Oliver Friggieri, born in Malta in 1947, is a renowned novelist, poet and scholar whose works have been translated

into numerous languages and published throughout the world. He is Professor of Literature at the University of Malta and the winner of various international prizes. His long list of books includes about sixty which have been launched outside his native country.

CHILDREN COME BY SHIP

To Elise and Luca with all my love

Oliver Friggieri

CHILDREN COME BY SHIP

Translated from Maltese by Marina Lowell

Copyright Oliver Friggieri The right of Oliver Friggieri to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers. Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library. ISBN 978 184963 433 5 www.austinmacauley.com First Published (2013) Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd. 25 Canada Square Canary Wharf London E14 5LB

Printed and Bound in Great Britain

Chapter 1

There was nobody left in the church except some elderly people, mostly women, scattered all around. The only audible sound was the tired whispering of their prayers. They had been praying for a very long time without knowing for certain if their prayers would guarantee a passageway to heaven. These were good people at heart whose sins were as harmless as the ambitions of their long gone youth and the goals they had aspired towards, which still lurked at the back of their minds, in spite of the fact that everything indicated it was now too late for their dreams to be realized. This was a scene which remained unchanged every evening after the majority of the congregation had long been settled inside their homes, preparing for a good nights sleep. Tradition had always demanded such habits. This was a centuries-old law which was above everybody and everything. In order to work in the fields one had to rise early and to rise early, one needed to sleep as soundly and as long as possible. The streets had, by now, become bereft of what little activity went on during the day and the whole scene seemed to proclaim that the night was a supreme law unto itself which enforced a state of complete silence and decreed everybody be closed safely inside their homes. The only ones exempt from this supreme law and still out and about, were those few men who had made a pact with their wives to remain married as long as they could spend long, lazy evenings and even part of some nights in the bar at the far end of the square. In this bar they would drink wine or coffee, smoke a pipe and discuss or argue about affairs pertaining to their tiny world. The only sounds which broke the silence of those surroundings at that time of the night were the voices of those four men who would

not start off for home until tiredness slowed down their step and etched deep lines of fatigue on their faces. You may start turning off the lights and preparing to close, said Fr. Grejbel to the sacristan, an old man with snow white hair whom the priest could remember since before he was ordained. The sacristan was like a father to the priest by virtue of his venerable age and at times also because of the unasked-for but nonetheless appreciated advice given to the priest who, notwithstanding his priesthood, was still deemed incapable of completely understanding the dark secrets of the laymans world: secrets about the relationships between married couples or the lack of a relationship between them which led to a broken marriage. There were also several other secrets like births, childrens upbringing, new marriages and so on, which it was thought were quite beyond his understanding. Leave everything in my hands, Fr. Grejbel. You should set off for home because tomorrow you need to be up early. The old man answered in the usual fatherly tone. He had not ever married but his existence as a sacristan had for a long time made him aware of all the facts of life and while talking, he shared with everybody, including the priest, the fruits of his experience. Making his way toward the middle of the church, the sacristan checked the suspended oil-lamp, which would be left on to keep guard during the whole forthcoming night, to make sure that the candle within would not finish till the break of dawn. With the usual smile playing around his lips, the priest rubbed his hands together, made the sign of the cross, nodded his head ever so slightly as though wishing God a good night on some sublime level, genuflected as a sign of reverence and walked straight to the front door of the church. Nothing could now be seen in the church save a long black cassock gently swaying in the darkness illuminated only by the lanterns low flame. No sound at all could be heard except the jingling of the bunch of keys held in the sacristans hand while he went round every nook and cranny of the church for one last time to make absolutely sure that all had left. As he walked he mumbled a

