The good priest
By Lavanya Nukavarapu
It was Sunday morning. Father Carlos Munevar was getting ready to address the crowd in the church. Today the subject he chose for his sermon was the power of forgiveness. He went through the topic in his mind running over a few quotations and verses from the bible.
Father Carlos Munevar started the address with his usual ritual and few verses from the Bible. The hall was full like every Sunday but today he felt the gathering was huge, a bit more than the usual Sundays.
Halfway through the sermon, he could not help noticing a beautiful woman in the second row. She looked like she was in her late twenties. He kept looking at her while speaking, and the woman smiled slightly and nodded to his speech. She was immersed in his sermon. And that wasn’t new to him. His lectures had that effect on people. And it was very common especially for the first-timers.
What surprised him was that she too evoked a raw attraction in him. He kept staring at her in between. And every time he looked at her, she smiled at him. And that smile shook the ground beneath him. How is it possible that she exerted tremendous power? She was just a pretty face and her smile did not shower pearls.
But there was something about her face, innocent and childlike; she looked like an angel directly descending from heaven on a Sunday morning to attend his lecture.
And for the first time in his life the entire ecosystem on which his faith and foundation lie shook. The walls started to crumble slowly from within, and Jesus nailed on the cross watched helplessly as his favourite child trailed off his path.
That face from the Sunday Mass revolved in his dreams; he saw her in a garden, on the riverside, in the cathedral kneeling and praying before Holy Mary, he saw her laugh, the wind carried her laugh to different places and brought her laugh back to him. His thoughts were full of her, and when he prayed, he prayed for her too. He wished her happiness and health and the hope of seeing her again, the coming Sunday, loomed over him.
It was already Thursday, and a few routine things were on his mind other than the thoughts of the unknown beautiful stranger — a meeting next day with the head of the Church, the High Priest, Father Antonio Bruges, the community service meeting on Saturday, a session on Love and God in a high school. He made mental notes in the confession box in the time gap when one person left and another one entered.
He heard footsteps followed by the sound of the opening of the door and closing. ‘Good morning.’
‘Good morning.’ A sweet voice replied back.
‘First, we make the sign of the cross…..’ The woman in the confession box did exactly what he said and repeated what he asked to repeat.
‘Tell me why you are here, child.’ Father Carlos asked.
He could hear uneven breathing now. He tried to ease her tension. ‘Don’t be shy or don’t be scared. It is okay. Just go on with your confession. I am here to guide you, to help you.’ He spoke his regular words of encouragement.
‘It is difficult. It is complex. I have never felt this way.’ He could hear her fidgeting and heavy breathing. ‘And I do not know how to start and where to start.’
‘Try somewhere. I promise. I will listen.’ He said with a smile.
A musical laugh from the other end of the box. Father Carlos wondered who she was and what was she going to confess? He could not help painting a face to that voice and the smile. His curiosity was at the highest peak now refusing to climb down the hill.
Her voice trembled as she spoke, ‘I have this attraction to an elderly man. I know I should not. I am wrong. But it is uncontrollable.’
‘We deviate from the true purpose of life and get swayed away by carnal pleasures. I understand. I will try my best to help you.’
‘No. you do not understand.’ She said firmly, and her voice cracked at the last word.
‘Help me understand, and I will help you find the way.’ He spoke in an assuring way.
‘You are the only one who can help.’ She smiled. Again musical but taunting.
‘I am here to be of service, my child.’ He repeated his regular platitudes.
She spoke again, hesitant but speaking in a cracked voice, ‘Do you recognize me?’ Her words were loaded with hope.
‘No.’ was she disappointed?
‘Last Sunday mass, I was sitting in the second row. I thought you looked at me a couple of times in your sermons.’
It was her? He was suddenly hit with an impending storm. For a minute he went numb. He did not know how to react.
He simply said, ‘I know. I recognize you.’ And as he finished the sentence, he felt his voice cracking like her. He inhaled and exhaled deep breaths, calming his shaking nerves, but his foot was unsteady, after a long time, he was feeling nervous.
