~~~
As the professors held office hours, so did Julien too, working quietly on something or other at a small desk in the rectory until someone would come into to see him. Members of the community could come speak to him there, attending to school business, receiving spiritual counseling, or taking a moment in the confessional for those seeking the delivery of the sacrament. But then, just a few days into this habit, he noticed it again.
It was the presence, the strange tangled presence unlike any he’d ever encountered before. It was Gabriel, unmistakably, and he realized with a start that if he was feeling it now it meant Gabriel was here, somewhere close by but completely unseen. More thrown than he would ever have guessed, he sat stiffly in his chair trying to decide what to do, until after a while the presence receded, and Julien felt he was alone again. He allowed himself a futile glance around the empty hall, casting about for some action to take, and finding none. This went on for quite a few days, the onset of that creeping sensation seizing him up with a fear so base it startled him. He would just keep on with whatever business he was about, assiduously pretending he did not feel like some scurrying prey animal that could sense the eyes of the predator upon him.
That feeling disgusted him. This was not why he was brought here, to cower away from the phenomenon they had enlisted his help to understand. He could not keep avoiding that which he was meant to confront. He had a duty to uphold.
On the fifth day, when he could sense the creature’s approach, Julien laid down his pen and took a deep breath, slowly in and out. He considered a moment, then asked the room at large, “Gabriel? Is that you?”
The silence in response was long enough that Julien began to wonder if he was mistaken, but finally he was answered by that same low, even voice.
“Yes, Father.”
Suddenly he felt profoundly unsure of himself, the fear threatening to freeze him up again. He cleared his throat and clumsily he pressed on. “You know, you’re very welcome to come in. If you’d like.”
The invitation sounded silly even to his ears. Gabriel already was in, for all he knew. He could be anywhere, and the little mouse he was watching would never know it.
Up in the rafters there was a flapping sound, like the whipping of leather. Julien’s gaze snapped to the ceiling. There Gabriel was, emerging from the shadowed high corner of the hall. On all fours he climbed across the broad beam and sprang off on coiled-steel hind legs. With the spreading of his batlike wings he dropped in a controlled fall to touch down gracefully on the floor just to the side of the desk. It took all Julien’s self-possession not to go lurching out of his chair.
Instead, he folded his hands and looked all the way seven feet up to meet Gabriel’s eyes. He did his best to give a pleasant smile. “That’s better, I think.”
The draconian head nodded, once. The slitted golden eyes fixed on him again, as intensely as they had at their first meeting, then turned down to linger on the floor. That small thing softened him somehow, made him seem to Julien suddenly like a shy boy looking at his shoelaces.
Encouraged, Julien went on. “I am glad you came. We haven’t seen one another since our meeting, have we?”
The demon made no answer. The priest struggled to fill the silence. “Is there something I can do for you?”
It seemed at first that Gabriel may not answer again. Finally he said, “I used to come here to make confession.”
“Confession?” Julien’s guts went cold. “Qu’est ce-que— do you, ah… have you something in particular? To confess?” His eyes went to the curved claws, the long muzzle of wicked fangs, and immediately his imagination began to fire. He fought to keep his expression under control; he could not let fear make up his mind for him.
Gabriel’s eyes began to wander around the room, looking anywhere except at the priest. “I used to come every week. Before Father Cortes became too sick.”
That surprised Julien. That was a habit he associated with the little old ladies back in Marseilles. “Ah. I see. Well, I am happy to hear you anytime you wish.”
Again Gabriel had no answer.
“Is… it that all right?”
His face had so little expression it was hard to read, and Julien had not yet learned to parse out what his insight absorbed from this creature. But on impulse he decided to try anyway, casting out and focusing as closely as he could. He could not trace the strands of the tangle, but amid the swirling threads there was an air of something that radiated unmistakably of sorrow. Julien held on to that, that which he could understand, that which could build connection between one soul and another. He knew nothing of demons, but if he knew nothing else, he knew how to reach out to those who were in pain.
“Gabriel? Is something wrong?”
“No, sir. It’s only…” Those golden eyes flicked back briefly, then again away. “Father Cortes knew me already.”
It was an odd thing to say. Julien had not been hearing confession long, but it seemed off somehow, that such a thing should concern him. The sacrament of confession was not to be delivered from a position of personal investment, at least not as far as the confessor was concerned. But he did not want to alienate him now, not when the connection was beginning to form.
The priest leaned back in his chair and spread his hands. “Well, then… perhaps I should too.”
Gabriel actually looked at him then, not like a predator for once, almost the way a normal person would, and nodded. He turned abruptly to the wall and seemed ready to scale it to leave the way he came in, but then he paused, and his sinuous neck turned back over his shoulder.
“He knew what I am, I mean. My history. All of it.”
Julien stood. “I can learn.”
Those long fangs ground against each other. “So I’ll have to talk about it.”
0 comments:
Post a Comment