“Israel?” said the Reverend Roberts, peering into the darkness.
“I…just happened to be passing,” said Israel.
The Reverend Roberts double-checked his watch.
“At half past eleven on a Monday night?”
“Erm. Gosh. Is it? Sorry. I didn’t realize. I’ll-”
“No, no! Come on in,” said the Reverend England Roberts, reaching out and ushering Israel into the narrow hallway. “It’s fine. I was just making some coffee.”
“At half past eleven on a Monday night?”
“Come on. Come in.”
He led Israel into his kitchen, a room with old white melamine units and nothing else: it could have been the kitchen of a show-home.
“Well,” said the Reverend Roberts, as he busied himself with his coffee-making paraphernalia-the beans, the grinder, the silvery screw-top stove-top espresso pot. He didn’t believe in skimping on coffee. It was his one luxury. Israel sat silently in the bright glare of the kitchen’s down-lighters. “Everything all right?” The reverend asked.
“Yeah,” said Israel, whose eyes were sore and puffy from tears. “Yeah.”
“I was very sorry to hear about Pearce.”
“Yes.”
“I know that you were very close.”
“Well…”
“Very, very sad,” said the Reverend Roberts. “He was a good man.” And then he added, reaching into the pocket of his dressing gown. “Can I tempt you?” He produced a small white paper bag.
“What is it?”
“Cystallized ginger,” said the Reverend Roberts.
“You keep a bag of crystallized ginger in your dressing gown pocket?”
“At all times,” said the Reverend Roberts. “In case of emergencies.” He took a piece himself. “It’s very good. I get it from a shop in Derry. Vitelli’s? Italians. Very good. They do amaretti biscuits as well, but I’m afraid I’m all out till next payday.”
“No, thanks, I’m OK.”
“Sure? You on a diet?”
“No.”
The Reverend Roberts reached into his other pocket.
“I have chocolate limes, if you’d prefer,” he said. He held out the bag. “From the Sweetery. I’ve never known anyone to refuse a chocolate lime.”
“No,” said Israel. “Thanks anyway.”
“You sure?”
“Well,” said Israel, taking one. “Maybe just one.”
“Good,” said the reverend as Israel unwrapped a chocolate lime. “So, let’s get our priorities right, shall we? You take the weight off your feet, and I’ll see to the coffee. Sit. Sit. Go on.” The reverend set two stools incongruously either side of the oven, as though flanking a fireplace: Israel sat down, and the Reverend Roberts busied himself with the grinding and brewing of the coffee.
“How’s your chocolate lime?”
“Good,” said Israel, letting the taste fill his mouth.
“You ever try chocolate and champagne?” asked the Reverend Roberts.
“No, I don’t think I have.”
“Oh, you must try it. The next time you’re having chocolate and champagne.”
“Hmm.” Israel laughed.
“You let the chocolate-what would you call it?-the chocolate slime stick to the roof of your mouth, and then you drink champagne, and it washes it all away, cleansing your palate. Most extraordinary sensation. Wonderful.” He lit a flame under the coffeepot. “There we are, then. Coffee’s brewing.”
He sat himself down next to Israel on the other stool.
“So. It’s always nice to see you, Israel. But I guess you didn’t come here to drink coffee and eat my chocolate limes?” he said.
“No,” said Israel.
“Is it Pearce?”
“I suppose,” said Israel.
There was a long silence.
“Can I ask you a question?” asked Israel.
“Fire away,” said the Reverend Roberts.
“What does the Bible say about suicide?” asked Israel eventually.
“Mmmm,” said the Reverend Roberts. “The Bible…” He weighed his words very carefully. “The Bible, Israel, is silent on a lot of things that we would like it to be clear about.”
“If Pearce did commit suicide-”
“Pearce?”
“Yes.”
“Oh!” boomed the Reverend Roberts. “Pearce! I was worried for a moment you were talking about yourself there! Thank goodness!”
“Ah, right. Sorry.”
“That’s OK! I’m delighted! I mean, not delighted about the whole situation.”
“No.”
“Obviously. But I don’t think there’s any suggestion of suicide is there? It was an accident, is what I heard.”
“But Mr. Devine was saying that he thought-”
“You shouldn’t listen to everything Mr. Devine says, Israel. You surely know that by now.”
“He’s always quoting the Bible.”
“Never a good sign,” said the Reverend Roberts.
“But if he had…” Israel found it hard to say the word “suicide.” “If he’d…done it himself, would he still get a proper burial?”
“Well, that’s a hypothetical question.”
“No,” said Israel. “It’s not.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It’s just…Well, he mentioned to me-”
“Who mentioned to you?”
“Pearce, just before he died. He mentioned Leonard Bast.”
“Howards End?” said the Reverend Roberts.
“Do you know it?”
“I saw the film. Merchant Ivory. Excellent.”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t see the connection, though, sorry.”
“Leonard Bast. He…died when the bookshelves came down on him.”
“I see.”
“And when I saw him, Pearce was scared of…dying, and demented, and he mentioned Leonard Bast…so…”
“So?”
“I think he probably pulled the bookshelves down onto himself.”
“I see.” The Reverend Roberts considered the facts. “That does seem highly unlikely, Israel, if you don’t mind me saying so. And even if he had, then-”
“But what does the Bible say about suicide?”
“The Bible doesn’t really say anything about suicide, Israel.”
“But what do you think?” asked Israel.
“About suicide?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” said the Reverend Roberts. “I know some Christians, who are good folk, find it hard to imagine that suicide could not be a sin. And that therefore…But personally…I can see that sometimes suicide might seem like the only option.”
“Like for Samson,” said Israel.
“And Delilah?” said the Reverend Roberts.
“Him,” said Israel.
“He didn’t commit suicide, I’m afraid, Israel.”
“Didn’t he pull down the pillars on himself?”
“To gain vengeance against the Philistines,” said the Reverend Roberts. “Samson was a kind of suicide bomber, if you like.”
“What?”
“You need to read your Old Testament, Israel. And not just your Old Testament, judging by your contribution to the Biblical Fish and Chip Night.”
“Hmm,” said Israel.
They sat again in silence. The sound of coffee.
“You’re going to miss Pearce,” said the Reverend Roberts.
“Yes,” agreed Israel. “He was one of the only people here I could talk to.”
“You’re talking to me,” said the Reverend Roberts.