Chapter 3 - Preacher Man

Being back at Twelve was like walking back to childhood, except everything you see has shrunk.

Actually, check that.  The deacons on the door remained as large as ever, offering me God's blessing as I stepped through the gate.  A certain bulkiness in their robes hinted at handguns in chest holsters.  I checked my mom's gun and my taser in the office at the front and a rector with wispy grey hair showed me through to a back room where I found Preacher Man lighting a censer with shaking hands.

'A surprise for you, Padre Reyes,' the rector said, a little too loudly, before bowing and retreating.

'Fifty years I have lived here,' the old man said in a raspy voice.  'Fifty years, and I remember the ceremony like it was yesterday.  “For my yoke is easy and my burden light”.  Matthew, 11:30.  And after all this time, they treat me like a silly, sad old fool.  Me, a veteran of five thousand services, able to recite the passages of Leviticus from memory even though I haven't read them since my nineteenth birthday.   I tell them, I might not have my sight but I can still hear, and every single man's footfalls sound different to me.'

I waited patiently, hat in hands.  Preacher Man never used ten words when a hundred would do.

'Will you step forward, son, and receive my blessing?'

'Surely, Padre, I would like that very much.'  I stepped forward and he embraced me.  He'd been taller in my younger days, but the weight of the world and advanced age was pressing him down.  Stooping, he was now shorter than me.

He said, 'Every time you leave I wonder if you'll ever return. How long has it been, Phineas?'

'A year and a half, Padre.  And we've been through this before.  Mom called me Phoenix after the place.  You know that.'

He winked at me.  'I always hoped you might take to the name I suggested instead.'

'Not a hope in h...no.  Not a hope.'

'Phoenix has unwelcome connotations.  It sank into the Sands years ago.  The last residents abandoned it and came to Hole Town.  Soon it'll be a place forgotten in the minds of all but those who come from hereabouts,' he said.

'I was born local,' I told him.  'Everywhere I go, I still am.'

He put an arm around my shoulder, both a comradely gesture and one that enabled him to walk without a stick. 'Whatever they call you, you're a virtuous son of Hole Town.  A righter of wrongs, that's what they tell me.'

'Then they make it sound better than it is,' I said.

'It's not just the scripture writers of the ages that had a gift for words,' he said, smiling toothlessly under his rheumy eyes. 'Will you dine with me?'

We ate thin cornmeal soup from wooden bowls with wooden spoons.  He hadn't left the compound in years, so we mostly talked about the town.  The church was pressing for repairs to the Fallen Cross, but no-one had the cash to pay the bill.  He chastised me when I mentioned the bordellos, and urged me to avoid the numerous follies of youth.  In so many respects, it was like I'd never left.  The company here was never too slow for me.  If a man's life is measured by his gusto, Preacher Man was ageless, mashing his way through his soup in next to no time at all.

'As delighted as I am to have you here, boy, I know what young men are like and they don't just show up uninvited to share a meal with their older counterparts. More's the pity! So how can I help you? Do you come seeking absolution for your sins?'

'Well,' I said, suddenly twelve years old again, a guilty itch all round my scalp.  'Basically, I'm still looking for my mom.'

Before I'd even finished the sentence, the old man had his hands up to his head and was groaning.

'This again,' he said.  'This waste of time! My son, you were a good boy and you grew up to be a good man.  But part of being a man is letting go of what you were when you were a boy.  Since the moment your mother left you here, you've been aching to return to her, and you know full well that I don't know where she is.'

'It's been a long time,' I said, trying to stay patient.  'I wanted to know if you remembered anything more. It's not easy, growing up without a family.  And while I appreciate all that you did for me, you can never be a parent.  That's just how it is.'

'Plenty of people turn sixteen having never known their parents.  In these trying times, we look to one another, and we look to God for guidance.'

'God's been guiding my hand since the day I left here,' I said, 'and every time He delivers me, it's from evil and temptation.  I ain't saying I ain't thankful, but one of these times, I'd like Him to deliver me to somewhere, rather than from.  That's all.'

