It is an act of great courage and honesty to discern your sins......to whom?
"Hieneni." I declare lightly in a volume only we can hear. Nib a brown wrapped cig from the cramped and plump pack, the dried leaves of grind pepper size fell on the lid.
I hold the fag horizontally above the candle, the sight of flickering flame bridging the cinder to tobacco seems as sacred as an infant crawling out of its mother's gaping hole. I take a single drag to incinerate the smoke. Despite the strong urge to seize the whiff of burning soil again, I place the cigarette on top of the pack and push it to the far side next to the candles.
The loaf of white smoke and the delayed smell in the air got lure into the seam above the wall.
4 minutes, give or take.
"Bless me, father. For I have sinned. And I couldn't remember how long," Never. " it has been since I heard from him." My words are corse as if hissing or grunting after a slumber. He replied two seconds later.
"We all do, my child." Nasal and clear. "But I urge you to be more specific with them, there's no shame in admitting. No need for hiding in the presence of the lord, it's futile." The voice isn't loud, isn't remarkable or intimidating. If anything, a touch distant and exhausted.
If I have to guess I'll say he's a native English speaker in his late 40s. And that's all, that's everything anyone knows about the father of Paral. The man's a myth and has a tremendously small flock of 'receptions'. I initially ran into him by accident and beforehand, have never even heard of him and not much was revealed afterward. There was a story of someone who apparently got all the time in the world and decided to spy on the church to see if he could unveil the priest.
Take a wild guess how that ended.
To this day I as to anyone else, only know four facts for certain. The information he provides never contradicts; his voice sounds a tinge different each time but I'm certain it's the same person in the booth; he only trades in hard cash; you can't squeeze him. You just can't.
"The sin of prying the others. Of secrets off my reach." A small chuckle crawls through the gap as the first quarter of cigarette is vanquished. It sounds rhythmic, kind even. Like an elder on a rocking chair with a rifle on his thighs.
"It is not a sin my child. We are all....... curious creations of his." Ha. "But I'll bear it along if you wish to speak it." An itch under my armpit in this dim stall might as well be a copra slithering, the dark amplified all the sensations.
"I do...I was in the audience of some despicable people, and two of them I'm most intrigued by. I would like to know more of them." I watch as half the cigarette turns to ashes.
"I see, well let us start with the one you find more difficult. Shall we?" The rise of tone at the end is the only change of pace in his voice.
"A woman in her mid-twenties might be younger might be older, dark short hair, oriental facial features. An assassin, now a bodyguard of the emperor's daughter. She goes by the name Xiao." A pause from the other side made notice.
"She's stranded from the lord's eyes a long time ago. Down the crypts of Capadocia, she came back by the calling of her lord and her only lord, for the pressing of barbarians is immediate. At least that's what the edicts told."
She was thrown under Qin Yan's wing by the order of her father, before, she was buried deep within.
"Any other insights father?" A short exhale came through like responding to my inquiry a moment late.
"I have a story of hers. A description, from a long time ago. I can't guarantee it's about her. But that's all there is to exploit from me. Take at your own concern." I felt a crawling smile on my cheeks as the right corner of my lips fell.
"I am aware father."
Everyone has a story.
"Then take a puff, my child." I do as told and reduce another fifth of the cig. Extra charge. As the veil of smoke disrupted the constant flow above the seam, padre speaks again.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
"Once. A lamb of my flock came upon a wounded lady in the night, she was shot up. Filled with dirtied metal." That's fucking cheap. "The lamb was a good man, with the presence of god in his heart constantly. So he took her to the nearest clinic of the Red Cross. By the time he's back on the street, he sees the unconscious girl open her eyes. Staring through the window and right into the depths of his soul. I only heard it by his descriptions but it's as if I can see it as well. A soulless whimper." Another pause. Like the good fucking storyteller he is, the tip of the cigarette burns closer to the filter.
"The lamb came the next day, crying. Saying it's his fault. Turns out the lady's situation wasn't as critical as he saw, in fact, she was perfectly capable of slaughtering two volunteers, a nurse and a doctor at the site in cold blood, painted the room red before vanishing in the streets. I remember it was on the paper." There's no grief in his tone, but his breathing between words was much more audible.
A cleaner?
"Days later, the lamb came and asked for my aid. He keeps seeing strange figures near the window at night, said they're the manifestations of his sins." An exhale, not sure if it's from mouth or nose. "I assured him those are the manifestation of his guilt but he hath none to answer for, the lord sees all and hears all. And he can surely see that your previous actions meant goodwill and great sympathy. It's the sinners that should cower at night." He states plainly as if chewing tasteless food while my mind worked out some possible outcome to the story.
