Corruption by dampersandspoons

Chapter 19: Protestants

“I don’t understand this.”

“You’ve served us well at St. Mary’s for the past eight years, Father William.”

“Are you certain that this is what you want?”

“Have you secured yourself employment?”

“You will have to release your property and title, William.”

“You realize that in order to release you from your vows that you are denying the Pope and God?”

The members of the Diocese went over everything, making sure that this was the decision William wanted to make, that there was no turning back, that he knew without a shadow of a doubt what he was doing.

“I know, and I understand.”

“Very well,” Father Matthews said from his desk, sparing a glance at his fellowship before he continued. “Because you no longer believe in God, I don’t see how applying to be a lay man will change anything. Unless you feel that at some point you’d wish to return. Do you?”

“I never said I don’t believe in God.”

There was a long, heavy sigh that almost lasted as long as the pause that followed. “Father William,” Father Richardson added, “do you or do you not plan on returning to the priesthood?”

“No,” he said sadly. “I cannot in good faith return to a life that I am unable to commit to fully.”

“Then there is no need for us to sanction your application.”

William shifted in his seat, afraid of this outcome but there weren’t many alternatives. In the bowels of his very being, the core of him, William knew that God didn’t solely exist in the Roman Catholic Church. However, to be cut off completely from the very thing that he’d been so dearly devoted to was like ripping off his arm. He could survive without it, but the phantom pains of what once was would always be there. At least, he thought ruefully, he would still be considered a Christian, regardless of being shunned.

“Excommunication, then?” he said with a bitter smile.

“It would be best,” Father Matthews said with a sympathetic pout.

William snorted softly, too soft to be heard by them. The Diocese would excommunicate him as an example, a clean cut so to speak. Keeping a loose canon like William, as Father Richardson had said earlier, would be a risk the Church didn’t want to take. What would the congregations say if they were lenient with a priest who’d turned his back on God? It would be best, he’d said, for all of them, if William were no longer a part of it.

He had a stinking suspicion that they had gotten wind of his affair with Buffy and rather than bring it up, rather than kick up the dust of his sins with further examination…it was better to sweep those tiny incidents under the rug and continue on with their righteous and holy ways without risk of anyone important finding out. He didn’t know if he was angry or thankful that there was no mention of it.

“In this ecclesiastical court of Los Angeles, under the sanction of God, the Holy Mary and the Pope, we hereby declare Father William Giles latae sententiae, to be announced on the first of January, 2008. From that date forward, he will be forbidden to partake in the sacraments and the liturgy unless he chooses Reconciliation. He is to release his vows and title and has denied employment at St. Mary’s and will be discharged from his position immediately. Are we agreed?”

The five vicars agreed, and just like that…Father William was no more.

The next few hours would pass by in a haze for William, mechanically packing up his office and swallowing his emotions as the sisters came to wish him well. They’d spent the holiday crocheting him a blanket as a Christmas present and his guilt that he had nothing to give them almost came forth in a fit of tears. But he’d thanked them kindly, embraced them a final time, and quickly exited the school.

There was no need for long goodbyes, no need to stay there any longer than necessary. Because if he had, he would have run to Buffy’s room and made a mess of things. It was hard enough as it was without making it worse for the both of them.

Once he was seated in his Desoto, he unwrapped the cellophane that encased one of the CD’s Buffy got him for Christmas, popped it into his Discman, pressed play, and made his way to the airport.

William couldn’t help but laugh at the irony that he’d turned his back on God, only to travel to Marrakech, the name translating to “The Land of God”, with a man who never believed in him and his neighbor who believed in many.

They were lucky to have Vijay accompany them as he was fluent in several languages, even the classic Arabic that everyone spoke in Morroco. Rupert could make his way around town well enough, but his bumbling about in trying to remember customary greetings would often delay them. William let them converse with the locals. He was too enamored with the visual stimulus that absolutely bombarded his eyes with wanderlust, having spent most of his life in one place. There were acrobats in the square, dancers and musicians, hundreds of souks in the Djemaa el Fna market selling a wide variety of goods, some of which were run by children. There was a skunky, pungent fragrance that continued to tickle the back of his nose and he couldn’t place what it was. After several amusing glances from Vijay, he finally whispered in William’s ear, “Hashish. One of Morocco’s number one exports. Your father and I will be getting much,” he winked. “Trust that.”

The thought of smoking marijuana with his father wasn’t a pleasant thought at all, so he merely shrugged and shook his head, his eyes turning back to the busy medina quarter, drinking in the bright colors of the merchant’s garb that stood out sharply from the browns and rusts of the buildings around them. Djemaa el Fna was filled with people, some of which wore traditional saris while other wore plain clothing, slacks and simple shirts, while children ran and played in whatever they could grab that day, usually a pair of shorts and nothing more. William smiled at the scene before him, wishing he could blend in with a culture that was so rich in history and religion. As it was, he stood out like a sore thumb with his pale skin, grey tee and blue jeans. He wondered if Rupert had the right idea with the linen trousers. Marrakech was painfully hot.

He’d almost been run over by a tiny truck carrying fruit that had no care at all that it was driving amid so many people when Rupert tugged him to the side at the last minute.

“You are not fast enough for this town,” he chuckled. “There will be plenty of time to gaze but now we must get on the bus to our lodgings.”

The bus was just as entertaining. It zipped, bobbed and weaved through traffic with no concern of how fast it was traveling and once it made an abrupt and jerky stop, the three men got off and walked into what would be their home for the next several weeks.

