Never an Empire Read Free Page B

angels.
    And here his thought came to a sudden stop. The well-known formulas he had learned and lived by now suddenly sounded false. Was the young woman who had just left his bed a fallen woman, a creature of the devil? Was he no more than a beast? The image of her naked form came back to him and he felt his passion returning. He threw off the sheet, got out of bed, and looked down at his half-risen penis. Yes, it was true, he was no better than a beast, a creature of lust and passion, an animal, a sinner.
    There was a knock at his door followed by a woman’s voice.
    â€˜Father, are you awake? Are you up? It is time to get ready or you will be late for Mass.’
    The priest answered.
    â€˜I am up, Maria, I will be ready soon.’
    â€˜Do you want a lamp, Father?’
    â€˜No, no lamp, nothing. Thank you.’
    Thoughts of the young woman were swept away as he returned to reality. He was in a state of mortal sin but there was still a morning Mass to be said. What should he do? There was no other priest in San Juan to hear his Confession and give him absolution even if he had the time to go to Confession, and in the case of a mortal sin a good Act of Contrition was of no avail. For a moment he stood irresolute. What should he do? What could he do? Then, almost automatically he washed himself, dressed, and began to take up his daily routine.
    Not many minutes later, wearing his long white soutane and a wide-brimmed straw hat, he left the house, crossed the gravel path through the garden, and went to a small doorway in the side of the big, white church which stood next to the priest’s house and entered. Once inside his fingers found the holy water font; he blessed himself and made his way from the dark of the priest’s doorway into the dim candlelight which came from the altar. Marble altar rails ran across the front of the sanctuary. At these, communicants knelt to receive what to anyone else were small, round pieces of flat bread, but they believed were in some mystical way the body and blood of their Lord, Jesus the Christ. In the middle of these marble rails were low, wrought-iron gates which gave access to the sanctuary. At these gates the priest turned and faced the altar. A tier of three, broad steps led up to the main altar which was also was marble but draped now in heavy, coloured cloths with the Latin inscription Sanctus Sanctus Sanctus sewn into it in heavy silver and red threads and over which lay a pure white linen sheet. A Catholic altar ready for the Mass. Behind the flat surface of the altar, on its own elaborate plinth stood the domed tabernacle, draped in heavy, expensive cloth: gold embroidered brocade, a temple within a temple, the inner-sanctum of the true God.
    The priest stood for a moment gazing at the tabernacle in which was housed that most holy of holies, the bread which was the Christ. Solemnly he lowered himself onto one knee, waited for a moment with head bowed, then stood up. Big candles in heavy, brass candlesticks sat each end of the altar already lit, the heavy Mass book lay on its stand, and the Mass cards were in place on either side of the tabernacle. Everything was in readiness for the service to begin. Behind the tabernacle six more tall candles were throwing their light out into the darkness that shrouded the nave of the church, and to either side of the altar were vases of bright, fresh flowers.
    Sunrise would come just before six when Mass began and the church would fill with light as the service progressed. Dawn Masses in the weeks after the great feast of Easter had always been his favourite, like some wonderful new resurrection each day. But now it was different. He feared the coming of the light, feared that he would see himself for what he was, a creature of the night, of lust and darkness. The new light would rise to reveal a priest in mortal sin performing a blasphemous parody of the Holy Rite. None of the congregation would be able to see this new