She did not say anything and there was a brief silence, a hiatus before a storm. His foot started tapping more vigorously.
‘Tell me. What is it? What are you seeking?’
‘YOU.’
A brief silence. She continued. ‘I am attracted to a priest. I am attracted to YOU. And I do not know what to do about it?’ Her lips quivered as she spoke. Again irregular breathing. He too started breathing irregularly. Was it contagious, the uneven breathing? For God’s sake he was a priest.
Father Carlos Munevar was dumbfounded. There were cases before where women were attracted to him due to his oratory skills. He had dealt with it before. He can deal with it now. But he wasn’t sure of it anymore. Finally, he spoke composing himself. His right leg nevertheless kept shaking.
‘See. It happens. It is just because of the good things you see in me, the…the…” He was falling short of words. She cut him out before he could complete his meaningless counselling.
‘No. You do not understand. I am immune to men.’
‘Immune? What does that mean?’
‘I was never attracted to any man till now. Till I saw you. And I think it is divine. It is a God’s message. I was born only to love you. I mean, I have been single all my life because I never felt that kind of feelings for anyone till now, until I met you.’
Was she crying? He could hear her sniffles through the mesh of the confession box.
‘Don’t cry. I am sure it is a fleeting feeling. Just be strong in your faith, and it will be all okay.’ Hopefully, these feelings will pass.
‘I will go then. Thank you for listening. I feel lighter talking to you.’
‘You knew already that I would be in the confession box on Thursdays. Didn’t you?’
‘Yes, I found out. I could not confess my feelings to anyone but you.’ She left uttering those last words.
The mind is a strange thing. It would exactly do the opposite of what we do not want to. The leg stopped shaking now. But her words, her smile, her predicament, her confession refused to stop messing with his head.
‘Good morning Father.’ A new person eager to confess his sins had walked in.
Next Sunday, Father Edward addressed the crowd. Father Carlos Munevar was too disturbed to deliver a sermon. Today, she was not seated in the first row. His eyes wandered into the room full of faces looking for that one face which soothed his soul. Midway, half the lecture, he spotted her. She smiled at him, her eyes glued to his face. SWEET TORTURE — this only thought came to his mind. His eyes kept going back to her face and the beautiful smile it carried.
His mind barked at him; it is wrong, get yourself back in the priest game. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the choir. He sang it fixating his eyes on the painting of Jesus on the roof. But her beautiful face made him miss the rhythm and forget the tune. He was totally aligned with a different tune called SWEET TORTURE.
It was time for the priests to bless the people individually. After the blessing, few people would stay back and have a word or two with the priests, asking questions or giving them updates on their recent confession, spiritual experiences and the like. It was a quick one-to-one session with the families.
When he had that one-to-one moment with her, he simply said, ‘GOD BLESS YOU’. She spoke rapidly, her words garbled, ‘Meet me at the nursery, this Wednesday. I will be waiting for you. You must come.’ Before he could answer her, she was gone, mixed with the crowd.
That Thursday, Priest Carlos Munevar, sat on the far end bench in the nursery at 3.30 p.m. fidgeting and wondering whether it was the right place to wait. She did not give any specifications, she just said, nursery. The far-end corner seemed to be the correct choice.
He should not have come. He got up to leave and a sweet voice from behind spoke, ‘Nice shirt.’
He looked at himself. He was wearing a white and blue striped shirt on black trousers. It was a long time he dressed in civilian clothes, but they felt nice. For a change, he was not in a robe today. She came over and sat on the bench. He too sat in the other corner.
He started the conversation, “Look. I do not know why you called me. I just came because I don’t want to be rude.”
She laughed hilariously, the sun rays falling on her skin made her look more beautiful, more attractive. This time he could see her teeth, all of them shining in the broad sunlight. She stopped abruptly, and then he smiled, and she continued her laugh. It ended with a smile lingering on her lips.
‘Why would you laugh? I was serious.’
‘Because that was the silliest thing I heard.’
‘Did you?’
‘Yes.’