It didn’t appear very inviting from the outside, but once they’d crossed the threshold, William’s eyes were wide in awe. The walls were covered with tiny mosaic tiles that formed brightly colored geometric shapes. The floors were much the same and the clashing pattern was almost blinding but it had an oddly calming affect on him. He truly was very, very far away from home.

Their footsteps echoed on the porcelain as they walked through the front entrance. Vijay had already thrown his bags against a far wall and started stretching while Rupert meticulously placed his luggage in a room off to the side and began the arduous task of organizing his things.

William was inspecting everything. They weren’t in a hotel but rather some sort of temple that had been remodeled for small groups of travelers to stay in luxury as well as maintaining a modicum of privacy. There were large, sunken tubs in one room, already steaming with hot water, outlined in the same tiled pattern. Plants and small potted trees littered the walls and corners and every room was illuminated with sunlight that crept in through the tiny windows near the ceiling. Off to one side of the bathroom was another large room covered in pillows and the largest hookah he’d ever seen, but those he had seen were only in books. This one was five feet tall and made out of blown glass with several velvet ropes that spilled out from the base. His immediate thought was that Vijay and Rupert would be spending a lot of time in this room but once the former came up behind him, he was corrected immediately.

“That is for shisha, William. Not for the hashish. You put the fruits and the tobaccos in the hookah. Never the hashish. It clogs.”

“I’m not a connoisseur, Vijay,” William chuckled.

“You will be,” he smiled. “Find a room and meet us in the foyer. We have much to discuss before we go to the Saadian Tombs.”

William quickly picked one of the remaining two rooms to sleep in and tossed his suitcase inside before making his way back to the foyer. Rupert and Vijay were already enjoying the relaxing ingredients of a joint, reclining on pillows against the tiled walls.

“William,” Rupert coughed and pounded his chest with a smile as his lungs adjusted to the drug. “Come sit and eat.” He lifted a bowl of couscous and chickpeas while Vijay held up a plate of flat breads that the building owner had supplied them.

William smiled and grunted as he squatted down on the floor and started eating. “I see the recreation starts before the journey,” he joked and tore off a piece of bread to grab a bit of couscous.

“Lower that suspicious brow, my friend,” Vijay rasped as he took a deep drag of his joint. “Hashish never hurt anyone.”

“There is some sweet mint tea as well,” Rupert added, smiling as his limbs grew tingly. “It’s delicious.”

As William poured himself the offered beverage, the front door swung open and a very young and disheveled woman with one broken high heel came stumbling in.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she panted, dropping her luggage on the ground and adjusting her wrinkled pencil skirt. Her accent was British though her coloring suggested that she was native to Morocco. “There was a problem with my train from Tangier.”

“Miranda,” Rupert smiled and rose to his feet to greet her. “You look lovely as always.”

She blushed prettily and smoothed down her long raven hair. “I look a mess.”

Rupert placed a kind arm on her shoulder and led her towards the food and kicked a pillow across the floor for her to sit on. “Impossible. Sit, eat, smoke, rant and rave…I want to know everything.”

She looked at William curiously, obviously awaiting an introduction and when none came, she carefully sat down, a task that looked difficult in her tight skirt but she managed, flashing a brilliant smile at the two older men that she’d obviously been acquainted with before. “God, I’ll never get used to this climate.” She removed the broken shoe and sighed.

“I hope you have backup,” William joked with a mouth full of dates, pointing with his head towards her foot.

“No, just the one pair,” she said sarcastically, a trait one wouldn’t have expected from such a professional looking lady, though she couldn’t have been more than twenty five. It was refreshing to William, because if he had to be stuck with an uptight bitch, which was common among the women Rupert associated with, he’d be hopping a train to the next city and make a go of it on his own. “I’m Miranda, by the way. Rupert and Vijay’s assistant and guide. I see they’re still rude as always.”

“William,” he smiled and shook her hand.

“I am not rude,” Rupert grinned, finishing off the joint. “It’s more entertaining this way.”

Miranda ignored his comment and narrowed her eyes. “William? As in, Rupert’s son William?”

“Yeah,” he said cautiously, looking at his father who was too busy with his meal to notice.

“Oh,” she smiled, locking her amber eyes with his in a way he wasn’t comfortable with. “Then it is a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard all sorts of things about you.”

“Well, that’s unsettling,” he chuckled. “You see, my father only recently decided that I was worth his time so I’m curious as to what he’s told you.”

Rupert let out a hearty chuckle, seemingly unaffected by the insult.

“Only that we would get along nicely should we ever meet.” Miranda bit into a piece of bread as she looked him dead in the eye and William instantly caught onto the implication. His eyes darted away from hers uncomfortably and he cleared his throat.

“Well, if I’m not needed for this excursion to the tombs,” he said as he rose to his feet, wanting to get away from the flirtatious glances of their new guest, “then I’ll just be in my room for a nap.”

“Will you not be joining us?” Miranda said with a hint of disappointment in her voice.

“I’m here to sort some things out, not to get in my father’s way,” he said plainly.

“William is not interested in facts,” Rupert said as he sipped his tea.

“He turned his back on God,” Vijay offered.

Miranda’s eyes went wide and William sighed.

“That is my cue,” he gave the two men a tight lipped smile. “Nice to meet you, Miranda.”

“Likewise,” she grinned and turned back to her meal, thoughts of William seemingly forgotten as she began telling them about her unfortunate trip from Tangier.

William brushed it off, thankful that the awkward feeling within him had subsided and went to his room to finish the letter to Buffy that he started on the plane. It had been only two days since he’d seen her and he didn’t know how he was going to last without her. Morocco was beautiful and held a promise of keeping him busy with excitement, but when he was alone, as he was then, his thoughts remained on her.

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