Pain shot through Mike's chest. It wasn't true.
"I want to forgive you."
You're
better off hating me."
I can't
hate and save my soul."
Bullshit,"
John said. "Forget 'saving my soul' and 'God's forgiveness' and all
the pious crap. Talk to me about living."
I want
to love you."
Good.
You're getting the hang of it."
Goddamn
you," Mike shouted. "Stop patronizing me."
You
want to heal your soul, Mike. That's good. Don't muddy the water with
ascetic lies."
My
faith was the one thing I've had to hang onto all the years I didn't have
you."
John tried
to push the tubes away. "Stop whining and blaming. Face the ugliness
I gave you. Hate me if you want. But do it without flinching. Then you
can talk about religious stuff." He craned his head toward Mike.
"Leave the priesthood, Mike. You went into it for the wrong reason.
Live for awhile. Find out how your body works. And your mind. And your
soul. Then go back if you want to. Otherwise, you'll turn into one of
those withered celibate lechers who feed on misery."
My
God," Mike said. "My vocation..."
Mike,
listen to me. Life gives you gifts. Took me forty years to learn that
they were gifts and another twenty to find out how to use them. Now it's
too late for me. But not for you."
So,"
Mike said, "first you abandon me, now you want to destroy what I
built without you."
You're
not listening." John's head fell back. "I'm getting tired. That's
the second phase. After that comes sleep. Until pain wakes me." He
straightened his head on the pillow. "After you left last night,
after my shot, I remembered those years when you were little. Happy years.
I wanted to go back, but I couldn't. Then you came back. I thought. 'Mike
didn't want me to die alone.' I was kidding myself. You wanted to punish
me. I don't blame you. I was fool enough to hope."
John's eyes
closed. No signs of breathing.
Mike darted
to the bed and put his ear close to John's nose. Breath, faint and sour.
TOM'S TALES