He couldn’t say anything. She was right. That was silly. The truth was he wanted to come here, meet her, and talk to her.
‘Confession in a nursery. Good. At least there is sun here. I was bored of the dark room.’
She giggled, and he smiled.
‘No confession today.’
‘No?’
‘It is good to see you. Thanks for coming.’ She looked into his eyes and looked back at the trees in front of her. He too looked away.
The skin on her face had already begun to turn red, not due to the sunlight, but due to excessive blushing. He was a Priest. Sitting there was wrong. But he had come to talk to her, to explain to her, to counsel her. And that was the right thing to do to show her the way, and in the process, he too will find his way back home.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Emma.’
‘Look, Emma, I do understand your feelings. And I think it is quite normal. But I have dedicated my life to the service of God. It is my duty to show you the right way, bring you back where you have trailed off. Please understand this, it is quite normal to trail off from your path in life, and that is why God has given the responsibility to the church to help people find their path, their religion and their love.’
‘I don’t need this lecture. I know. I am spiritual. I have been celibate all these years. I have served God. But when I see you, and I think of you, it is love flowing out of me. I cannot contain myself. You are the one I have been waiting for all this time. You are my love angel. You are my soulmate. Believe me, right now, this moment, you don’t know how I am feeling. My feelings for you flow like a river. I feel as if I have found my shore.’
This was something Carlos Munevar, correction, Father Carlos Munevar, did not expect to hear. That moment he was no Father at all. The Priest had detached from his name. He was just Carlos, a human being, a man of forty-five years, lost his priesthood in the love of a woman called Emma.
They kept meeting every Thursday in a restaurant, in a park, different places, each time. They do not want to be spotted. Father Carlos took off every Thursday, never attended confessions. He was the one who required confession now, to the High Priest.
He was confused about his feelings for Emma. No doubt he was falling in love with her. But was it more than love? Was it carnal? He kept asking himself. He loved to watch Emma talking, smiling. She was an Angel, an angel of beauty and love. He asked himself the same question: how can someone be so much empowered? Why did God bestow all the beauty on Emma? To him, beauty was love. His love for her was pure, just like his love for God, for faith, for the church.
Emma wanted more than love. She wanted all of him. She dreamt of a family together, of kids playing in the backyard, of getting old together and of so many other things. She became possessive day by day. She could not be blamed for being normal. But did he fit into this entire plan? What about the priesthood? What about his vows that he took as a priest, to dedicate his life to the church, to the welfare of the people?
Is love meant to be a commitment? A marriage? And then what about sex? There were ways to have children without sex. They could adopt, or they could go for artificial insemination. His love for her was purely platonic. The more he thought about it, the more he was confused. He had to discuss this with the High priest, his father figure, but the high priest would arrive early next month. Until that time he had to stop meeting Emma.
But Emma would not hear a no. She made frantic calls in the middle of the night when he did not see her one full week. He was forced to meet her at her tiny apartment the next day. It was confrontation time. He was wearing again the blue and white striped shirt and the only blue jeans he had. He sat on the divan facing the floor, the fingers of his hands locked together and his elbows resting on his thighs. He was lost in deep thought.
Emma sat at his feet, took his hands in her hands. ‘Do not desert me, my love. You are all that I have. I know you are a priest, and you cannot love me the way I want you to. But deep in your heart, you too want to love me the way I want you to love me.’
She took a deep breath and suggested, ‘Let us leave this town. Let us go somewhere else. Let us start a new life where we can live as man and woman.’ Her eyes were hopeful for a positive response. But Carlos was unfathomable to read.
He took a deep breath, another deep breath, and paused for a minute. He held her hand tightly in his and spoke to her in a clear tone, ‘Emma. I love you. I will love you forever. You are the sweetest thing that happened to me. You will be in my prayers, in my thoughts forever. But what you desire, I cannot fulfil.’
Emma pulled her hand and a tear rolled from her cheek. ‘You do not love me.’ There was pain in her voice.