Preacher Man wiped his mouth with a napkin and swallowed.  'God deliver me from foolish, blasphemous boys.'

'All I'm asking you to do is think, Padre.  Is there anyone else who knew her?  Anyone you could put me in touch with?  Someone who could help me track her down.  I can handle it if she doesn't remember me.  I can even handle it if she doesn't care.  But I have to know, you get me?  I have to know.'

'You must let it be.  All things are as they are meant to be.'

I took his hand, something that I immediately realized I'd never done before.  He noticed it too.  We both stared down at the table, spoke without looking at one another.  'Padre, please. If you know anything, tell me.  This really matters to me.  As the Good Lord is my witness, it might be the only thing that does.'

'Okay, okay.'  Preacher Man shook a little, caught his breath.  Behind him, the lights on the candles scattered and reformed into flames.  'You've already followed up on all of the leads I've given you before, yes? Well, against my better judgement, I have this.  There's one man, a man I haven't mentioned before.  A Dominican called Emmanuel.  He used to be in the parish before your time, but he stopped coming shortly after your mother arrived here.  He moved on, the way that people do.  I remember that on more than one occasion, they stopped to talk at the end of services.  That's it.  I don't know if they were close, but she never seemed to talk to anyone else, so maybe it's something.'

'Why have you never mentioned him before?' I said.

'I never expected to see him again.  But...Emmanuel came back here two days ago.'

The old man was trembling.  I wondered if his health was failing, or if it was due to something else.  I said, 'I appreciate you telling me this, Padre.  It means a lot.  I'll ask around, see if I can find him.'

I already had one hand on the door when Preacher Man stopped me.  'Wait. There's more.'

'What?'

'When Emmanuel came in, he was...troubled.'

'Troubled?'

'Yes,' the old man said.  'At the beginning, he was okay, but when the anger took him, it was like he became someone else.  He was furious, cursing.  The Deacons had to remove him.  His own actions were driving him mad.  He was looking for absolution, but I couldn't give it to him.'

'Padre,' I said gently, 'he would have had to have done something really, really bad for you to refuse him absolution.'

The old priest bit his lip, like there was something he really wanted to say but an equally powerful force held him back.

'If I'm going to find this man, I really need to know what I'm getting myself into,' I said.  I hated to exploit the emotions of someone I cared about, but I knew I wasn't going to get the information any other way.

Down within his cassock somewhere, the old man's layered bones racked up into a shrug. 'You know I can't tell you what he said to me.'

'And yet you want me to know it,' I said, ''cause you haven't told me off for asking.'

He flinched, busied himself with the rosary within his hands.  Counting off the prayers.  Thinking through the consequences.

'You can tell me,' I said.

'My yoke is easy,' he replied, 'and my burden is light.'

I looked him in the eye.  'My yoke is anything but easy, and my burden is knowing I might not come home tomorrow.'

He turned his head and looked away from me.  I wondered too late if maybe I'd pushed Preacher Man too far.  Still, this Emmanuel and the promise of answers hovered just outside my reach, teasing in close and then flying away when I stretched out to them.

'Phoenix,' he said finally, 'His full name is Emmanuel Duguid.  When he left here, he was very, very angry.   I can tell you that he went north, out towards the Sands, and you already know what he wants most.  The things that he did won't have escaped the attention of the people you do jobs for.  I suggest you ask them back in the town.'

'Thank you, Padre,' I said, picking up my hat. 'I'll do that.'

'Just so you know...I wouldn't suggest that you look for him, much less approach him. But then I guess that whatever I say isn't going to make much difference, so consider yourself keeper of this information. Do with it what you will.'  I bent my head to the old man, kissed the fake ruby ring on his claw-like fingers, and promised to return to him with good news the next time I had some.

By the time I stepped back over the threshold, the light was fading.  The heat had drained out of the day and it left me glad of my jacket.  Behind me, the lights of the compound poured into the void, and God's own home in the desert became the coldest place on earth.

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