The Confession

The absolver becomes the absolved!

The ancient clock struck nine, the decisive gong momentarily disturbing the peace of the church. Father Casati sat in pensive silence, head bowed, arms folded in reverence, as the forgiving figure of Jesus looked down upon him with compassion. The sudden intrusion of sound broke him out of his reverie and he opened his eyes unwillingly, taking in the altar before him. He blinked rapidly, trying to get accustomed to the sudden revelation of light and cursed as he tried to get to his feet. The penitent would be arriving shortly, he thought. He walked slowly toward the confessional, a small wooden piece of craftsmanship that looked rather austere against the backdrop of the beautiful coloured glass windows. Once inside, he settled down in the moth-eaten cushioned chair and waited.

The sunlight sifted its way through the lattice, casting designs, which he always thought was a divine sign of acknowledgement. As a confessor, he worked as a medium between God and the sinner. Much to his own bitter amusement, he often described his work as 'forgiving the Devil in God's own workshop'. Indeed, the horrors that were confessed behind the curtains that hid the sinner's identity often made him want to thwart the Seal of the Confessional, a pact that maintained the confidentiality of the words that passed between the absolved and the absolver. However, so trusting was he in the will of God that he often thought of this helplessness as a form of penance for his own past sins. This was a thought that relieved him, though temporarily, of the guilt that came hand-in-hand with his duties.

Time ticked away lethargically. There was still no sign of the penitent. Father Casati shuffled in his chair, as the warm summer heat tickled the sweat to flow in a free trickle behind his ears. Perhaps he had decided not to come at all. Just as the thought made its way through his mind, a slight movement caught his eye. The curtains ruffled and the chair scraped. There was a faint clearing of throat and then, silence again, although now punctuated by the occassional short, quick breaths of air. For some vague reason, the sound unnerved him and his own breathing quickened with the onslaught of misplaced panic. He sensed the claustrophobia creeping onto him, but he fought it off. With a decisive exhalation, he began with the procedure.

The man, a certain Mr. Seth, had been guided to Father Casati by Mrs. Johnson, the kindly widow who spent her time in prayer and guiding troubled souls. He was new in town and seemed weighed down by some past demons. She had taken an instant liking for the withdrawn, yet polite boy and had convinced him to meet the priest who, she was confident, would help him get rid of his ghosts. The man had agreed, albeit only with a condition of anonymity. Father Casati had agreed too, and now he was just a curtain away from a new enigma waiting to be decoded. "What brings you to me, Mr. Seth?" Though I doubt that's your real name, he thought. There was an audible, answering sigh on the other side and then, nothing. Father Casati waited patiently. Confession, even to a faceless outsider, required courage.

The clock ticked impatiently now. Or was that the personification of his own state of mind? Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a gruff voice spoke out, "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned." Father Casati nearly jumped, but quickly composed himself before asking, "How, my son?" A considerable pause later, the voice continued, "I witnessed a murder, Father. I could have stopped it from happening. But I did not. I waited and watched as it happened. I could have told the authorities about it. But I did nothing. I ran away, Father. Like a frightened rabbit, I scuttled away. This makes me an accomplice to the heinous crime and I cannot live with this knowledge any longer." The last few words had sounded strangled, choked with guilt and something else that Father Casati could not name.

Although Father Casati usually maintained a careful detachedness even while delivering his absolutions, he couldn't help but feel sympathetic to this man who had somehow become the scapegoat of time and its evil minions, unfortunate circumstances. That he had sinned was beyond question, but intention had to be given its due too. "Indeed, it is not too late. Perhaps you could warn the authorities now?" At this, the man laughed, a bitter, heart wrenching laugh that echoed within the confessional. "A lot good that would do! Which corpse could survive nature's mercilessness for 20 years?"

20 years! Father Casati's mind reeled. It is a wonder, he thought, that the enormity of this burden he had carried for 20 long years had not driven him to the welcoming arms of insanity. For Father Casati, the nightmares that resulted from his daily duties, listening and absorbing the terrifying deeds that could be committed by someone as human as him lasted a few days which almost made him want to give up this facade of understanding and on life itself, which spelt more misery and ugliness, than the beautiful gift that it was made out to be. And here was this man who had lived with this knowledge for two decades, and had finally let out the skeletons that gnawed at his soul each day, each minute. This realisation, though, also made him curious of another facet of this confession, something that evaded his understanding.

