Sergio De La Pava - A Naked Singularity

“Wait, what are you talking about?”

“Yeah what’s with the numerical reference?”

“I distinctly remember you had to provide a number. I think you had to tabulate and disclose exactly how many sins you had committed.”

“No way. The number you’re thinking of is the number of times you’ve confessed. You have to tell the dude how many times you’ve confessed in your life. That way they can gauge your progress and shit.”

“No… no way. Hold it just a minute. The number you’re thinking of is, I think, how long it’s been since you last confessed.”

“Yes! Now we’re getting somewhere. That’s exactly right. You have to state when the last time you confessed was. You don’t have to give a specific date or anything though; I think you say something like it’s been blankety blank since my last confession .”

“Okay so something like, my name is—”

“No names.”

“No?”

“Anonymity.”

“Okay. So cutting right to the chase you say something like, forgive me for being a sinner and I haven’t confessed in a year then you get into it.”

“I have sinned.”

“You have? When?”

“No, I have sinned is what you say. You say forgive me for I have sinned it has been five years since my last confession .”

“She’s right. I remember it perfectly now and she got it almost completely correct. The precise wording is this: Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It has been a decade since my last confession .”

“Yes.”

“Agreed.”

“That’s exactly right.”

“So what?”

“Yeah, who cares?”

“I don’t.”

“Me either.”

“Yeah, why do you ask Casi?”

The church on 35th Street, the church where that prick nosy civilian Bolo was working that night the previous spring when meathead Hurtado made a brief stop into that van on his way to state prison; the church where they held him, seated in a pew, a guard at each side, until the police arrived to bring him to me, the white one named Peter and claiming Catholic, the church where I arrived well after dark that night; That Church was closed.

I went back to the illuminated Bingo-type board. The weathered plastic letters, alternately red or black with no seeming pattern, did in fact spell what I thought they had so why the barred door?

Maybe there was a tricky side door or doors. It made sense that they couldn’t just go and keep the front door open, the world being the world, but just as assuredly there would have to be a side door of some sort. A way to get in.

There was such a door, just one, but it was closed with such prejudice as to be nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding stone walls. What about a rectory? Every one of these things had a corresponding rectory right? Probably not in the city though. Rectories were probably just a leafy suburban thing. Wait, what was I thinking? There had to be a rectory. Where else would the priests and their confederates hang out when they weren’t performing mass and sacraments and stuff? I knew they didn’t live in the church, that was for sure. Except maybe now they did live there and that’s why they had to lock the doors since you have to lock the doors to where you live if you’re going to get any kind of meaningful sleep. The whole thing was very confusing so I wandered around the perimeter of that artful boulder kicking little pebbles and looking down.

While doing that I wandered into this garden-type enclosure in the back where I had no business being. There were these cool stone benches back there and I was about to go sit on one when I heard a soft, collared voice.

“Can I help you?”

“Oh yeah… I was… are you… open? Like for business.”

“Business?”

“The doors were locked.”

“When it gets dark we lock the doors. Masses daily at ten a.m. and noon.”

“No, I’m an attorney.”

“Same schedule for attorneys.”

“No what I mean is I’m here investigating a case, not for any other reason.”

“I wasn’t even aware a lawsuit had been filed.”

“No, a criminal case.”

“Criminal?”

“Yes, it was several months ago. I just want to talk to someone. I need to. Someone who was here.”

“Come in young man.”

Those words were a soothing balm to me. My shoulders relaxed and fell. We walked to the door together. He turned a giant key that looked like it belonged to a dungeon. Two opposing metal bars rushed past each other towards the middle and the entry yawned open as a result.

He was young and strong. For a priest anyway. He had short, suspiciously black hair that formed a proceeding hairline less than an inch above his eyebrows, eyebrows that looked like little islands just off a continent. There was no warmth at all coming from my host, but still, once inside I felt good, safe. I also felt guilty though because I’d never been in there before. Not when it mattered and could have made a difference. It was a virtual reality in there. The painted expanse inside didn’t seem like it could be supported and enclosed by what I had seen outside.

“I’m Father Mulcahey,” he said and he surprised me by sitting on the steps going up to the altar. Or were they coming down from there?

“Really? That’s funny.”

“Funny?”

“I mean Mulcahey. Father Mulcahey you know?”

“No.”

“Never mind. It was stupid. I’m totally way off. I thought for a moment that it was the same name as the… just forget it.”

“Oh right. It is, you’re right. I get that a lot.”

“Get what?”

“Never mind.”

“Right.”

“So you say someone broke into our humble church?”

“No what happened, this was last April, was that someone was working on renovations here and my client broke into his van while he was here.”

“Allegedly right?”

“Well we’re well past that unfortunately. Anyway the contractor nabbed him and they held him here until the police came.”

“Yes, I do now recall hearing about that incident.”

“Oh good, I’m looking to talk to someone who witnessed that.”

“You need to talk to Father Irizzarry.”

“Irizzarry?”

“Yes, as I recall he was the priest on duty that night.”

“Duty? You guys have that? Like shifts?”

“Well someone is always available. That night it was Father Irizzarry, I’m certain.”

“That’s what I thought, I mean in terms of the availability thing you’re talking about. But seeing as you guys were closed just now it seems a strange kind of availability.”

“Closed?”

“The doors.”

“What about the doors?”

“No it’s just that they were locked. The doors. I thought, I mean a long time ago, that they were never locked, you know, as a matter of course, all things being equal, in the course of human events. I’m not sure exactly what that just meant even. So you say Father Irizzarry was here that night?”

“Yes, you’ll want to talk to Father Irizzarry.”

“Great, can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Can I talk to him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“He can’t speak to you.”

“Really? Is it like a vow of silence situation because I have a niece that—”

“No, he’s not here. He’s gone.”

“When do you expect him back? I can wait around or just come back later.”

“No, he’s gone for good.”

“He quit? Do you know where he went?”

“He was a very good man so I feel very confident about his new location.”

“You’re saying he died?”

“I am.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Right… yet I feel oddly responsible.”