last prayer before leaving and his voice echoed all around. It was a small village surrounded by fields. The buildings were a mixture of a few old farmhouses and some more recent constructions. On the left, the valley was still beautifully green as the rainwater which had saturated the ground had not yet dried up at the onset of summer. This isolated valley, in which carob trees grew profusely and the silence of which was only broken by birdsong, separated the village from the rest of the world. At the very bottom of the valley the water seemed to linger on, as though it were a rivulet flowing leisurely for part of the year. This section of the valley seemed to reflect the hidden bottom of the village. From its depth frogs and other small creatures would dart up to the surface and then once more dive quickly into hiding. Hidden by trees which sheltered it like a speckled roof of thick foliage the year through, that spot was really the ultimate bottom of all things. Those who had never left the area might have thought that nothing existed beyond the valley. It could very well have been the edge of the planet. Was it a round planet or was it flat? The land which made up the village was solid, hard and permanent. Aeons of time had come and gone, yet the land remained unchanged. It seemed that all else, as well as time, had stood still. As far as the majority of the villagers were concerned, the village was the beginning and the end of the world. Distance, the weather and even ideas were measured by the yardstick of the village. It was a flat, stationary and lonely world and all that existed beyond was an extension of secondary importance. Every idea or behavioural pattern which was different just had to be swallowed up by the great power which enabled the village to remain that which it was, an island surrounded by fields and trees, forever strengthened by a tradition which emanated from the very stones, cut out from the nearby quarries, that the villagers used to build their houses and farms. The powerful Northwest wind itself was not strong enough to blow away even one old idea and replace it with a new one. Fr. Grejbel was on his way home. There was not a soul in the street and the only light in the darkness was provided by

the candles in the lanterns at each corner which had just been lit by the lamp-lighter who had to climb up a ladder to reach each lantern. The priest arrived home, opened the door, entered and locked the door behind him. The soft sounds of the turning of the big key, of the door being hastily opened, closed and locked once more were the only noisy intervals which broke the silence apart from the odd bark or the miaowing of a cat still hoping to be given a last morsel of food before resigning itself and setting off to find a place to sleep. Fr. Grejbel took off his cassock, lit the three-burner stove and warmed up the food which had been awaiting his return since lunch time. He ate in the blink of an eye and immediately started reading his final prayer of the day from a thick, Latin prayer book which had grown up with him. This prayer book was rendered even thicker by a quantity of holy pictures placed between the pages. Holy pictures of various saints, holy pictures of dead people, holy pictures used as book marks for quick reference to pages of special importance, and holy pictures which brought back fond memories of persons who had passed on and were buried forever a short distance away. His lonely life never bothered him unduly. All the more so because he accepted it as part of the sacrifice required from a man who had become a priest for life. Since his very first days as a priest, he knew that because of his chosen path, he had to be prepared to accept solitude and live with it as the companion which was to accompany him in life. The beautiful women of the village, daughters of the fertile land and friends of the scorching sun which tanned their skin to make it more attractive were regarded by him respectfully, from a distance, with natural admiration and with the resigned attitude that for him, their beauty was only there to show him that God, the creator, had excellent taste. He had nothing to grumble about. The villagers were good people, baptized and brought up within the parameters of the Church. A Church which had existed before they did, like a cradle prepared for them to be born straight into. There could not exist a village if there were no Church. Not one law, tradition or thought had been conceived outside the Church and each and every law,

tradition and thought had, so to speak, been baptized at the big baptismal font before the infants themselves. All the seasons were but aspects of religion. All deaths were delineated very clearly they occurred either within the Churchs fold or outside it. This was a village which was intrinsically the Church and a Church which was the village. Although the villagers were small in number, they were enough to fulfil his life throughout the day. On his front door-step as well as in front of the church entrance he expected all manner of things to be placed: grapes from fruitful vines as well as rotten apples. There were even times when he had found a swaddled, new-born babe tucked away in a corner of his doorstep, waiting for him to give it a future which had so far been denied it. With wholehearted determination he lived each day feeling as content as though he had started celebrating Mass only the day before. He shuddered at the thought that a day might yet dawn during which his contentment would be spent and he would then be left with a bitter taste. However, he felt that there was nothing to indicate this would one day come to pass. All in all, he felt justified when he knelt on the foot-stool, gazed upon the crucifix and happily admitted that he had managed to overcome all the trials and tribulations of his life. The sizeable hall clock, the best item his mother, not knowing that he would end up alone and without any relatives in the world, had left him after she died, chimed nine times. He had just heard the church-steeple clock announce the same hour with a sound which ruled supreme over the sleeping village and penetrated all its farthest reaches. Picking up his rosary beads he lay down on the bed knowing that by the time he finished the prayer he would be quite drowsy and it would not be more than a few minutes before he would fall asleep till dawn by the tiny flame of the Madonnas lamp which was kept burning day and night on a shelf beneath the crucifix. Then, in the early morning, the very first rays of the sun to shine through the chinks of the wooden shutters would be enough to disperse any signs of sleep. He would wake up with a start and with that powerful energy which he always radiated.

