Contenting himself with a small shrine of the Beatus and a casual trickle of pilgrims, Brother Francis drowsed. When he awoke, the fire was reduced to glowing embers. Something seemed amiss. Was he quite alone? He blinked around at the encompassing darkness.
From beyond the bed of reddish coals, the dark wolf blinked back.
The novice yelped and dived for cover.
The yelp, he decided as he lay trembling within his den of stones and brush, had been only an involuntary breach of the rule of silence. He lay hugging the metal box and praying that the days of Lent might pass swiftly, while padded feet scratched about his enclosure.
3
“…and then, father, i almost took the bread and cheese.”
“But you didn’t take it?”
“No.”
“Then there was no sin by deed.”
“But I wanted it so badly, I could taste it.”
“Willfully? Did you deliberately enjoy the fantasy?”
“No.”
“You tried to get rid of it.”
“Yes.”
“So there was not culpable gluttony of thought either. Why are you confessing this?”
“Because then I lost my temper and splashed him with holy water.”
“You what? Why?”
Father Cheroki, wearing his stole, stared at the penitent who knelt in profile before him in the scorching sunlight on the open desert; the priest kept wondering how it was possible for such a youth (not particularly intelligent insofar as he could determine) to manage to find occasions or near-occasions of sin while completely isolated on barren desert, far from any distraction or apparent source of temptation. There should be very little trouble a boy could get into out here, armed as he was with only a rosary, a flint, a penknife, and a prayerbook. So it seemed to Father Cheroki. But this confession was taking up quite a lot of time; he wished the boy would get on with it. His arthritis was bothering him again, but because of the presence of the Holy Sacrament on the portable table which he took with him on his rounds, the priest preferred to stand, or to stay on his knees along with the penitent. He had lighted a candle before the small golden case which contained the Hosts, but the flame was invisible in the sun-glare, and the breeze might even have blown it out.
“But exorcism is permissible these days, without any specific higher authorization. What are you confessing — being angry?”
“That too.”
“At whom did you become angry? At the old man — or at yourself for almost taking the food?”
“I — I’m not sure.”
“Well, make up your mind,” Father Cheroki said impatiently. “Either accuse yourself, or else not.”
“I accuse myself.”
“Of what?” Cheroki sighed.
“Of abusing a sacramental in a fit of temper.”
“ ‘Abusing’? You had no rational reason to suspect diabolic influence? You just became angry and squirted him with it? Like throwing the ink in his eye?”
The novice squirmed and hesitated, sensing the priest’s sarcasm. Confession was always difficult for Brother Francis. He could never find the right words for his misdeeds, and in trying to remember his own motives, he became hopelessly confused. Nor was the priest helping matters by taking the “either-you-did-or-else-you-didn’t” stand — even though, obviously, either Francis had or else he hadn’t.
“I think I lost my senses for a moment,” he said finally.
Cheroki opened his mouth, apparently meaning to pursue the matter, then thought better of it. “I see. What next then?”
“Gluttonous thoughts,” Francis said after a moment.
The priest sighed. “I thought we were through with that. Or is this another time?”
“Yesterday. There was this lizard, Father. It had blue and yellow stripes, and such magnificent hams — thick as your thumb and plump, and I kept thinking how it would taste like chicken, roasted all brown and crisp outside, and—”
“All right,” the priest interrupted. Only a hint of revulsion crossed his aged face. After all, the boy was spending a lot of time in the sun. “You took pleasure in these thoughts? You didn’t try to get rid of the temptation?”
Francis reddened. “I — I tried to catch it. It got away.”
“So, not merely thought — deed as well. Just that one time?”
“Well-yes, just that.”
“All right, in thought and deed, willfully meaning to eat meat during Lent. Please be as specific as you can after this. I thought you had examined your conscience properly. Is there anything else?’
“Quite a lot.”
The priest winced. He had several hermitages to visit; it was a long hot ride, and his knees were hurting. Please get on with it as quickly as you can,” he sighed.
“Impurity, once.”
“Thought, word, or deed?”
“Well, there was this succubus, and she—”
“Succubus? Oh — nocturnal. You were asleep?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then why confess it?”
“Because afterwards.”
“Afterwards what? When you woke up?”
“Yes. I kept thinking about her. Kept imagining it all over again.”
“All right, concupiscent thought, deliberately entertained. You’re sorry? Now, what next?”
All this was the usual sort of thing that one kept hearing time after endless time from postulant after postulant, novice after novice, and it seemed to Father Cheroki that the least Brother Francis could do would be to bark out his self-accusations one, two, three, in a neat orderly manner, without all this prodding and prompting. Francis seemed to find difficulty in formulating whatever he was about to say; the priest waited.
“I think my vocation has come to me, Father, but—” Francis moistened his cracked lips and stared at a bug on a rock.
“Oh, has it?” Cheroki’s voice was toneless
“Yes, I think — but would it be a sin, Father, if when I first got it, I thought rather scornfully of the handwriting? I mean?”
Cheroki blinked. Handwriting? Vocation? What kind of a question was — He studied the novice’s serious expression for a few seconds, then frowned.