Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 126547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
The magazine had led Adam to sin at night a total of three times, and the archbishop tossed it where it belonged, into the trash can. “I’m happy we’re on the same page. Hopefully, this will be a lesson for you. The Church should always come first.”
Adam’s muscles relaxed when he realized he was about to be let off the hook, and he rose, bowing his head in an expression of gratitude, already hungry for the cream slices sold just around the corner from the Archbishop’s Palace. He deserved some sweetness after this bitter meeting.
“Sit,” Boron said, and Adam dropped back into the chair as if the low voice had shoved him down.
“Of course,” Adam said, grateful there was no one to witness this moment of humiliation.
Boron opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a folder depicting the Black Madonna of Czestochowa. He remained silent, torturing Adam with the wait before eventually offering him a stack of documents.
“I fear staying in this city isn’t good for someone like you. Someone… struggling with sin. I believe you will feel better somewhere where temptation isn’t as readily available.”
Ants crawled under Adam’s skin at the notion of having to stay in a monastery for an extended time. Yes, he did want to avoid temptation, but only as long as it didn’t come at the cost of disconnecting from reality whatsoever. Or worse yet, what if Boron suspected Adam was gay, and wanted to send him to a monastery for that exact reason, thinking he’d be doing Adam a favor by placing him among men, and behind closed doors?
Out of sight. Out of mind.
No. That couldn’t be right. Not in this day and age.
Boron rubbed his wrinkled forehead. “Have you ever heard of Dybukowo? It’s a village in the Bieszczady Mountains.”
Adam’s mouth dried. He had not heard of Dybukowo, but it sounded like a place so tiny it might not have its own convenience store. He waited, even though suspicion as to what this was about already crawled into his gut and made his insides screech.
Adam loved Warsaw. It was where he had been born and raised, and where he’d started working as a priest just three months ago. He loved getting himself a rose jam donut from Blikle’s, loved jogging in the beautiful gardens of the Lazienki Palace in the morning, he loved sitting in a packed tram and watching people go about their lives. He loved the liveliness of restaurants and cafés, and the obscurity of old tenement buildings on the Eastern side of the river. He did not want to leave. Not yet at least. One day, maybe, but not when he was twenty-five and at the beginning of his priesthood.
Boron met Adam’s gaze. “I want you to stay there for the next six months. I already spoke about this with Archbishop Zalewski, and he’s informed the local parish priest. They’ll be expecting you on Friday. All the details are in those papers. It’s a peaceful place, surrounded by beautiful nature. I believe it will offer you the peace you need to reflect on your actions. And your place in the Church.”
Adam’s sentence, while not as horrid as he’d feared on the way here, made him feel like a complete failure. He was considered immature, unfit to respect his body and thoughts without guidance. He knew he shouldn’t think of it that way, because the higher-ups could move a priest wherever they chose, but it still felt unfair, considering he’d caught a glimpse of two priests holding hands in the seminary gardens last week.
And what would Mother say about all this?
***
“I don’t understand. You told us the archbishop assured you you’d stay here for the first year of your service.”
Adam poked the meat on his plate before looking up at his mother. “The second priest at that parish has fallen ill, and they need a replacement. Someone young, who can relate to the under-thirty population,” he lied, trying not to ignore the huge figure of Jesus on the cross. It had been above the dining table since he could remember, and as a priest, he shouldn’t have been bothered by its presence, but the bulging veins and streaks of red on pasty skin made the depiction so realistic it still gave him the creeps.
Father groaned and wiped sauce off his moustache. “What kind of ‘under thirty’ population can there be in… what was the name again? Dybukowo? Where is that, even?”
Mother dropped her glass, spilling water all over the table. She grabbed a napkin and tried to soak it up, but her hands were so shaky Father took over from her.
This day was only getting worse.
“Of course you know Dybukowo. We camped close to that village during our last vacation before Adam was born,” Mother said, rubbing her arms as if the memory of sleeping in a tent gave her a chill.