Two soft knocks on the front door startled him slightly. He sat up as though to make certain he was not dreaming and half surprised and half curious stared blankly ahead of him. This was not something which happened every night. On the other hand, it was not the first time it had happened either. He did not think he was hearing things, so he got out of bed, once more wore-his cassock, hastily buttoned it up and walked towards the door. The top three buttons on his chest were still unbuttoned. These he left open. There were two more knocks on the front door, as soft as the ones before. Come in, come in, he said as soon as he stepped on the doorstep. The young woman entered shyly, with head bowed very low, and stopped. He immediately encouraged her to go inside and sit down. Her hair was dishevelled and every now and again she raised her hand to tidy it without letting him see her face too much. Her hair was long enough to grant her wish to hide from him as much as possible. Come in, do not be afraid, he told her while walking ahead of her and putting on the light of the room at the front of the house. He kept looking at her and noticed that she was crying, even if silently. Her eyes were very red and bloodshot. The young woman raised her head slightly and her eyes stealthily endeavoured to look into his, while her head tilted to the left so as to, at the same time, enable her to escape quickly from his glance. She knew that her eyes could speak even before she opened her mouth. He kept looking at her. As in other similar occasions, he thought it best to let her start the conversation. All of a sudden, she started sobbing uncontrollably, holding her face in her hands. Her hair once more fell over her eyes to separate her from his glance. I am going to get you a cup of tea, he told her gently. He got up, went to the kitchen and returned a short while later. She was still in the same position, a huddled ball in front of him. Drink and have courage, he begged her while ever so

slowly stirring the teaspoon in the cup and snatching quick glances at her. She shook her head from one side to the other for three times to show him she did not feel like and he did not force her to drink. Now, now my daughter, speak and do not cry anymore. The young woman still did not utter a word. What is your name? He knew her by sight and all of a sudden he remembered who her relatives were, but not her name. Susanna, she told him with a lilt in her voice as though singing involuntarily. She tried to control her sobbing, adjusted her hair once more as best she could and slowly, slowly raised her head, faced him and waited. She was expecting to hear anything from a scolding to a word of comfort, from condemnation to a request to calm down. Through a slight nod of his head and his gentle expression he tried to make her understand that all she now had to do was talk without being afraid or shy of him. My mother and father have banished me from home. They do not want me to return Now, tonight? At this hour? She signalled an affirmative answer with her head, while once more trying to control her sobbing. Again he did not wish to start the conversation and permitted her to go ahead and tell him the reason for her predicament. They discovered that I am pregnant, Susanna finally whispered. Fr. Grejbel did his utmost to show her he was not shocked. Continue, he encouraged her in an inviting tone, as if to give her the idea that she had no reason to worry so much. I am already four months gone. For four months I have been keeping everything to myself and all kinds of thoughts have passed through my mind. I did not know what to do. I could imagine that sooner or later they would find out and take the news very badly, but I kept waiting, not knowing for what. She stopped and curiously awaited his reaction. Despite everything, her eyes were beautiful, like two lonely stars in a lead-coloured sky.