"Did he ever meet her again?" I ask without much care of the ending.
"I do not know, my child. The lamb lost his way home some nights after he came to me. Never return." He's a loose end by all accounts.
"Well....thank you for the story, Father....." A series of chuckles came through the seam sounded like a dog whimpering.
"The story's yet to end my child....." I lean my head on the hard wooden wall, arm on the counter. "Though he never returned to the lord's embrace or his home ever again. By another colleague's request, I always keep a degree of interest in his locale over the next few weeks." The priest pauses once more. This time I can tell by the sudden stop it is not for the play or to rip me off. He's deciding how much he's to enclose.
But as seconds shorten the worn-yellow cig on the counter reduces it to proximally one and a drag away from the filter ring. I lean closer to the wall even and utter. "Father?" I count to four in my mind before he replies.
"My child. I do not hold any of the pennants accountable for the secrecy of my information. With this line in heart. I can only tell I eventually found his...the remains of him in Glen Avenue. All I got from his leftover is a picture of the inside of a closet." Fucking hell. "Will this quench your thirst for tales?" Indifference is hard to detect, add to that this guy talks without cadence.
If true, with the minimum information in mind I can only come up with the conclusion she wasn't always with the Qin. Or her identity's truly so sensitive. And it still didn't get me anywhere closer to who she really is, except for the fact she held no reserve inflicting the normal people.
Sometimes spending too much time in the company I kept is bad for perception. But there's a boundary somewhere everyone agrees to avoid, despite it's a very individualized concept where the line is.
***
By the bright, silent glimmer of burnt tip at the last ring of black marker counting the drags before you burn your fingers. My confession's about to end.
"May I ask you one last question, Father?" An emotionless hum went above my head.
"Of course, god's grace is charged by the minute." Goodness sake, the indulgence isn't practical in this century. I thought to myself as I pick up the cigarette butt between my thumbs. "Is it about the other one?"
"It is." I blow off the ashes shaped like a drill at its tip to reveal the bright amber core. "His name is Nan Shi Pei, works for the Qins. I would like to know everything you have on him." The candle flame an arm away flickers at my words and the priest's quarter exchanged a squeak of wooden bench.
"Nan shi pei.....He's a scoundrel, pretending to be a counselor. He is not welcome in either the lord's gaze or the blasphemies they worship. A true man of nothing. Not even defined by his own existence. And now, he's in a position of great respect as well as danger." I bite down on the last bit of cig and inhale as hard my lungs can take, inflicting the cinder onto the filter, turning it and the tip of my nail black before spitting it out.
"I hope it suffices my last question, father." I blow the long veil up between the wall. It lasted bout five seconds. "Tell me, who was he before the Qins took control? Who was he five years ago?" Because it is dull as hell to only know one side of someone.
To my great surprise. He laughs. He laughs like a natural occurrence of thunder, rain, fire erupting from a match. As if his voice was meant to laugh at other's inquiries.
"Oh. Forgive me for returning you with another question. Do you know what awaits at the end of revelation? Or better put, what resides at its opposite side?" His nasal voice urged a creep up my shoulder in the dark. The Derisive tone carries a touch of caring as its shell. I waited two breaths before answering calmly.
"Apocalypse."
"They're two sides of the same coin. With one comes another in the shades where the sun's pale to reach. Take it as mercy, mercenary. Do not approach further." I exhale a throaty cough at his warning.
You actually think yourself a benevolent Shepard, don't you?
"Priest." I lean back on the miserable space and vow. "For these and the countless sins I had and in future. I am sorry." An itch in my head buggers me as I brought up the hefty envelope in my inner pocket.
"Your sins will be forgiven. Go with peace bestowed by the god of lamb." He solemnly promised as I place the money on the red cushion I sat on before opening the soundproofed panel door.
The sun dived a little, and now the ray of light spreads horizontally like a mosquito net. The cross 8 steps away tainted by the shadow below the veil. The stupid bastard nailed on the cross couldn't catch a simmer, not even a reflection of the halo since he's made of dust and ground. While this is the land of inked flesh and shiny bones.
An inconsistently blaring squeak came unannounced behind me. The bald freak stands ludicrously far from the entrance while his left-hand holds the door open for me. The outside world slithers across the floor to my feet while the light from greasy window slashes a fine line above my head like a knife cut. They sheathed the shadow between them, and squeezed it in. I give another glimpse to this church and watch the stale air flow in front and above the altar. The man left for the world while god stayed in the shade between light, sheathed like a relic in fab.
The bold man's line of sight stayed low and off the inside of the church while closing it.