“I want to make confession, but I don’t remember the words.”
“There’s a good reason for that, Kathy. You never made a confession in your entire life, not in or out of the church,”
“Tell me what to say.”
“Do you remember the last time we discussed confession in my office? I remember your very words. That’s not the way it works,‘ you said. ’If you can’t catch me doing it, then I didn’t do it. I’ve got rights, and you can call Markowitz, he’ll tell you. I don’t ever have to confess to anything.”
“And did you call Markowitz?”
“Yes, Kathy, I did.”
“And?”
“He said, ‘The kid is absolutely right.’ Then he hung up on me.”
“So tell me the words. I want to take communion. I can’t do that until I confess my sins, and I need the damn words.”
“Actually, the church has loosened up a bit since you were with us. You can take communion if you-”
“No, I want to do this right.”
“Why don’t we just talk about it first?”
“Is this under the seal of the confessional? You can’t tell anyone, right?”
“That’s right. You were so young when your mother died. There is no fault attached to your actions. You were frightened, you ran away. That’s what children do. I only wish you had told me about this when you were still a child. You shouldn’t have had to carry that-”
“You would have told the others.”
“Still the same trusting little soul you always were.”
“Sarcasm is unbecoming in a priest. I think you spend too much time hanging out with Rabbi Kaplan.”
“An occasional poker game.”
“I knew it. If you’d known, you would’ve talked. You would have told them all.”
“No, that would never have happened. But what if they had known? Helen wanted to adopt you. If your mother was dead, that would’ve been possible. Was your father still living?”
“This is not about my father.”
“You witnessed your mother’s murder?”
“I saw her after the bastard left her for dead. She was crawling toward me, covered with blood. Any one of those wounds should have killed her. You know what kept her going? She had to crawl a long ways with mortal wounds. But she thought I would get to her in time to save her. That’s why she was holding on.”
“No, Kathy. She wanted to touch you before she died, to say goodbye. That’s what kept her going. It was for you that she kept going. She must have loved you more than her own life.”
“No. She believed I was going to save her. But I ran away.”
“And you survived. So she did not go through that ghastly ordeal for nothing. Do you know who killed her?”
“No. I never saw him.”
“You never spoke of this to anyone?”
“No.”
“That would explain a lot.”
“The bruises on Sister Ursula’s shins? She had that coming.”
“I won’t argue that. But you know, there’s a kind of innocence in insanity. Ursula still wonders what you’re up to. If she knew this about your birth mother, she would send up the flames of a thousand candles each night for the rest of her life. You tend to linger in her memory. You have that effect on people.”
“You can’t tell her or anyone.”
“Of course not. Why are you telling me now?”
“I’m confessing. Now what do I do with the guilt? I’ve confessed. What now?”
“You were a blameless child.”
“I don’t want to hear that crap, Father. So let’s say I’m guilty, and I’ve confessed. What now?”
“God forgives you.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Yeah, right.” She hung up on him.
He walked around the roof, occasionally pausing to anchor himself by touching the corner of the table or some object, fearing he might float away if he did not hold on to something solid, something real. He picked up an empty wine bottle and set it down again. At each turn of the roof, he kept his eyes to the design of the plush rugs which carpeted the tarpaper. He avoided looking at the decorative mirror in a small art deco frame, skirting it with a tremor of terror. The last time he had looked at his reflection, it had been like viewing the remains of a familiar corpse.
His eyes, oh his eyes.
There were two dead flies lying on the table, sun-dried and so light, they were carried off on the next breeze. He turned away. His hand worked over his eyes and left them closed, the way that service was done for the deceased.
He sat down on the tarmac and addressed the upholstery of the chair. “I couldn’t stop what happened.”
There was no response from the upholstery.
“There was nothing I could have done.”
He took the chair’s quiet repose for agreement. He opened his eyes and leaned over to touch the brocade arm, as though to gain the chair’s confidence, and then he went on in a louder monotone. “What good would it have done to tell?”
He stood up and walked twice around the chair in the way of a child who believes that the circle has a magical and protective charm. He came to rest beside the chair and put one arm around the back of it. “Oh, what would have been the good of it?” His voice was rising more. Hysteria came stealing up his throat, surprising him and scaring him with a shrillness in his voice. “Well, it’s crazy, that’s all-just crazy!”
One hand clawed through his matted hair. “Am I screaming?” he screamed. “Do I sound a little frantic?”
The chair withdrew into prolonged silence. He turned away, tears running freely.
When he turned around again, a beautiful woman was sitting in the chair. He recognized the moon-gold hair, though in the better light of the standing lamp, it was closer to burnished copper, and her eyes were long slants of green. The tailoring of her blazer was superb. This was definitely his angel.
“Good evening, Andrew,” said the angel, in a soft, silken voice. It was nearly music.
“Good evening.” And now he wished he had paid more attention to the nuns’ instructions on the order of cherubim, seraphim, and assorted supernatural messengers.
“I understand you’ve been praying for a sign.” She perused the labels of a small store of wine on the side table and found a bottle of red that she approved of. “Andrew, I really worry about you, up here all by yourself.” One long red fingernail split the skin of the seal around the cork. “Anyone can get at you…Anyone.”
She held a small silver device, which she now opened to expose a cruel screw of metal. She smiled. Andrew tucked in a breath and held it. She drove the point of the screw into the heart of the bottle cork and began to work it deeper and deeper.
Her blazer opened as she leaned forward to pour the wine into a silver goblet which had suddenly appeared on the low table. He saw the gun in her shoulder holster. Well, that was intriguing.
Now he was afraid.
So this was not his guardian angel at all. She was an avenging angel. He supposed that was only fair. So be it. “I see you carry a gun.”
A vertical line appeared between her eyebrows, only a faint line to show her annoyance. Andrew lowered his foolish eyes to look down at her feet, which were inexplicably encased in rather expensive running shoes. “It’s just surprising to see a gun. I suppose I expected a sword, a great shining sword.”
“Well, the world changed, Andrew.” She replaced the bottle’s cork. “We use revolvers now.”
“I suppose vengeance is vengeance, sword or gun.”
“You got that right.” She brought a handful of communion wafers from her pocket.
“How shall I address you?”
“Mallory-just Mallory is fine.” She set the wafers on the low table near the wine goblet and her cellular telephone.
“Mallory? Is that from the order of Malakim, the Virtues?”