Neither surprise nor condemnation showed on his face. She noted this and started to calm down. Help me, Fr. Grejbel, she begged him. Please help me. There is nobody else I can turn to. Susanna, I am going to help you. You can count on me from this very moment till we see this through. Do not lose heart. Susanna got up from her place, moved close to him, hugged him and burst into tears. He stood up and returned her hug. There was not a sound to be heard. The whole village was asleep. Even the doors of the bars, the last to be closed , had long since been shut. The stillness of that night-time hour made her even sadder. She slowly disentangled herself from his arms and shyly seated herself once more, surprised at the intensity of the new and sudden feeling surging through her. Is the young man from these parts? No. He is not from around here. How long ago have you seen him? He does not want to set eyes on me. As soon as I told him I was pregnant he was very angry, said that he wanted nothing to do with the child and wanted me to get rid of it. I told him that I could never do such a thing. I never thought I would find myself in such a situation. I just do not know what to do. The valley is to blame. The valley? he asked, hoping to encourage her to continue talking. Susanna stopped. She found the whole valley enchanting, most of all the screeching of the crickets hidden in the thick foliage. The cricket was especially dear to her although she only saw it from a distance. Its sound, coming from some hidden spot and retaining the same pitch without stopping unless it was disturbed, gladdened her heart because it made her realize that there was a place for everyone in the world , even for the small and weak. She knew it was black and only chirped at night as soon as darkness descended comfortingly upon it. The cricket was small. Maybe it was not as beautiful as the birds, but she loved it.

Father Grejbel kept waiting for her to continue, all the while looking at her encouragingly. That valley It was a summers night and he wanted us to go down there, she continued. He told me he loved me and wanted to show me his love. I did not realize I could become a mother so quickly. I had never learnt anything about these things. My mother used to tell me that children come by ship and he used to love joking about ships full of infants because he had also been brought up with that tale. He had long since discovered it was not true. The same can also be said as far as I am concerned. All the facts I know, I discovered, like everybody else, through thinking, imagination and from words about the subject heard here and there. Children come by ship, he said thoughtfully, looking at her with the hint of a smile. Now I feel afraid of the world and annoyed by life. I never thought my youth could become so complicated in such a short time, she told him. Fr. Grejbel drew in a breath. His life had taken him through many roads he had not liked. He had learnt, since becoming a priest, that things are different from what they seem to be. He had seen his parishioners bearing heavy crosses of all sizes. These were silently borne and at times silently buried in the tomb of whoever had carried them for an entire lifetime. He had seen great love change, quickly or after many years, into even greater hate and he had seen men and women battered against the rocks of their own hopes. He had witnessed common love stories working out, sailing up and down with difficulty according to the weather and somehow proceeding. Many were the dreams which turned into misery and many times he had wished to look the other way and not see. His most regular walk was to the cemetery which was at the edge of the village, a short distance away from the valley. This was the place to which he had escorted infants in white coffins after having seen them using their cradle for only one

day and he had also escorted there, resting in brown coffins, people in the prime of their life. Fr. Grejbel often went, day or night, to administer the last sacraments and to pray by the bed of those who were close to drawing their final breath, remaining with them till the last laboured breath left their body. He would then lower his head and in his heart ask God what was going on. Yet he still kept believing that life was a difficult mystery which still had to be unravelled in some other place beyond the valley and neighbouring cemetery. He had no doubt at all that he was right in continuing to give courage to the villagers and assuring them that their existence was engendered by love and it would be that same love which was to eventually lead all to the Promised Land where heartbreak and death did not exist. He had reflected many times upon the fact that the villagers were uneducated and the majority of them could not read or write. In order to sign they used to scribble a cross or go to him for help. Yet joy and sorrow were felt just as intensely by them as by the most cultured community. In time, through the experiences of suffering and tears, all alike are forced to read and understand the knowledge contained in the great book of wisdom which is life itself. I used to think he loved me, Fr. Grejbel, but I was so inexperienced in love. Nobody ever taught me about it as I was taught about the other subjects in school and I also thought my parents loved me They love you, never fear. Your mother and father love you, Susanna. How can they love me when they have sent me away, when they no longer want me! You are right to feel this way at the moment, but they do love you, just wait and see. This is their way of handling a situation which they have never been through themselves. And I had to be the one to pass through it! Life is full of surprises, Susanna. Through faith these surprises become mysteries. Do you not believe in God? He stopped and continued in a different tone, I know you

