The point isn't what the praga is doing - it's how efficiently it's doing
it. We know just as well as you do how they're dying. We just don't know if
we can stop them from dying.
The doctors could.
True - but what doctor would come to our city - for any price? He would be infected and would die, bleeding from a thousand pus-filled sores. Who would come to cure if their own life was forfeit?
A truly holy man.
That's the trouble with the world these days - there are no holy men.
***
Why he was going was a mystery no one understood. Not even he had understood it. Until this morning, when he had kissed his mother awkwardly on the cheek, and had said that damning farewell, he wasn't even sure he was going. Even now, he could back out. Strangely enough, he didn't want to.
"Te amo, mama."
"I know you do. But if this is what you must do – do it with all your heart, and do not look back to regret this."
"Estou receoso"
"Pensa que eu não sou?"
"Nenhum…"
"We are all afraid. But we must face our fears. I know that my son will never return to me. But I love him for the sacrifice he is willing to make. I love you, Estevam, I know this is what you want to do. So do it."
"Te amo."
"Sei."
Her last word had haunted him, even now, with the pitching of the deck under his feet, he pondered what she meant. Sei. I know. But what did she know? Did she know that he loved her, or did she know that she could never hold onto him? It was all so difficult…he never knew what to think. The only one who knew how to think was Lauro, and he was almost useless, at least when it came to practical matters, like family. Always imprisoned in his monastery, praying to a Christ that Estevam could never know.
How ironic, then, that I should be the missionary. Lauro is the only one who believes in God's power to heal, and here I who am without a doubt sem fé; I am chosen to heal his people. I am the priest, and he is the monk. How ironic. If there is a God, he must take pleasure in watching us.
"Pai Estevam, there is bad weather ahead. You should get below decks."
"Agradeça, meu filho. I will be down shortly."
He took one last glance at the white spray gracing the ship's prow before retreating below deck to further contemplate the meaning of his mother's words, life, and Lauro. Especially Lauro.
Below decks, he felt more miserable than he did above. Even though he was travado à terra, as the sailors so kindly put it, he knew enough about sailing and of ships to be of some help to the crew. Down here, he truly felt as though he had been locked up. It made him sick – and reminded him of his duty as a priest. Be kind, be good, be humble, be merciful...
He was sick of it. No one was around, so he could express his true thoughts. Even if he had to do penance for it later. "Eu odeio, Deus."
"Such thoughts, and from a priest, no less."
"Estou encontrando-me."
"Portuguese is such an odd language. You mean to say you are lying. You also mean that you are finding yourself. Which is it?"
"Eu não sei. I am a terrible man, to give confessions, and to think such things, even if I do not mean them."
"You are hardly a terrible man, Pai. But you do have your weakness. That, perhaps is why God is sending you to Ireland."
"To my death. Quite a God, if he cannot even protect me from the ravages of the praga."
"You are going willingly."
"No one else will."
"Because God cannot protect them, either. They never had the courage to ask God to protect them."
"This is what I should be saying to you, Magherally, not the other way around."
The young Irishwoman laughed mirthlessly. "We are all human, Estevam. We need each other. We are woven into God's plan, and we can only know that his plan is for the greater good."
"I wish I were more like my brother. He would know what to do. He has faith. I have only an intellectual belief in god. I am no priest."
"Estevam, can you prove that God exists?"
"Can you prove that He doesn't?"
Magherally smiled and gave him a quick kiss on his the cheek. "That's what I love about you, Pai. You deny everything one minute, and embrace it unquestioningly the next."
"God is good, my daughter. He can show Himself to me in the smallest of miracles. Maybe he can show himself in the larger ones, too."
"God forbid. You wouldn't be half as much fun if miracles were guaranteed."
Estevam smiled at her, before quietly retreating into his cabin.
It took an act of tremendous will to look up at the crucifix that hung over his desk – but once that effort had been made, the rest came easily.
"God, you know I am weak. You know I will sin again, but I am asking you, again to forgive me. You understand me, you know my nature, all that is good as well as evil. I love you, but my nature is not my brother's. I question you, and your designs. I beg you to forgive my doubt and my fear. Amen."
Magherally leaned against the thin wood that separated her from Estevam. "Forgive him, Father, for he has sinned, and forgive me also, for my sins of lust. Forgive me for I have sinned, and if I should sin again, I pray that I descend into Hell."
