Small Indulgences

The iron bars rattled behind Miles. A deafening slam echoed across the corridor. Unable to escape, he stood in front of man he did not know who sat on the bottom bunk. Miles trudged toward his new cellmate as he felt his Adam’s apple swell up with fear. “Hi,” he croaked. The man noticed the fear in his eyes and smiled. “Hello. My name’s Jim.”

Miles’ shoulders eased. Jim had a reassuring complexion. He thanked God for not locking him in with a mean character and introduced himself. They exchanged a few words; Jim gave him a brief rundown of how things worked around the place, and showed him around the cramped, two-bedroom studio they would be sharing for a long time.

Miles had many questions but chose to wait until he was sure that this strange figure could really be trusted. Miles had a loose tongue and he worried it would get stomped on if he said something inappropriate. He thanked his cellmate for his help and spent the rest of the evening on his bed, adjusting to his new life.

He imagined it would take a few days before Jim and he would strike up a conversation, but they were in such close proximity, that they made small talk shortly after morning roll call.

He learned that Jim had been a preacher leading up to his arrest and, though he didn’t have a wife, received many calls from his sister and niece. Miles told him that he was only leaving behind a girlfriend, but that it hadn’t been anything serious. He asked him a string of questions which danced around the only thing he wanted to know.

In the afternoon, his curiosity got the better of him. As they were joking about the cell’s amenities, Miles pointed out the small metallic bowl in the corner of the room and said: “If we’re going to be sharing this toilet, we might as well get to know each other a little better.” After a bit of hesitation, he asked: “So, uh, what did you do?”

There was a moment of silence. Miles instantly regretted his question. He didn’t fret for long, however, for soon after Jim replied:

“I got charged with fraud… well, defrauding the public more specifically.”

Miles’ confidence returned to him with an edge of cockiness. “How come?” he followed up.

“You go to mass?”

“I used to.”

“You know when they pass around the basket for donations? Well, I got caught taking a lot of it… for a long time.”

“How long?”

“Three years.”

“Three years?” Miles cried out in shock. He wouldn’t have believed Jim were it not for the solemn expression that lingered on his face. “Christ. What were you thinking?” After an awkward pause, Jim roused himself up, looked out the window and said: “it’s a long story”.

“I’ve got time,” answered Miles, jokingly.

“Well, I guess the job just got to me. Being a pastor’s tiresome, you know. I ministered at the same parish for thirty years. Thirty years. Married the babies I baptized. It sounds like a beautiful thing, but really it isn’t. After mass, people lined up at the confessional…the wife would come in, followed by the husband. And they would say things. Awful things. About each other. Made me regret ever officiating their wedding. Affairs, violent thoughts, you name it. It often hit me how crazy it was to imagine how those babies I dunked in holy water could grow up to be so so…so…”

“Vicious?” interjected Miles.

“Yes, well put. Vicious. Anyway, it led me down a bad train of thought. I must’ve baptized a few hundred babies in my time. Only a handful ever came to church when they were older. I got to thinking about what I was doing. I preached and preached and preached. Had it helped anything? Had the crime rate gone down in the area? No. I’d stay after mass and listen. I listened to hordes of sorry folks asking for forgiveness, and in the name of God, I granted it. But did they learn? No, of course they didn’t… They were back the next Sunday with the same tally of sins to purge. After twenty-seven years, I asked myself: ‘Why bother? Why do I waste my time talking at people who only come here to collect the wafer to feel a little better? It reminded me of an uncle of mine who had a court-issued order to go to AA. He went, he opened up, he encouraged people. Did it help him? By looking at him there, you’d say so. But you know what he’d do as soon as he’d get home? He’d get plastered! But he’d clean up his act before every meeting so nobody would know, then he’d collect his sober chips, and celebrate with a few pints. That’s what the people were like at church. And I felt like I was handing holy chips to a hundred of my uncles. And I got tired. Real tired. I said: ‘To hell with that. If they don’t care, then why should I?’ From then on, I started pocketing some of the alms.”

“My god…,” said Miles. “The judges must have eaten you up,” he added after a moment of silence.

“Yeah, well, here I am…”

The pastor sighed. Miles saw that Jim had nothing else to say, so he lined up a trail of questions.

“I am curious about your story, though,” admitted the new inmate, finally.

“What do you want to know?”

“It’s just that, with you being a pastor…I, uh, well, don’t you think it’s kind of…”

“Ironic?” interrupted Jim.

“Yeah,” Miles smiled. “A little ironic.”

“Yes and no. I never said I was a saint, and they sure as hell aren’t pinning me as a jailed martyr. But I heard from my niece a few weeks back that the people of my parish started blaming me for everything that had gone wrong around the place.”

“To their credit, they didn’t have the greatest leader.”

“Even when they did, they didn’t act any differently.”

“So, then, they’re just looking for a scapegoat?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“I guess that’s right,” Miles concluded, and stopped, for he could sense that Jim’s face was reddening with frustration. He thought of something to make him laugh:

“I guess that makes you the martyr of their conscience, eh? What with you going to jail with their shame and all.”

The pastor couldn’t help but chuckle. “Now that’s one I haven’t heard yet.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” pursued Miles, “and take this the wrong way, but didn’t you do the same thing?”