do believe in God. I believe in God, Fr. Grejbel and I love Him, but at the moment I just do not know where He is. At the moment he is near you, Susanna. He is always near us, but even more so when we suffer. All who suffer are closer to God and God draws nearer to them. Really? Is that what you think? That is what I think, Susanna, and it will not be long before you yourself find out that it is so. Through faith we can also experience that which we believe in. Do not look for God far away from you. Look for Him within yourself, within the child who is waiting for you to bring it into this world. Within myself? Within my own sinfulness? I feel completely impure. I look at myself, watch myself changing from week to week and feel sick at the sight. I tell myself that I am a sinner. I sinned in the valley, she told him in a tired voice shaken by a fresh bout of tears. For me the valley is not what it used to be. I hate it now. Who amongst us has never sinned, Susanna? Not every sin leaves a mark on our body. The gravest sins do not show. But people do not think that way. As far as they are concerned I am the village sinner. If this is the way people think then it is about time they changed their way of thinking. Do you know what I sometimes ask myself? he continued with conviction in order to temporarily change the subject for her sake. Do you know what I ask? I ask what people think of me. Of you? What do you expect them to think? You are a priest and everybody loves you and knows that you are a good man. She interrupted him as her tears subsided almost completely. Give me a moment. Do you know what I say to myself? I say God only knows what they think when they see the lonely way I live without ever having been married or having raised a family. Am I not also different from them?

But that does not mean you are a sinner like me. Only those without any faith or values never sin, Susanna. The way to God is through sin. You have surely already been taught this. Maybe nobody taught you how to recognize peoples love but I am sure you have learnt how to recognize Gods love. This love was born with us. Is that not true? Yes, that is true, Fr. Grejbel, but there is a difference between mere words and actual facts. Through faith the words we believe in become fact, otherwise the whole belief system becomes a blasphemy. Blasphemies are nothing but words which do not make sense, and do you know what the greatest sense is? It is when we understand that where there is no love God is absent and that where there is God there is Love, she immediately told him in a soft voice. So does God love me as I am? God loves you as you are here and now, and those who love God must love you, me and everybody else as we are, including myself. Do not forget that, Susanna. You have such faith in mankind, Fr. Grejbel! I have faith in God and because of this I know God wins mens hearts and his greatest triumph is when he wins over the hardest ones. I have not got such faith in human beings. How can I? You can if you wish to. Promise me that you will try? I promise you. But But what? He asked her with a smile which conveyed his conviction. Even the fact that I am in this state and alone with you at this hour could give rise to suspicious thoughts, she answered. That is only natural, Susanna, and not all that which is natural is good. Sin is also natural but not good. Are you convinced that God is here, close to us and that only He can read hearts? Susanna remained silent. She looked at him and once more bent her head, closed her eyes and covered her face

with her hands. Now, Susanna, are you convinced of this? he asked her in a firm voice. Very well, I am convinced, she answered with much admiration. So, sleep here tonight. Here? How is that possible? she told him, completely surprised. There is no problem. I have a spare room. You shall not spend the night outside. Tomorrow morning we shall go to your mother and father together and you shall see that they still love you as before. He stood up, adjusted his cassock and started walking. Susanna followed him step by step and entered the room to which he led her. They bid each other goodnight and he closed the door and walked to his own room. Susanna was now less shy and felt slightly better but her mind was still weighed down by her situation. As she lay awake in the complete silence of that hour, she could hear him pacing up and down and praying in a low voice. She knew he was praying in Latin. Later she heard him close his bedroom door. She had no doubt that although this man was older than she was, he was too good for this world while she herself had already experienced things which she thought he was not yet aware of. She wished that all men were like him. As Susanna tried in vain to ease her perturbed mind through sleep only the sound of the cricket could be heard, far away in the fields.

