Confessor

The stone church sits atop a pastoral hilltop. For over a century its bell strikes at high noon, like white noise in the peaceful village. This sweltering day, an old man lumbers slowly up its marble steps. As he reached the top, he turned around and mopped his brow while surveying the lush green valley. He smiled absent-mindedly then abruptly seemed to remember why he was there. He stuffed his handkerchief into his pocket and used both arms to open two massive, beautifully carved doors.

Inside the floorboards creaked with each weary step he took toward the confessional. He pushed back his stooped shoulders to lightly brush the crest on his jacket. One hand smoothed his Brylcreemed hair; while the other flicked nervously at an imaginary fleck on his beak-like nose. He didn’t seem to notice the sprinkling of midday worshippers. A few people recognized him and the looks on their faces showed surprise to see him, now. As he brushed past an ancient cleaning lady, she bristled at the touch of this mythic creature. Yet she remained silent and went back to her business of dusting a wooden pew.

The scent of frankincense hung in the air. It reminded him of his altar boy days. He had a flashback to Sunday mornings when he took turns lighting the devotional candles with his pal, Jimmie Verdesoto, and how they used to steal sips of wine from the communion cup. In an instant he was back in the present and it occurred to him many old indiscretions were not important enough to list. He entered the confessional and as he knelt onto the pew the lights dimmed. He couldn’t remember what came next so he waited.

All the priest could make out, if he tried hard enough, was a vaguely familiar shadow behind the screen. On his side, the priest made the sign of the cross then mumbled something inaudible and rubbed his rosary beads before saying, “Please, begin.”

The man pressed one palm against the wall of the booth. “Bless me Father for I have sinned. It’s been 47 years since my last confession.”

“Why has it been so long since you last confessed?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“...Too busy to worship or too busy to make confession?”

“Both. Look, I suppose I let passion for my work take over, my responsibilities took hold of everything in my life. Not too busy to take care for my family of course. Competition, ambition, they burned holes in me and nothing else mattered. Nothing else, except winning.”

“So, you let your “work” guide you and you sacrificed things. Do you think work really drove your choices?”

The priest rubbed his rosary and waited for an answer. A few beads of sweat ran down his forehead and the old man leaned against the wall and said, “Yeah, I did some awful crap, but Father I didn’t do right by certain people.”

“Situations happen but remember God knows what’s in your heart. He knows true intention.”

“If you say so – my wife told me I forgot who I was. She’s not so proud of me for the things I did especially for what I didn’t do. Now, I can’t look in the mirror. The sight of my face disgusts me. I got blinded by my success. They filled my head with shit, built me a monument, I can’t get away from myself.”

The priest said, “Why are you being so hard on yourself now?” Forty-seven years is a long time between confessions. Is there something specific that brought you here today?”

“I’m not trying to clean myself up or to pray with you for absolution.”

“Then why are you here?” “I’m an old man and it’s not my health and it’s not for lacking money. I’ve made plenty of cash – millions in fact – and gave a significant amount away to the university’s endowment. I may not have attended Mass for almost 50 years but I made sure to share my wealth with the church. You been saying prayers for the team, what about for me?” He let out a large sigh. The weight of this crisis had finally broken him.

The old man had sold his soul when he accepted the job of head football coach. He quickly started believing all the hype. He had no place to go anymore.

As the priest pondered the old man’s rant, he massaged his beads thoughtfully as he answered, “It’s easy to be seduced and corrupted by power and prestige. Whether you decide to give in or not is the lesson.”

“Look, I’m not asking for redemption here. People, every where I turn, they stare at me, lurk outside my door, chant good stuff, and bad stuff. My wife is too old for this – we both are.”

“If you’re not here for redemption, then why are you here?”

“I came to clear my head, tell someone the truth – and then, then… after that I’ll decide.”

“You’re telling me something and then you’re not confessing. What is it?”

“I’m here because I helped cover up awful, disgusting acts. I didn’t do these things but someone I know did. Instead of helping, I pretended to do the right thing – but I know I was just as evil ‘cause I didn’t stop him.”

“What things did this person do?”

Quietly, he said “He abused boys, I don’t know how many Father, but he lied. He said he was only helping them poor kids but I think my gut always told me something more was going on.” The man dropped his head and raked his gnarled fingers through his hair. He took off his glasses and rubbed them against this chest.

“Go on.”

“He was my friend and I tried to get out the truth of the thing; but he just told me these fancy stories and I believed him.” No, you wanna know what? I didn’t believe a single word of what he said; why didn’t I do something? I heard whispers that he wasn’t alright in the head but I shrugged it off. You know, all those years of getting hit maybe he did get some screws loose, you know Father? I couldn’t understand was it just sick gossip, you know, maybe jealously or something until one night one of the students came to me; looked white as a sheet, like he had seen a demon and then he told me exactly what he saw.” He paused and pressed his palms against his eyes. After a few minutes, the priest couldn’t wait any longer and said “What did he see?”

“Father, he saw him having sex with a boy. I couldn’t fucking believe this sick bastard was doing this right on campus. Bold, right under our noses. I wanted to kill that freak. Where did this vileness come from in this, this man? I mean, the guy looks normal acts normal around me; he’s a regular Joe with everybody.”

“What did the student do, what did you do?”

“Well, the guy said he told him to stop it and then he left.”

“That was it?”

“Yeah, he backed out of the bathroom and high-tailed it home. Said he called his father to tell him and ask him what he should do.

The priest sat in silence then spat out “He should have pulled the boy out of the bathroom and called the authorities. That’s what he should have done. What did you do when he told you?

The old man sighed, “I talked to the VP and athletic director like I’m supposed to do.”

“And then, you turned your back on it?”

“Yes, Father, I turned my back and prayed he wouldn’t do it again.”

“I think we both know you took minimal action and neglected your moral responsibility. I cannot judge you or your actions. From what you’ve told me you knew he was abusing young boys and you did nothing to stop it.”

He wiped his eyes “Yes, I can’t change it now I can’t make it right.”

“Repeat the acts of contrition after me ‘O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of Heaven, and the pains of Hell; …to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life. Amen.”

The man carefully repeated the words. He didn’t remember this and it did him some good to say it. They finished this reflection and both sat in silence for several minutes.

In slow motion, the man pulled the silver pistol out of his jacket and rested in on the ledge. He stared at the gun and genuflected. The priest sat silently waiting to hear if the man had any last words before releasing him. The scent of frankincense was a powerful elixir and for a moment it brought the man back to the present, where he was sitting. He picked up the gun, caressed the barrel between his lips and pulled the trigger.