MY PARISH PRIEST


A chilly Saturday morning in the ever-calm Ediba Village, Mass had just ended in Saint Mary's Catholic and the parishioners walked quietly out of the church, with chaplets and holy water blessed by Reverend Father John-Bosco in their hands. The harmattan cold and piano-tuning of a recession hymn softly in the background by the choirmaster placed the church's ambiance in a calm and reflective state. This mood was on the faces of the members as they dispersed, exception of the catechist who was known to always have something to yell about even during sober periods. This morning it was a group of some kids who stepped on Reverend Father's sprouting flowers that made catechist Alloy lost his cool.
“I know your parents!! I must surely flog you all in front of them.” he shouted in frustration at the young boys who took to their heels immediately they sighted him approaching with a whip.


An hour later the church became somewhat scanty, just left with the women dressing the altar and a particular brother who laid on one of the benches with tears rolling from his eyes. He had been crying before and during the Mass, and with the help of one of the Altar servers who called the attention of the catechist during the Mass, Reverend Father John-Bosco was aware of the happening even before he entered his house. Father spent two hours after the Mass inside his private chapel meditating and reciting the litany of the blessed virgin Mary, something he had been doing right from his early days in the seminary. He rounded off the prayers with the sign of the cross and kissed the rosary.
“Sixtus, tell the catechist that I want to see him.” he instructed one of the minor seminarians who lived in his quarters with him.
Despite being twenty years older than the parish priest, Catechist Alloy revered him like a sacred person and always lost his cool whenever any person makes the mistake of not giving utmost regard to the priest. He appeared before the Reverend Father John-Bosco the next minute with his hands crossed behind.
“You sent for me, Father” he bowed slightly.
“Yes, I did. Have you had something to eat?”
“No, I have not.”
“Alright. The boys are preparing breakfast. Is that young man still there?”
“Yes Father! As a matter of fact, he has not stopped crying since then.”
“Ask him to go wait for me in the parish chapel, I will join him there in thirty minutes.”
“Okay Father.”
“Catechist, would the remaining host and wine be enough for the evening Mass today?” he called the old man who was already some steps away.
“Yes Father, but I still have to get more today for tomorrow and the Masses for the coming week.”
“Good. Make sure you come to me for transportation fare, and I do not want you to go on foot like you did three weeks ago.”
“No problem Father.”

***

Dressed in a white cassock with a Roman collar, Reverend Father John-Bosco took the backdoor and went straight to the chapel, where he met the brother who had stopped crying and was now reading a bulletin. He stood up almost immediately and prostrated when he saw Father. At an instant observation, Father John-Bosco noticed the scars on his body and a skull tattoo on his chest from his broken buttons.
“Get up and sit.”
The brother bursted into another crying session and Father had to pull him up himself. From his appearance, he looked weary and dirty with bloodshot eyes. He finally got to make him sit and talk after minutes of persuasion.
“Father, I am doomed .. I am finished and I ..” his voice trailed off and he buried his face in his palm.
“If you are not going to talk properly with me, I am afraid I will have no other option but to send you away. What is the problem?”
“Father, I have committed grave sins. God can never forgive me.” he sniffed and swallowed hard.
“Do not say that. What exactly did you do?”
The brother remained silent for some minutes, just when Father John-Bosco was about to lose his cool he began to speak.
“I have lived a terrible life, and it all began eleven years ago when I first relocated to the streets. I think that was when I understood the devil's side of the story and I lost my mind ever since then.”
He paused and stared at the priest who motioned for him to continue.
“All of a sudden I found myself getting amused by the tears of others, not just ordinary tears but tears caused by crucial pains. I loosened the knots of the rope an old man uses to climb his palm wine trees, a deed that sent him crashing from the top of the tree to his death. He was my first casualty, the first of eighty-six.”
Father's eyes went wide in shock; he felt like screaming and running out of the chapel at the same time but he managed to still control himself. The brother continued.
“To be honest, only eighty-six murders I have recorded because I started counting three years ago, I have no count of people I killed from fours years ago and earlier.”
“Christ have mercy! Oh God!” Father John-Bosco made the sign of the cross thrice and shook his head.
“I have never tasted alcohol in my entire life, but I always get this tipsy feeling like I am drunk, and the only thing that stops this feeling is when I see the blood of people I kill. Father, I have travelled to many states just to kill people for my body to stay together. The last casualty was a nursing mother of a two-week old baby whose husband was yet to see their son because he is yet to return from an outside job.”
“When was that?” Father asked curiously.
“Few hours ago. At about 2am today or thereabout.”
“God of heaven!” he held his already throbbing head and breathed heavily.
“She pleaded with me to spare her life for the sake of her little baby, I already agreed to let her live but the tipsy feeling aroused immediately and I could not help but drive a six-inch nail into her head with my claw hammer, then pulled off all of her teeth to satisfy myself.”
“Did you hurt the baby? Tell me you did not.” Father John-Bosco's head became twice its size as he began to shiver.
“I would not have harmed him if only he had pleaded with me, unfortunately he could not talk. I flung him throw the window from the three storey building and left the house.”
Tears rolled from Father's eyes and his lips trembled as he began to speak.
“I have never seen a human being like this ever since I was born. God have mercy! ”
The brother resumed crying again, very loud this time and it was so sincere to the physical eyes.
“Father, can God forgive me? The baby was shattered into pieces and that scene touched my heart. Father, I want to change, even if God can just forgive and kill me, I will be okay. Please Father, I ...” he cried even louder and fell on the ground.

Father John-Bosco composed himself to handle the delicate case carefully. He began to speak, this time in a clear voice.
“First of all, I want you to understand that you are not the worse sinner. People you are better than have returned to God countless times, and most of them are preachers of the gospel as we speak. The most important thing is that you come with a contrite heart and ready to completely desist the sinful life. After giving your life to Christ, the next step is for me to take you to the police where you will report yourself. From there we will know the next steps to take.”
“I have not had this calmness that I am feeling inside of me now in the last eleven years. Father, please let us do just as you say.
“Good. First things first. You must be remorseful, full of regrets and self-reproach for your heart to be fully prepared to receive Christ. How do you feel now?”
“Tipsy!”
“Wait, what?!”
“You heard me.”
“No no.. don't do this please..no no!”

A shrill cry of pain from Father John-Bosco sent old Catechist Alloy and the minor seminarians running to the chapel. They arrived in less than a minute and met their parish priest lying completely dead in a pool of his blood that had soaked his white cassock, his throat slit open and his eyes plucked out.

(Lights fade)


©️ Ephraim, Nov. 26, 2021.

Hmmmm #weldon