Chapter 2

It was still very early. The first sounds of the new dawn were a sign that the days work had started and would accelerate within a few hours. Susannas mother was already at the window every so often looking up and down the road as though searching for someone. Village life would not be what it should be unless observed through a slightly open or wide open window. She had a new reason to look out of the window and wait. Susanna did not notice her mother at the window and when she reached the front door with Fr. Grejbel; the mother, both surprised and satisfied, quickly drew back, leaving the window ajar so as not to attract too much attention. She immediately went down to open and then stood with a straight back just behind the doorstep, using both her hands to gesticulate an invitation for them to enter, while her eyes looked at them seemingly without recognition. She had to invite them in because once the priest was also present, she could not very well drive him away, nor was she going to create a scene outside her front door where her neighbours could hear all that was being said. The street was full of houses which were all inhabited by people who noticed, heard, interpreted or gossiped about, as the case might be, the minutest event occurring in other families. Privacy was therefore a human right which all had to accept to live without. The priest greeted her with a smile while Susanna remained behind him as if wanting to hide behind her column of hope. Come in, Fr. Grejbel, she told him a little later in a reserved, polite and gentle tone which the priest realized was meant only for him. Susanna tried not to meet her mothers gaze but she

could nonetheless feel the weight of her stern and disgusted glance descending upon her in condemnation. Thank you, Fr Grejbel told the mother. Sit down, she invited him. The priest threw himself on the armchair in front of him and the mother left the room. There were a few moments of silence. She has gone to wake up my father, Susanna whispered to the priest. She has gone to fetch him. Just wait and see what will happen! Without him she does nothing. She does nothing alone. She has no strength and will not utter a word, but when he is near her she feels as powerful as he is. When he is by her side she can even raise her voice as high as his. He allows her to have her say as long as she does not contradict anything he says. My father believes that a man is created to rule and a woman is created to serve a man, provide him with children, when and as many as he wants. He is the head of the household. Sit down, Susanna, the priest tried to encourage her to feel more at ease when he saw that she remained standing shyly at the door after her mother had neither looked at, nor spoken to her. The sound of a womans and a mans raised voices could be heard coming from the back of the house. The din they were making was becoming progressively louder as they descended the stairs and approached the room where Susanna and the priest were seated. Susanna could only hear the odd word till their conversation became completely audible and she no longer had any doubt what they were saying. There were no pleasant surprises in store for her! Her mother and father had decided that, not only did they not want her with them but she even had to leave her home and go far away once and for all. Fr. Grejbel raised his right index finger before his nose and looked at Susanna to indicate that she should keep her mouth shut and let him do the talking. She understood and nodded twice to show him that she would do as he suggested. She was nonetheless petrified with fear.

Having known her father very well since her early childhood, she understood that he was a man who did not easily change his opinion and believed that the household should be run according to his orders. He respected his wife because he was bound by duty to respect her but the final word was always his. This was what nature intended since the very beginning because Adam was created before Eve and Eve was created from one of his ribs. His wife did not grumble about this state of affairs and neither did she question it. Susannas mother did not find it difficult to bow her head to her husbands will, as though his will were hers once he was her husband from their first day of marriage till death did them part. Like many other women of her time, she had managed to find her formula for peace under his rule. For that matter, regarding this new story about her daughter, she did not need to make the usual effort to agree completely with her husband. This was a situation about which they just had to agree as though it were one of the conditions of their marriage: If our daughter ever becomes pregnant before she gets married, you and I will be of one mind without any compromises. It had all started with a hidden suspicion about which they had spoken as little as possible and not unless they were forced to. Now they had to face the truth which was like a glass filled with a bitter drink they had to gulp down angrily, despisingly and against their will down to the last drop. No, not I! I shall never accept such a situation. I am not my daughters clown, nor anybody elses, least of all the peoples. Now she shall find out what stuff her father is made of... he shouted as he went down the last step and approached the room, while adjusting the waistcoat he had just worn hurriedly. Susanna and Fr. Grejbel stood up as soon as he appeared in front of them. The father stopped shouting abruptly, stared with a strained expression at the priest and unwillingly gave him a slight nod of acknowledgement, as though questioning why, notwithstanding how good he was,

