A Kinship

A Kinship.

“CRACK!”

Screams of sheer terror.

Paul’s eyes shot open, heart pounding in his chest, his breath shallow and quick. After a few minutes, his eyelids fluttered and he dozed off again.

Paul was alone in his room at the boarding house that he had been renting for a year. A single candle provided some dim light, illuminating his face in an orange light as he gazed out the window watching the horse drawn carriages as they passed by.

He glanced down at the journal on the desk, a journal he had used every day, chronicling events like a ship’s captain.

He flipped through some pages before closing it. Ordinarily, he had a habit of writing down the day's events in the journal but tonight, of all nights, he found that he just couldn’t write..not after…..it ... ..happened.

His chin dropped into his collarbone as the exhaustion finally took him again

Catwalk..

Rigging already slipping in his grip, inch by inch, his palms burning with the effort.

The figure walking into the theatre

Moving like a hunter stalking prey.

“CRACK”

The piercing screams.

The sandbag hitting the stage floor with a thud.

A constable’s piercing gaze, boring into his soul with eyes that burned like coal.

He awoke again with a start, knocking over the chair when he stood, wide eyed in shock.

Paul gazed out the window again and saw nothing was amiss. He reached down and grabbed the little chair and placed it near the desk. He stepped over to the other side of the room and poured himself some water from the pitcher, hands trembling

“BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!”

Water spilled over the side of the glass as his hands shook and his whole body quivered.

“Mr. Brown?”, came the voice of Mrs. Bartlett the landlady. “You okay in there?”

Paul looked downcast for a moment, breathless.

“Heartless woman”, he thought to himself. Her knocking was not only unnecessary, it was also sadistically loud, like the cruel guard who won't let the prisoners sleep.

“Pay my rent on time or ahead and I still get grief from this nosy woman!”, he thought.

He sat the pitcher down on the side table, and let his whole body sag, letting his breath out in a low whistle

“Yes, Ms. Bartlett. I just tripped that’s all”

“Mmmm.” , she said through the door. “Just remember. You’re responsible for any damage to the room, ya here?”

“Yes, Ms. Bartlet. I understand.”, he said resignedly, still breathing heavily.

He stared at the door, counting the retreating footsteps of his landlady. She didn’t know. She couldn’t know and he doubted that she would care anyway.

He got back up and paced in the little room some more in an attempt to settle down, but he had little success.

The figure

The eyes

“CRACK!”

The screaming crowd

Finally he’d had enough, blew out the candle and left the boarding house.

The night seemed eerie in October, especially now as he walked aimlessly on the cobblestone street, looking over his shoulder, hoping that no one would recognize him.

A constable was patrolling on foot on the other side of the road, a billy club held behind his back. Paul tried not to look at him. His stomach tied into a knot as he walked, trying to decide if he would be better off at the boarding house.

“Eeeeeee!”

Paul stiffened at the sound, his whole body shaking like a prey animal that knows it's being hunted. His head jerked around, eyes staring out at the darkened street until he saw a young couple heading down the hill, the girl’s high pitched laughter bouncing off the cobblestone.

He sighed with relief, as he closed his eyes and hung his head.

“I don’t need anymore scares like that,” he muttered under his breath.

He continued walking along the street searching for any kind of solace when he happened upon a little stone church with 2 wooden doors. He hadn’t noticed the little church before now and yet tonight, it seemed both familiar and compelling. It was almost as if the Universe itself willed him to come.

With a little curiosity, he got closer and knocked.

“Thok, thok, thok”

The wind blew a few dry leaves on the doorstep, making a light scraping sound while he waited. A few moments.later, the door opened revealing a slimly built priest holding an oil lamp. He stared quizzically at the newcomer with his tired eyes.

“Do you know what time it is?”, he said in a grizzled voice that seemed to match his lined face.

“I’m sorry, Father but I have to talk to someone. I don’t want to face this all by myself.”

The priest peered at Paul’s trembling face and let him inside. Paul went into the sanctuary entrance, dipped his hands in the holy water while the old priest watched. After he finished the ritual, he turned to the priest

“Father, would you hear my confession?”