‘I do. But my definition of love is entirely different. Sorry, but I cannot do what you want. Not because I am scared of wronging my duty, but because I do not see that way. I am a priest, and I love you. Nothing will change that. To me, love is platonic. I am thankful that you showed me a different side of love altogether. Without you, it would not have been possible. It helps me now to understand God better and to serve him better. You are so lucky that you are gifted with such a beautiful face and a radiant smile bringing hope and love to all those who look at you, including me. I see God in you. I see his love in you.’
Emma moved forward and kissed him on his lips. Her lips touched his, for a few brief seconds, then she pulled her lips away. ‘Isn’t this love too? Do you feel my love in this?’ She asked.
‘Yes. I did.’ He replied looking into her eyes.
She kissed him again. This time, she allowed her lips to play with his lips. But he did not respond.
‘This is not love.’ He said withdrawing from her.
Emma sighed. ‘Come to me, and you would know what I am talking about. This too is love.’
For a minute Carlos thought he was somewhere else, but he quickly regained himself and stood up to leave.
He looked back at Emma and said, ‘My love for you is way pure. I don’t want to malign it. I want you as a memory of a pure, beautiful and innocent Emma who made me see another facet of life. You stand as an impeccable and divine goddess in my mind. And so you will, always. I love you, my dearest Emma. Wherever you go, I wish you the best of the wishes. You will be in my thoughts and in my prayers. I will pray for your happiness. I will also pray that you find a good companion who can return your love the way you want to.’
Early next month, Father Carlos Munevar confessed his obsession about Emma to the High priest, but before he could finish the entire statement, the high priest smiled, nodded and said, ‘I know already.’
Father Carlos was perplexed. ‘You do not understand Father. I sinned. I haven’t seen Emma after that. She never came to the mass, nor to the confession box. She is not answering my calls. I have hurt her. I gave her hope, and I took that away brutally. I gave her pain. I am the reason for her suffering.’
The high Priest patted on his shoulder, ‘Do not worry boy, she will be fine. One day she will understand your feelings for her. And if she doesn’t, then she has not yet grown up.’
‘I want to see her Father, once smiling.’
‘Don’t you see her every day, in your imagination, in your memories, when you pray, when you deliver the sermons?
‘I do. But I also feel guilty.’
‘You should not. I talked to her. She would do fine.’
‘You did? What did she say?’
‘None of your concern anymore.’
‘But Father’
They were taking quick steps as they talked. The High priest stopped and looked him into the eye, ‘My dear Carlos, do not be guilty. You have loved her in the purest way. And I know you will keep loving her the rest of your life. You have understood love the way men do not understand. And that is fine. Loving someone is not a crime. It is a beautiful emotion that we humans are capable of naturally. But a lot of us have expectations, we want to be loved back with the same intensity we love. We become possessive, insecure and we hurt in all this process. I do not blame Emma. Her love for you is also true. And in love, we all get hurt at one point or the other, don’t we? And it takes time to understand the true nature of love. Love is all encompassing and an embodiment of God. Few people understand it quickly, few take time to understand. Let us pray for her. That’s all I can say. You have a bigger responsibility, and I can only assume that she understands that. She probably will never meet you. That is what she said. The two wonderful people you both are, I know you will keep loving each other until the end of your life. You will pray for each other and you will wish happiness to each other.’
Father Carlos nodded. It was best for Emma that they do not meet. And the High Priest was right, he would never stop loving her.
The High priest would always tell this story to his protégées, clergymen, and pupils and also include in his sermons. He would sum it up, what he called the devil’s language: Sometimes, the devil comes in the purest form to shake your beliefs and divert you from your path of service. It would come as love to mess with you. You be undeterred, and you will see that it has got itself messed up.
Father Carlos Munevar became the High Priest in the next three years. There wasn’t a single day he didn’t think of Emma or prayed for her.
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Lavanya Nukavarapu is an accountant by profession and a writer by passion. She is the author of “Bare thoughts”, an anthology of poems, “The Captive”, a psychological thriller, “Cigarettes.Sex.Love.”, a contemporary women fiction and “Strutting Lightbugs”, a supernatural thriller.
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