this man should interfere in family affairs. He drew in a deep breath, moved towards the armchair at the edge of the room and threw himself on it with a thud. The mother remained standing, undecided and stiff, in the corner of the room. Her arms were folded beneath her ample bosom in an attempt to hide the mixture of sorrow and anger she was feeling. However, her drawn face gave away the fact that she had not slept a wink the whole night long. The silence had to be broken somehow. Sit down, you! Sit down here. Are you going to keep going round as though you cannot keep still? Sit, sit! the father scolded his wife while looking at her fixedly with a murderous expression on his face. His wife was on the verge of bursting into tears. What are you crying for? What? he abruptly belittled her. Let that scumface cry for what she has done to us. This is the gratitude we get for the upbringing we gave her. Who would have thought she would dare go so far? She behaved precociously! She did not have the patience to wait. This one became a woman early, before her time. He paused, changed his tone and shouted, Some woman you are! in the direction of his daughter while attempting to get up and strike her. The mother pounced upon-him and held him down. His hands shot out in an attempt to push her away, but before he could reach her she quickly drew back and he again fell down onto the armchair. His attention was concentrated on the priest and he continued ignoring his daughter who now, more than ever, was closed within herself, with lowered gaze and a face buried under her long, loose hair. Allow me, started Fr. Grejbel, looking gently at the father. If you would give me a chance, I would like to advise you that this is a time when one should take things calmly and also handle this situation with love, otherwise the problem will grow, not only for your daughter, but for you too... For us too! Us too! What do you mean? the man said. What have we got to do with this? We have been forced to

become involved because this girl whimsically, thoughtlessly and irresponsibly, just like that, seems to suddenly have discovered the ways of the world and wanted to test how far she could go! I have already told her that I refuse to have her in this house in her present state. She will not come in here again. She is now of age and I am not obliged to support her. Just look at her! Four months pregnant, as though she were a married woman. I do not even want to look at her. But you cannot expect this young woman to spend her life on the street! Where would she live, and in her condition too? the priest told him gently. I bet she can solve that problem easily enough. Now that she has already spent one night out of doors she will manage to spend others outside too, anything as long as she does not stay here. Where did you sleep last night, my daughter? her mother enquired with sudden concern. God knows where she slept last night, the father interrupted. Susanna raised her eyes slightly and looked at the priest, waiting for him to explain. Fr. Grejbel, however, remained silent and waited to see what the father had to say. Where did you sleep last night, you wicked girl? demanded the father. Last night she slept under a roof like everybody else, as is her right and as she needs to, now more than ever. The father stared at the priest yet was not inclined to give him the satisfaction of asking where his daughter had spent the night, although he was burning with curiosity. She spent last night at my house. At your house? A pregnant woman slept in the priests house? This is the limit. retorted the father heatedly. She slept at my house and she slept well, and today... he was about to continue, And today, this very day you can expect people to start gossiping about you and her. The mother followed the conversation without uttering a

word, still as concerned as before but also slightly comforted by the news. She did not want her daughter in her house but neither did she want her to sleep in the street, nor in the parish priests house for that matter. Today I expect nothing of the sort. I expect only, continued the priest, that you change your mind this instant and that you welcome her once more in this house, as is your duty. My duty? Is it my duty to welcome a daughter who did not preserve her virtue or ours? You can easily draw your own conclusion, Fr. Grejbel. You know very well that what she did was very wrong and you should be the first to tell her so once she chose to seek your protection. Why did she not seek you out before? Maybe you could have made her behave sensibly and told her not to play with fire. He who plays with fire... He who plays with fire might get burnt. However, the gold which is burnt by fire becomes purified tempered gold. She is a whore, not gold, rebutted the father. Your daughter is like that gold and she will become even purer than before if you do not now choose to forget that you are her father. Your words are beautiful, Fr. Grejbel, but they do not impress me. How can I impress you then? Do you wish her to remain without a home, vulnerable to all kinds of danger? Welcome her back to your house and everything will work out. Only love can make things work out. I do not want her here. I do not want to see her in that state any longer. There is nothing more we can do now. After all, a child is coming into this world, said his wife. A mere look directed at her by her husband was enough to imply that she should keep her mouth shut. And it is also going to be your child, the priest continued. My child! What on earth are you saying, Fr. Grejbel?

