Father Tiedoll tried to fill the time with necessary paperwork, but he kept having to check and re-check his work, glancing at the clock every five minutes. Then he tried to make it a game, to do his best to add one minute each time, so that the next time he had to go at least six minutes before looking, and the next time at least seven, and so on. He passed an hour in this fashion, then allowed himself to start over at five as the next hour began. Continuing on, he thought, would be asking too much of himself.
He could, he thought, just go to the dormitory and perhaps try to head the whole thing off, but he understood the importance of ritual. Some things needed to be done a certain way or they would be done improperly. Interfering with that, even with the best of intentions, could have a ripple effect that could have even worse consequences than waiting. A good outcome was by far more important to him than making a show of good intentions, or worse, moral superiority.
So he waited. He read through his less urgent mail, looked over a few disciplinary records, and waited.
When his phone rang, he picked it up immediately. "Yes, Brother?"
"It's Kanda," Brother Marie said softly.
Here was Father Tiedoll's awaited cue. "I'm on my way."
An hour after lights-out, the dormitory was quiet. Probably only a few of the boys were asleep, but as long as they sounded as if they were, the monks left them alone. The only disciplinary measures taken were for disturbing the sleep of others, since sleep deprivation was considered a natural and sufficient consequence for setting one's bedtime too late. Kanda had probably not been making much noise, not at first anyway. He seemed to have figured out quickly that it wasn't necessary.
The door to Kanda's room was ajar, and in the soft lamplight, Father Tiedoll saw Brother Marie holding Kanda's head over a wastebasket as the boy emptied his stomach of what smelled like undiluted tequila. Father Tiedoll knelt beside them, holding Kanda's hair clear as he coughed, retched and heaved again, his body rejecting the poison.
When it was over, Father Tiedoll got a bottle of water out of the little refrigerator and a washcloth out of the cupboard, cleaning the boy's face before offering him a sip. Kanda took it, but a lot of it dribbled over his cheek and into his hair. He wasn't nearly conscious enough to care, but Father Tiedoll mopped it up anyway, and together the two monks eased the boy out of his shirt.
"Maybe we should take him to the hospital," Brother Marie said softly as they started working on Kanda's shoes.
"Perhaps," Father Tiedoll said, reluctant to add such a change to this ritual. The three of them had never discussed it. They had just worked it out silently by doing whatever they were willing to do. Kanda was willing to let them help him when he was overcome, but if he wasn't willing to go to the hospital, he would make sure it never happened again, and he would not stop drinking himself into oblivion every time he had to perform in these recitals.
"But what if he was really trying…?" Brother Marie didn't finish his sentence, but Father Tiedoll knew that Daisya's suicide weighed heavily on the younger monk's mind.
"He left his door unlocked, yes?" Father Tiedoll asked.
"Yes."
"Then he wasn't trying to harm himself."
"What else is this but self-harm?" Brother Marie asked.
"A very great evil," Father Tiedoll said, "but not Kanda's. He does this so he won't do even more harm, to himself or to anyone else."
"If this is such a great evil," Brother Marie began as he unbuckled Kanda's belt, "then why don't we stop it?"
When Father Tiedoll was given this position, he had seen himself as a shepherd. Boys sent to a Jesuit school often came to it with difficulties, some accidents of birth or circumstance and others of their own making. It was Father Tiedoll's job to create an environment where those who could learn nowhere else could thrive, an impossible task, but one so worthy that it was well worth falling short as long as he never gave up the attempt. These were, after all, that very least of Christ's brethren Father Tiedoll considered himself exhorted to do his best by.
He never imagined that the Church would ask him to stand by while those who outranked him abused these children. God had given Kanda an extraordinary gift that was being exploited by the Church itself, not even for her greater glory but for the personal aggrandizement of a select few within it. Kanda would be driven to dance, whether he wanted to or not, until he was too old or injured to continue, at which point he would be discarded without any consideration at all.