The doctors could.
True - but what doctor would come to our city - for any price? He would be infected and would die, bleeding from a thousand pus-filled sores. Who would come to cure if their own life was forfeit?
A truly holy man.
That's the trouble with the world these days - there are no holy men.
***
Why he was going was a mystery no one understood. Not even he had understood it. Until this morning, when he had kissed his mother awkwardly on the cheek, and had said that damning farewell, he wasn't even sure he was going. Even now, he could back out. Strangely enough, he didn't want to.
"Te amo, mama."
"I know you do. But if this is what you must do – do it with all your heart, and do not look back to regret this."
"Estou receoso"
"Pensa que eu não sou?"
"Nenhum…"
"We are all afraid. But we must face our fears. I know that my son will never return to me. But I love him for the sacrifice he is willing to make. I love you, Estevam, I know this is what you want to do. So do it."
"Te amo."
"Sei."
Her last word had haunted him, even now, with the pitching of the deck under his feet, he pondered what she meant. Sei. I know. But what did she know? Did she know that he loved her, or did she know that she could never hold onto him? It was all so difficult…he never knew what to think. The only one who knew how to think was Lauro, and he was almost useless, at least when it came to practical matters, like family. Always imprisoned in his monastery, praying to a Christ that Estevam could never know.
How ironic, then, that I should be the missionary. Lauro is the only one who believes in God's power to heal, and here I who am without a doubt sem fé; I am chosen to heal his people. I am the priest, and he is the monk. How ironic. If there is a God, he must take pleasure in watching us.
"Pai Estevam, there is bad weather ahead. You should get below decks."
"Agradeça, meu filho. I will be down shortly."
He took one last glance at the white spray gracing the ship's prow before retreating below deck to further contemplate the meaning of his mother's words, life, and Lauro. Especially Lauro.
Below decks, he felt more miserable than he did above. Even though he was travado à terra, as the sailors so kindly put it, he knew enough about sailing and of ships to be of some help to the crew. Down here, he truly felt as though he had been locked up. It made him sick – and reminded him of his duty as a priest. Be kind, be good, be humble, be merciful...
He was sick of it. No one was around, so he could express his true thoughts. Even if he had to do penance for it later. "Eu odeio, Deus."
"Such thoughts, and from a priest, no less."
"Estou encontrando-me."
"Portuguese is such an odd language. You mean to say you are lying. You also mean that you are finding yourself. Which is it?"
"Eu não sei. I am a terrible man, to give confessions, and to think such things, even if I do not mean them."
"You are hardly a terrible man, Pai. But you do have your weakness. That, perhaps is why God is sending you to Ireland."
"To my death. Quite a God, if he cannot even protect me from the ravages of the praga."
"You are going willingly."
"No one else will."
"Because God cannot protect them, either. They never had the courage to ask God to protect them."
"This is what I should be saying to you, Magherally, not the other way around."
The young Irishwoman laughed mirthlessly. "We are all human, Estevam. We need each other. We are woven into God's plan, and we can only know that his plan is for the greater good."
"I wish I were more like my brother. He would know what to do. He has faith. I have only an intellectual belief in god. I am no priest."
"Estevam, can you prove that God exists?"
"Can you prove that He doesn't?"
Magherally smiled and gave him a quick kiss on his the cheek. "That's what I love about you, Pai. You deny everything one minute, and embrace it unquestioningly the next."
"God is good, my daughter. He can show Himself to me in the smallest of miracles. Maybe he can show himself in the larger ones, too."
"God forbid. You wouldn't be half as much fun if miracles were guaranteed."
Estevam smiled at her, before quietly retreating into his cabin.
It took an act of tremendous will to look up at the crucifix that hung over his desk – but once that effort had been made, the rest came easily.
"God, you know I am weak. You know I will sin again, but I am asking you, again to forgive me. You understand me, you know my nature, all that is good as well as evil. I love you, but my nature is not my brother's. I question you, and your designs. I beg you to forgive my doubt and my fear. Amen."
Magherally leaned against the thin wood that separated her from Estevam. "Forgive him, Father, for he has sinned, and forgive me also, for my sins of lust. Forgive me for I have sinned, and if I should sin again, I pray that I descend into Hell."