The old priest put on the stole he was carrying and guided Paul to the confessional.

Paul took a seat inside the darkened confessional and waited for the priest.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

“Please, my son. Go ahead”

Paul took a deep breath and let it out before beginning.

“I have borne witness to a tragedy today; a national tragedy…..one that I could’ve stopped”

From the other side of the confessional, the priest leaned back and bowed. “I know of the tragedy of which you speak, my son, but how could you have prevented it?”

Again, Paul sighed.

“Father, I’m a stage hand over at Ford’s theatre”

“I see….go on”

“As a stage hand, I have to be able to do everything from rigging, moving sets to making sure the lighting is safe.

It was about 10 at night and the play was going well. I was securing the rigging, when I glanced down towards the entrance and I saw a figure moving purposefully towards the back way behind the seats. I knew that he was headed to the Presidential Box.

I tried to shout, but the rope started slipping, and the sand bags.started falling. I barely stopped the bag from dropping when I…heard and felt that shot.”

Paul looked down at the palms of his hands which were still raw from the efforts.

From the other side, the priest clears his throat

“My son, what you have told me is no sin at all. You have borne witness to a tragic event in this nation’s history. There is no shame in this. How could you,” he paused "have prevented it?”

Paul paused. “I don’t know exactly. It’s like I felt this tingling sensation when I looked at him. I’m strong enough and I’m pretty fast. I can walk those catwalks in my sleep….and….”

“And what…..?”

Paul grew silent for a moment, not having any words left. He shook his head.

The old priest sighed again “You have done nothing that needs forgiving; however, it does require some perspective. “

“Come, my son. Let’s go to my office”

Paul frowned a little, exited the confessional and followed the old priest to the back hall that ran behind the sanctuary.

Together, they entered a small office that only held a desk with an old hat on it and 3 chairs.

The priest sat down at the desk and looked at Paul, a look of sorrow filled his face. From his desk, he pulled out a bottle and 2 glasses and began pouring, while Paul’s eyes widened.

“Father?”, he asked quietly

The priest’s eyes shifted upwards, looking at Paul, his head not moving an inch. He sat the bottle down and took one of the glasses in his right hand and leaned back in the chair.

“Secrets," he said.

Paul shook his head.

The priest nodded towards the door and towards the sanctuary they just left.

“We priests, we hear secrets in those confessionals and we are bound by our oaths, never to reveal them.”

He lifted the glass to his lips and sipped. It seemed like a long sip to Paul, long and slow, savoring every swallow.

The priest lowered the glass and looked at it, emptied of its contents. Then he sat it down and leaned forward and looked him in the eye.

“Those secrets, son? They are costly and heavy…too heavy for one man to bear alone…but here I am, still doing it!”

He grinned and scoffed as he looked back at the glass. “Our whole order…is built on the trust that comes from others. They all trust a priest —- a man of God.”

“Yes, Father, but I still don’t understand…”

He looked at Paul again without moving his head, his glasses sliding down his sorrow lined face. He sighed again and leaned back in the chair, nurturing the empty glass.

“ I hear all types of confessions. Mostly sins of commision, some of commission. Some are just thoughts…some lustful. All very human.”

Paul nodded but his brow was still tight as if concentrating on a puzzle in confusion. The priest leaned forward again.

“Some confess sins” pause “that they have… NOT YET COMMITTED.”

Paul leaned forward for a moment, frowning slightly, eyes narrowed. Titling his head with his eyes fixed on the priest, the truth dawning upon his young face like the blossoming of a flower in the spring. The man had been there. He had had come for absolution before......

The priest reached for the bottle again and refilled his glass, and nodded at Paul, his sad, grey eyes seeming to give off an inner smile…a smile that said “friend”.

It was not absolution, per se, but relief filled his soul for the first time this early morning. It was…understanding….and a kinship.

Paul picked up the other glass from the desk and the two men clinked the glasses in a toast to mutual understanding