"How old are you, son?"

"Thirty three, Father."

"So, when this unfortunate incident occurred, you were just a boy of thirteen."

"Does that really matter, Father? I was old enough to know what was happening, old enough to understand that this was wrong, and yet, instead of trying to stop it from happening, I looked, rooted to the spot, unable to scream for help or run and get help either. I just went home, cried for a long time and then, just tried to forget that it ever happened."

"Why did you not report it to the authorities, though? I understand the shock of having witnessed something so gruesome takes a while to wear off, but you could have let the police know later. One cannot bring the dead back to life, but one can surely avenge them."

Silence. He had hit the right nerve, Father Casati realised. Perhaps the murderer had been someone he knew or perhaps he had just been too scared of the consequences of telling on a criminal. The clock ticked away, breaking the silence intermittently. Just as it struck 10, and the gong reverberated throughout the church, a voice, firm and resolute came through "He was a man of God Father, a priest, just like you."

Instinctively, Father Casati clutched the cross that hung from his neck, the symbol of his faith. "I had been to the woods to collect some wild berries for my mother. The priest lived in a small cottage there, known for his love for seclusion and solitude. There were rumours that he often suffered from bouts of sudden paranoia, though the cause was never investigated. Apart from that one shortcoming, he was a much admired man, looked upto for his unwavering faith and his kindly nature. However, on that fateful day, I saw him kill a man. What haunts me to this day, though, is the look of utter terror on his face as he went about the act, and the desperate pleas of help of his victim. After the ordeal, he just stood there, looking at the mutilated body with disbelief and clutching at the cross that hung from his neck, as though expecting his faith to deliver him from his unforgivable sin. And then, he cried."

Father Casati had gone rigid in his seat. Seth continued, "Young that I was, this was not the behaviour I expected from a cold, heartless criminal. I was confused, and just ran away. From what I heard, the priest left town within a week and nobody ever heard of him again. The body of the man was discovered weeks later, rotten and disfigured beyond recognition in a ditch by a small river."

The sunlight seemed to be dancing on him now. Father Casati shifted slightly in his chair and asked, "Tell me son, this man that you saved, at the cost of losing 20 years worth of sleep and lightness of being, would you ever be able to forgive him? He took away from you the innocence you were entitled to, and left you with a burden on your conscience that will haunt you forever. Will you ever pardon him for this sin?"

The voice on the other side of the curtain sounded unsure. "I don't know, Father."

"What if you found out that the man acted, in what he thought was self-defense, though he was just a victim of a mental illness that made him imagine things, and hallucinate? Would you forgive him then?"

There was an inexplicable stillness in the air. It was as though the church had come alive, a creature that had sucked in its breath in anticipation of a coming danger. Something had changed.

"No Father. I could not forgive him. He took not one, but two lives. I would not be able to forgive him."

The ticking continued. For a long time, there was no sound on either side of the curtain. After about 10 minutes, Seth called out, but got no response. Worried, he got out of the confessional and entered the side where Father Casati delivered his absolutions from. He looked straight into the listless, dead eyes of a man clutching the cross that hung from his neck, the face that had haunted him all his life, and would haunt him until death.

 

Reviews

[Marie]

This is a very good story, and I'm glad that I discovered it. It was Zanuil's review that led me to it.

[Rashmi Kulal]

Thank you Marie! :)

[Rogue]

Two characters, a closed in space and a clock.. You took something so basic and managed to catch us up in a very articulate and well told story. I do hope to see you post more of your work here in the future and I look forward to reading it.

[Rashmi Kulal]

Thank you so much! I shall post a few more! :)

[zainul]

You engaged me for about half an hour for reading the awesome story.
I was glued to the monitor and wondered how one could frame such an exciting
and lively story whereby the reader was trapped in suspense.
This is really an awesome write.
Appreciate your craftsmanship.

[Rashmi Kulal]

Thanks a lot! :) To be honest I was as involved while writing the story..maybe that's why it came out so well! Thanks again! :)

[zainul]

Thanks for the nice explanation.
But,I want to give your due credit.
I was involved with many situations in my life.
I could not write such convincing story.
You must have talent to create even more powerful work.
Wish you a famous writing career.

[KurKota]

Very interesting writing. Very imaginative, and descriptive. I thought you did a very good job of creating the tension between the characters. Please, keep writing more.

[Rashmi Kulal]

Thank you! :)