Chapter 79

The priesthood is a profession for con men. He’d known someone who used to always say that at the drop of a hat—the crotchety old man who lived on the first floor of the apartment building kitty-corner from theirs when he was a kid, he recalled. None of the adults in the neighborhood had ever paid any attention to the rant, but when he considered his current circumstances, he couldn’t help thinking the old man might have been onto something. Yes, maybe he’d dozed off Saturday night while he was prepping his Sunday service, and now it was morning and he was madly jotting down an outline of the sermon while he crammed breakfast into his mouth after a hasty shave; but half an hour from now he’d have to stand calmly at the pulpit and deliver a long-winded oration that was eloquent enough to look as though he’d prepared it carefully in advance. For a moment, he toyed with that career option: if he ever lost this job, perhaps he could make a living as a con man. The young priest gave his writing hand a break, sighing slightly and taking another bite of his bland bread. He gave his notes a quick read-through. Then he added a few more lines, his mouth gaping wide open with the bread still crammed inside. His topic was Voyage 7:4—the passage about the demon who appeared in a saint’s dreams disguised as an angel and tried to lead him astray. The modern-day Church’s canon consisted of the original holy book that had been passed down from the time of the mother planet, additions made during the era of the Eleven Saints and Five Families, and a set of psalms recounting the hardships of the voyage, all compiled together into one volume. His personal copy of it, an old, well-worn one he’d been using since his school days, was currently serving as a writing surface. The dry scratch of his pen over the coarse paper he’d placed on the holy book bounced faintly off the walls and ceiling, disappearing almost immediately. “Ugh, I’m so tired.” He really did have to finish his notes this time, and then he had to give the actual service, but he yawned as he stretched his arms out, feeling as if he’d already done a whole day’s work. This wasn’t a great posture to let anyone see him in— slumped heavily against the back of his chair with his crossed legs propped on the edge of his desk—but it wasn’t as if anyone else was around. It was an ordinary, peaceful (other than his last-minute rush to finish the preparations he should have done yesterday) Sunday morning. He was sitting in the little sacristy that adjoined the chapel. Thin beams of light dyed blue and orange and other colors filtered in through the half-open door. It was just a little country-town chapel, though, with only one very plain stained-glass window in the wall behind the altar. He felt a little depressed whenever he remembered the majestic sight of the entire wall of stained glass in the cathedral in the capital. When he’d managed to snag the last open slot in Father Sigri’s special seminar, he’d thought things were finally starting to go his way…but maybe he used up all his luck on that, because afterward there was no path to career advancement for him in the capital. It was five years ago now that he’d taken up his post at the Church outpost in this town in the North-hairo boonies that was too tiny to even have its own train station. He’d come after he’d graduated from seminary and finished his research. He was the only priest working here, in fact, but it was such a nothing little town that even a young priest with hardly any experience could cover the place just fine. Forget “nothing”—there was less than nothing. Well, the environment is good here. Yeah. The environment. Lately he was trying to convince himself that it was nice to be in such a relaxed place, but it was still hard not to feel listless when everything was the same day after day. It was making him steadily lose the motivation to actually put effort into his job. “Father!” a voice suddenly called through the door. He hastily tried to sit up straight, and instead almost fell right out of the chair. When he craned his neck around from the unnatural in-between position he ended up in, a familiar-looking local boy was just cracking open the door and sticking his head in. “G-good morning. You’re early today.” He greeted the boy with a smile. A stiff smile, since he’d just crammed the rest of the bread into his mouth. It wasn’t time for the congregation to assemble yet, and he’d been completely off his guard. He gulped and then said, “What’s up?” “Listen, listen! I found a stray angel!” After all that trouble to keep up appearances, he ruined everything by blurting a dumbfounded “Huh?!” Now he could hear muffled young voices chattering excitedly outside the chapel, so presumably a whole group of children was gathering there. The priest stood up, leaving his book and notes on the desk, and followed his visitor outside. The boy was actually jogging, as if to silently urge him to hurry up. Autumn was just turning into winter. Cold, dry air bit at his cheeks, with periodic bursts of the warmth and scent of the fossil-fuel smog from town. Ahead of him, he saw five or six local kids coming into the chapel yard, all clustered around what appeared to be a female figure wearing a large shawl. They were pulling her along by the hands, and she meekly let them, walking with her head tilted down. She’s walking a bit unsteadily— Almost the moment he registered that thought, she stumbled and pitched over headfirst to the ground. “Miss Angel!” all the kids cried anxiously. The whole question of whether she was an angel or not aside, he was certainly worried enough to rush to her side. He sank to his knees next to her without a thought for the dirt he must be getting on his priest’s robes. “A-are you all right, miss?” he asked, peering into her face, and then immediately forgetting to even close his mouth. He just gaped. Golden hair tumbling in gentle waves out of her shawl and down her shoulders, one lock catching on finely sculpted lips—she was a breathtakingly beautiful young woman. A beautiful young woman in a wretchedly scruffy state: half of that long hair was snarled into a bird’s nest, and the skin he imagined was normally lily-white and smooth was now grimy with the wilderness’s yellow sand, as were her clothes. What was more, she seemed to have scraped herself in the fall. Blood was beginning to seep out of a garish wound on her cheek. “See? See? She’s an angel, right?” “We found her at the edge of town. She must’ve fallen down from the sky and gotten hurt!” For all they were genuinely worried about the woman, the kids were all cheering about it with sparkling eyes. Yes, he could see where they’d gotten the idea. And now black blood like coal tar was oozing out of the cut and starting to crawl around above the wound like something sentient, almost like maggots. With grotesque movements, the maggots pushed all the gravel out of it, and it closed up before his eyes in fast-forward. A few seconds later, the skin was smooth again as if nothing had ever happened. Only a few traces of sand and blood remained. Voyage 7:4, the passage about the demon who appeared in dreams pretending to be an angel, came back to his mind with a vengeance. “Father, what’s wrong?” “Hey, is the angel all right? Did she hit her head or something?” the children he’d elbowed aside asked curiously, looking over his shoulder. With his eyes fixed on the woman, he managed to force his voice past the rock that seemed to have lodged itself in his throat. It came out stiff and halting. “Listen to me, kids. You pretend you never saw this woman. Do you understand?” After the words left his mouth, he felt thoroughly disappointed with himself. So now I’m another one of those adults who says things like this to kids… He repented right then and there his immodest complaint that this less-than-nothing town was making him listless. “Nothing” was fine by him. Now he knew that those peaceful, boring days had been a blessing after all. As for what he had to do to protect those peaceful days and the townspeople—he didn’t agonize about it for long. He couldn’t see any real choice. He dove back into the sacristy and picked up the communicator that transmitted to the capital. But had she actually shown any signs of harming him or the children in any way? Afterward, he would regret his actions in that moment time and time again. Maybe the crotchety old man who’d lived on the first floor of the apartment building kitty-corner from theirs had it right, and the priesthood really was a profession for con men.