“How?”

“Think about it. You took their money fraudulently because you deemed them ‘irredeemable’… wasn’t that just an excuse to cover up your own shame?”

“That’s unfair!” objected Jim, whose voice was getting firmer. “I only took their money because all they cared about was looking good. Not being—looking good.”

“Some?” Miles mumbled, but the pastor ignored his jab and continued: “They got what they wanted, and so did I.”

“A sin for a sin makes the whole world bad.”

“You sure talk a lot.”

“I could’ve been a preacher,” Miles said in a wry tone.

Jim shot up. The hair on his arms stood straight and he felt a chill run across his neck. He looked out the window, took a few deep breaths. “All I’m saying,” he grumbled, trying to keep the peace, “if you would stop kidding around, is that it didn’t matter. No matter what good I ever did, nothing ever changed. If anything, it got worse. Take a look at us: 20 years back we wouldn’t be sharing this shoebox. The prisons are overcrowded…”

“Yeah, but you’re in it too, aren’t you?”

“Will you cut it out?” erupted Jim. He had never been a violent person, but this was the closest he’d ever been to punching a man. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but you’re standing in same damn cell as I am for the same damn reason. How about you take a hike, huh? No, wait,” he whispered as his mouth curled into a malicious grin: “you can’t.”

Miles’ eyes flared with resentment, but the blaze died out just as quick. He caught hold of himself and swallowed his pride. He laughed to himself and, looking down the row of cells that ran down the corridor, he said: “You’re right. I’m no better.”

“You know,” Jim followed up after a while, looking to ease the mood, “the guards around here joke that every inmate is innocent.”

He could sense that his bunkmate didn’t find it funny. After a while the pastor spoke up: “What are you in for?”

But Miles was quiet.

“Listen,” he finally said. “I was out of line before. I’ll tell you what I did but thinking about it makes me feel bad about the way I dug into you. This is as much of an apology as you’ll ever get out of me, alright?” He looked around, embarrassed.

“It’s fine,” sighed the pastor. You’re new around here. I was bitter when I was in your shoes.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Four months.”

“I see. Well, anyhow, I’m here for fraud as well. A year ago, a buddy and I had organized a girl scout fundraiser for his daughter. We racked up around two grand—a few hundred more than we expected—so we indulged a little. Went to the bar and got drunk. It was easy money, I tell you, and harmless when you think of it. Anyhow, a few months went by, and I decided to start a fundraiser of my own for a good cause, albeit, but more so to make myself a bit of pocket change. My buddy and I raised 12,000$ for this women’s shelter, a good deal over our ten-grand objective. I kept the bonus for myself, and I guess that was where my friend drew the line, and he ratted me out. Now, I’m here.”

“Jesus,” said Jim, bewildered.

“Oh, what now?” barked Miles.

“You’re worse than I am.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not,” said the pastor as the room grew tenser than before. “Church goers, at the very least, don’t care where the money goes. They just do it to feel better about themselves. For them, it’s all about social status. If the Johnsons give 20$, they stick it to the Scotts who only threw in half of that. See how it works? All I did was pocket their vanity. But a fundraiser? An event where, for once, people are actually somewhat thoughtful? Even I wouldn’t do that!”

Miles’ fists tensed up. He had never been a violent person, but for the first time he was tempted to murder. “Don’t judge, lest ye be judged,” he shot back bitterly, after calming himself down a little.

“Clever.”

Jim and Miles hushed for what felt like forever. Neither wanted to talk, but looking at how small the cell was, and suffocating in the hostile air, they knew they needed to figure out a way to get along.

“You know,” started Miles, “I read somewhere that the only real sin is hardening your heart against the holy spirit. You can say and do anything and be redeemed. But if you turn away from the word and all, then you’re damned beyond redemption.”

“I remember that from somewhere in the Gospel of… Mathews? I think it was blaspheming, though. Let me find it.” Jim got up and retrieved the bible on the desk.

Miles watched him and remarked: “Funny how they should have a bible in here… I always figured it was more a pre-emptive book.”.

“Didn’t stop me,” replied the pastor satirically as he flipped through the New Testament. He continued: “I remember it because it took me a whole to understand it… Ah! here it is! Mathew 12:32: ‘whoever speaks against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven, either in this age or in the age to come.’ That’s a tough one. But to tell the truth, I prefer your wording. Not to undermine you, but I think I first heard it in seminary school. Where did you hear about it?”

“I don’t know,” answered Miles. “I might have heard it during mass one time.” He winked.

They let a silence fill in while they laughed underneath their breath.

“You know, Jim. I’ve been thinking about the joke those guards say.” The pastor took his eyes off the bible and looked at Miles. “What about it?” he asked.

“Well,” Miles started pensively. “do you think that you’re innocent?”

The preacher got up and leaned against the iron bars offering a choppy view of the prison yard. Then he turned around and contemplated his cell mate, moved toward him, and peered into the corridor as the guards made their rounds. “As guilty as anybody…”

“It’s only a sin if you never repent, right?” said Miles.

“Something like that.” A few minutes later, Jim asked his cellmate: “how about you. Do you repent?”

“Yeah... I’m really sorry I got caught.”

They both smiled. They finally agreed on something.