It wasn't that Father Tiedoll had never looked into putting a stop to this. It was only that in doing so, he came face to face with his own limitations. "Because we're fallible and weak," he said as they eased Kanda out of his trousers.
Kanda, who found this motion too much to bear, heaved, and Father Tiedoll grabbed for the wastebasket. Not much came up, which was reassuring. Perhaps the worst was over.
"Father, I am not sure how much longer I can stand this helplessness," Brother Marie said.
Father Tiedoll had been uncertain about the appointment of the blind monk as head proctor for the dormitories, but Marie's blindness turned out to be one of his greatest assets. Most of the best tricks of the juvenile liar were visual: the neat clothing, the respectable appearance, the eye contact, the disarming smile. Brother Marie was immune to all of that, and although his hearing was no better than any other man's, his sense of smell was acute enough to detect alcohol under breath mints, or burnt plant matter under body spray. He also knew to listen for the edges and cracks of stress in the boys' voices, and had learned to tell the difference in tone between a difficult challenge and an impending breakdown. They, in turn, had come to trust him, and some of the most hardened of them would confide in him, knowing that he could not see to judge their tears. Marie would be hard to lose, and impossible to replace.
"I didn't say we were helpless," Father Tiedoll said, washing Kanda's face once again.
"What can we do?" Marie asked as they eased Kanda into bed. "Tell me, Father, and I will do it."
"We bear witness," Father Tiedoll said as he pulled the blankets over Kanda's shoulder. "We don't forget about this in the morning, or try to pretend it never happened. We remember. That way, if a chance comes when our testimony is called for, we can give it."
"What if that chance never comes?" Marie asked.
"What if it does, and we're not ready? 'Watch therefore, for ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of man cometh.'* That's my greater fear."
Marie bent his head. "Forgive me, Father. It does not do for St. Simon to mistake himself for Christ."
Father Tiedoll smiled, because Marie could hear it in his voice, even if he couldn't see it. "I had no idea when I was assigned here what I was getting into. I imagine you've often felt the same."
"Yes." Marie brushed Kanda's hair away from his face, resting his hand briefly on the boy's head. "I was fond of Daisya. He was full of mischief, but there wasn't a malicious bone in his body. For him to feel pushed to such a measure..."
Father Tiedoll was suddenly glad for Marie's sightless eyes, because he wasn't sure of what was on his face. "When these children die," he said, "I don't count it as suicide. I count it as murder."
"Yes, I can see that," Marie said, "although it does my anger no good."
"Then let that anger burn in your lamp," Father Tiedoll said, "so you have light with which to keep watch."
"Thank you, Father," Marie said. "Do you think someone should stay with him for a while, to be sure he's all right?"
"I will," Father Tiedoll said.
"Thank you," Marie said as he rose to leave. "Good night, Father."
"Goodnight, Brother."
Father Tiedoll gathered up the wastebasket and washcloth, and took them to the restroom to clean them, a disgusting job made sacred by the fact that this was, at this time, the very best he could do. The circumstances that put Kanda in his care and brought the boy to these straights were beyond Father Tiedoll's ability to mend, which left him with the task of making it as bearable as possible. To be unwilling to do these small things would be childish in the extreme.
When he got back to Kanda's room, he pulled out a fresh bottle of water, got a glass and a protein bar from the cupboard, then fished in his pocket for a small paper packet, setting it all out on Kanda's night table.
Perhaps he could have left then, but Marie was right. This year was much worse than the previous Holy War, which was when Kanda discovered alcohol. It might be wise to stay for a while.
Father Tiedoll settled himself at Kanda's desk and reached into his jacket pocket for his notebook and pen. He knew there were apps for this kind of thing, but he was old enough so that what was stored electronically felt insincere and impermanent. He needed the physicalness of pen and paper in his hands.
He began by writing the date at the top of a blank page, then he checked his phone for the time of Marie's call, glanced over at the empty bottles on the floor, and continued his testimony.
*Matthew 25:13 (KJV)