, and the daylight in
the church receded behind the sound of neglected, metal hinges
squealing. The church doors slammed shut, and that seemed to startle
the priest who was clearly not expecting the sound. There was a
silent moment where neither of us spoke.
I
came closer to the window frame and stared into the priest’s eyes.
“Do
you have anything you want to confess to me?” I said.
I
could see the fear coating the surface of his eye. It was wet and
trembling.
“What
is this?” The priest’s voice was tremulous. His mouth hung open,
shaking, and his jowls swayed slightly.
“This
is confession.” I stared on.
“I
don’t know what—”
“Yeah
you do.” I said.
The
priest leaped to his feet and swung open the curtain only to find
Benny, who was the size and shape of a wall, standing between him and
the exit. I opened the curtain in my cubicle and revealed myself to
the priest. My appearance takes people by surprise. Long, curly brown
hair, three-piece suit, and a well edged, short cropped beard. My
mother used to tell me I had delicate features but those are all gone
now. Years of fighting have taken a toll on my nose and eyebrows. The
priest stood there staring at me with his face shaking like he had
come down with a case of delirium tremors.
“Take
a seat.” I pointed to the rows of benches just outside the
confession booths.
Benny
stepped backward exactly one step and held out a ham sized palm to
show the priest where to sit. With some hesitation, the priest minced
his way to the pew and his long, black, silky robe swished with every
step.
The
priest sat down with his back to me and peered around his shoulder
from the corner of his eye. “I don’t have any money,”
“Oh,
you got plenty of money, father. We’re not here for that.”
“What
do you want then?” His voice took on a higher pitch as the anxiety
began to wear away at his composure.
“You’ve
got the look of a man who is confronted with a choice,” I said. “A
choice like, do I just sit here and see what these guys want, or do I
try to run? Or are you thinking about fighting?”
“Listen,
just take whatever you want. Ulcanus will forgive you.”
“See
that?” I nodded to Benny who was standing beside the priest. Benny
looked down at him with a subtle smirk creeping into the corners of
his mouth. I sat down behind the priest. “He’s trying to bribe us
already.”
“Then…”
The priest stammered. “Tell me what you want.”
“I
want a confession.”
“What
am I confessing to?”
“You
mean you can’t think of one little thing to confess to? Nothing?”
“We
all live in sin—"
I
interrupted him. “Come on now. How about this? Tell me about the
worst thing you’ve ever done. Look at me when I talk to you.”
The
priest turned around slowly but never looked me in the eyes.
“I’m
going to be honest with you,” I said. “I don’t want to hurt
you. Nod your head if you understand me.”
The
priest nodded.
“But
I will if you make me. So, most important rule is, don’t lie to me.
Got it?”
The
priest nodded again.
“What’s
the most fucked up thing you’ve ever done?”
Our
eyes locked and as they did, I felt my eyes twitch, and my skin
became warm. The priest looked at Benny as he stepped closer, and his
face screwed up as he tried to stifle a sob.
“I…”
The priest tried to catch his breath. “I’ve done things…”
“What
kind of things, father?”
The
priest looked down at the ground with his arm draped over the back of
the bench. A tear fell down his face and exploded into a tiny wet dot
on the floor.
“To
children.”
“What
kind of things, father?”
“Please,
don’t make me say it.”
“It’s
not real until you say it out loud, father. Go on.”
For
every moment the priest bought with his silence, my patience thinned.
In these situations, it’s all I can do to keep from beating a
confession out of people.
“I
touched them.”
I
smiled. “Where did you touch them, father? Like, on the hand or
something? Don’t sanitize the truth. Let it set you free!”
The
priest sucked in air in short, stammering bursts.
“Their
private parts.”
“Their
private parts? You mean dicks? Vaginas? What? I need specifics.”
“Both.”
“Both!”
I laughed and looked at Benny who was unamused. “He’s a playboy,
this guy.” I leaned in with my elbows on my knees and my chin in
the palm of my hands. “Did you like it?”
The
priest leaned away as the sobs came and soon he was a blubbering
mess. “I…”
“Aye
aye. Yeah, I think you did. Think you still do, too.” I took a
moment to take him in. Just moments ago the priest was sitting stoic
in his dark little box judging all the sinners and now... Well, when
confronted with his sins, he fell apart. Just like everyone does. It
was kind of disappointing. “You’re doing good.” I patted the
priest’s shoulder.
The
priest breathed in, composing himself. Stuffing his sadness away.
“Just
one more question, and we’re done. Okay?”
The
priest nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off me as he leaned back.
“Did
you ever make them touch you?”
The
priest stared into my eyes and began to sob. He tore himself away
from my gaze and faced the front of the church, slowly bending over
to place his head between his knees.
I
looked to Benny and nodded. “I guess that’s the answer.”
I
pulled a garrote from my pocket with a silver metal handle attached
to each end and stood over the priest. He was reciting a prayer to
himself when the wire went around his wrists and neck and
constricted. I yanked the priest and pushed with my foot on the back
of his pew. He rocked back violently and screamed.
The
wire drew blood from his wrists, and I would have noticed if I hadn’t
closed my eyes. In cases like this I create pressure in my skull like
an artificial yawn, and the world goes fades out into what I can only
describe as the sound of wind rushing in from a car window.
“Benny!”
I opened my eyes and saw what was happening. “Deal with his fucking
hands, dummy!”
Benny
bent over and tried in vain to grab the blood slicked hand that
yanked back and forth, as the priest struggled, trying to free
himself. Whatever Benny did worked because I could feel the wires
tighten as the priest’s voice soon squeaked from existence. His
tongue hung from his mouth like a turtle leaving its shell and darted
in and out as he tried to lap up air into his throat. It’s never
the choking that gets you. It’s the lack of blood to your brain
that kills you. The sound of his body hitting the floor was the last
sound that anyone would ever hear the priest make.
Benny
and I left through the back exit of the church and exploded out into
the sunlight. We didn’t speak until we were on the highway heading
back to Fishtown.
Benny
looked at me and then back to the road ahead of him. He weaved in
between cars eliciting long, angry beeps. He kept looking at me, and
I could sense he wanted to ask me something but was afraid to.
“What?”
I asked.
“Nothing,”
Benny replied.
“Bullshit.
You keep looking at me.”
“Nothing,
Jim.” A long moment went by, and I could feel that he was queuing
up a question but as to when he was going to fucking ask it, that was
anybody’s guess. “I was just wondering.”
“About
what?”
“About
that girl you were talking to the pedo about.”
“Sarah?
You were listening?”
“I
was right outside the fucking curtain. What did you expect me to do?
Cover my ears?”
I
sighed. “What do you want to know?”
“What
happened?”
“She
ran off stage, crying.”
Benny
laughed. “That’s fucked.”
“Yeah.”
I looked out the passenger side window as little drops of rain
dripped down and swallowed up other drops becoming fat and falling
away from view. “I just remembered why I was thinking about her.”
I leaned back in my seat and adjusted my suit jacket.
“Why
is that?”
“She
died yesterday. Saw it on my codex.”
“You’re
friends with her on codex?”
“Ain’t
nobody friends with her anymore. She probably didn’t even remember
me. She just accepted anyone that sent her a request, I imagine.”
“How’d
she die?”
“Some
muscular thing. Shit just ate away at her over time like rust.” I
smiled. I have a habit of smiling when I’m uncomfortable.
“What
are you smiling about?” Benny asked.
“The
priest was right.”
“About
what?”
“I
do feel better.”
x