snapped the father. I do not even know whose it is. The little I know is enough. It is Susannas and being hers it is also yours. Your very own flesh and blood. I do not want this infant. It is a child of sin and I do not want the offspring of sin under my roof. No infant is the offspring of sin and once it is not the offspring of sin you should welcome it in the befitting manner it deserves as you would any other child under different circumstances. This infant is not worse than any other. I speak to you as a priest. As a priest you should be speaking to me differently. An illegitimate child, that is what it is. What is an illegitimate child in the eyes of God? You know as well as I do that in the eyes of the law the infant is illegitimate. Then the law is neither just nor correct. In Gods eyes that infant is not illegitimate. Well we live in this world and we know exactly how people think. I do not want that child. What are you suggesting? You tell me what I am suggesting. I do not want to utter the word which would really bring sin to this house. Susanna had been weeping for a long time. She abruptly got up and hastily left the room with her face still buried between her hands. Think carefully about this matter. Your daughters future is at stake, as well as her childs and that child is yours too. You know that I have already told you that the child is not also mine. I do not want it and neither do I want my daughter while she is in this condition. At this point, I do not think there is anything more to be said. It is useless to repeat the same words over and over again. The man put both his hands in the pockets on each side of his waistcoat, stood up and started pacing up and down the room. Do not take any hasty decisions which you will regret for the rest of your life.

There are no decisions still to be taken. I have already decided. Do you mean that you no longer want Susanna in here? The man hesitated as though looking for the right words to say. Susanna will remain here. She will give birth but, he stopped, took his right hand out of the pocket and pointed his index finger high up, She shall not keep the child. As soon as it is born, it will be put in an orphanage run by nuns. They will be given instructions to sever all contact between Susanna and the child. We shall bear the five months remaining till the child is born and then we shall close this chapter once and for all. That shall be the end of the whole story. Fr. Grejbel rested against the back of the armchair and raised his eyes upwards, looking round the room for a crucifix. He spotted one in the middle of one of the walls and looked upon a writhing, silent and lonely Christ. Susannas father stood stiffly, looked at the floor and waited. As far as he was concerned, the argument was now over. The priest tucked his cassock into place and got up. He placed the palms of his hands together on the centre of his chest in a gesture of prayer and said to the man, You will yet regret this decision. Remember, also, that your daughter is of age and she can just leave this house forever. You might never see her again. That would be much worse for you. Do you think you would be happy then? Do you think I am happy now? There is no better solution. Let what should be done, be done! Maybe you might change your mind in the coming months. In the coming months I shall confirm what I am saying now even more. I shall pray for you... Pray as much as you wish but for other things. Regarding this affair, your prayers are not necessary. I am behaving in accordance with the laws and traditions with which I was

brought up. Traditions which are not based upon love should not last. Where does love come into this, Fr. Grejbel? You, being a priest, are not aware that this is only about disgusting physical attraction and nothing more. The moment your daughter accepted the fact that she was to become a mother, love came into the situation. Every birth is a symbol of love. If that is so, I must let you know that love is not enough. Others are going to have to love this child in some place where it is unknown, far away from here. It will live and grow up without casting its shadow upon us. I have decided, Fr. Grejbel. The priest lowered his head and started walking towards the front door. Honour is worth so very much to you, even more than your own daughter... Honour, honour, shouted the father, after which he continued muttering, honour is everything. Honour, honour, the priest continued repeating to himself and as he walked on the word kept going round in his head like the sound of thunder which was receding but leaving behind an unforgettable echo.