Emily Kimelman - Sydney Rye 04 - Strings of Glass (9 page)

“Yes,”
I said. “This is very nice.”

“Come,
I will show you our art room,” he said,
excitement edging his voice higher. “Perhaps my favorite place.”

Chloe
held the door for us and we stepped back into the church. Agapito opened the
first door on our left and flicked on a light switch, bringing the florescent
tubes that lined the ceiling to life. Large windows covered two walls. To our
left we could look out onto the playground. The front windows faced a garden
and beyond it a quiet residential street.

In the
room were four long tables with cans of pencils and markers spaced out on them.
A corner was set up with easels around a still life of pomegranates and jack
fruit. The smell of paints and paper took me back to my high
school art room. A place I always felt safe. Outcasts and bad
asses are always welcome where paint and brushes reside.
I walked over to the easels and looked at the paintings. One was by far
superior to the others. I felt that I could reach out and touch the spines of
the jack fruit depicted there. “This isn’t a child’s,” I said.

Agapito
laughed. “No, I will admit that is mine. Do you paint?”

I shook
my head.

“Perhaps
you should.” He laid a hand on my shoulder and looked at the painting with
me. “It is good for the soul.”

I felt a
sudden sadness at his words and reached out,
touching one of the brushes. Its soft bristles tickled my fingers. “I was
never any good,” I said.

“Improvement
comes from practice.”

“Yes,”
I said,
thinking of the skills I did possess.

“Do
the kids all live here, too?” Dan asked,
looking out at the children in the playground.

“Yes,
we have dorms,” Agapito said, turning
to Dan and dropping his hand from my shoulder. I missed the weight of it and
was surprised by that.

“Can
we see them?” I asked.

“Yes,
of course,” Agapito said.

“Where
do you find your teachers?” I asked as we walked back down the hall, Blue
heeling at my hip.

Chloe
answered me. “We have a relationship with a nearby college. Most of our
teachers are local women.”

“Yes,”
Agapito said. “I will admit I harbor a dream that some of the children
here now will return to teach.” He blushed. “Wouldn’t that be
wonderful?”

“Yes,”
Dan said. “Awesome.”

“Awesome,
yes,” Agapito nodded. “I like that word very much.” Then he
turned and started up  a flight of steps. “We have two large dorm rooms,
one for girls and one for boys,” he said as we climbed.

Reaching
the top Agapito opened a door. He held it for me and I stepped into a large
room that ran the length of the building. It had wood floors and was lined with
single beds, neatly made. In front of each one sat a chest. Blue trotted down
the aisle, his nose to the ground, ears swiveling, checking, making sure there
was nothing hiding. Most of the beds were decorated with stuffed animals. It
smelled clean and fresh. Many of the windows were open and the sound of the
children floated up to us. A breeze blew through the space and fans on the
ceiling helped move it along. “Nice,” I said.

“I
feel that for many the communal sleeping feels very safe. I grew up with my own
room and often found it frightening and lonely,” he said. I pictured the
young Agapito in a large and shadowed bedroom, clutching his bedding, imagining
monsters in the shadows. The children who slept in these beds had faced real
boogie men.

“The
boys’ side is the same,” Chloe said. “We don’t have any empty
beds.”

Agapito
shrugged. “We always have room for a few more.”

Chloe
frowned. “But you can see how much we have at stake here.” Agapito
turned to her, his head cocked and a question on his brow. Chloe cleared her
throat. “The children they are trying to bring here belong to Kalpesh
Shah.”

Agapito
paled. “Thank God,” he said, turning
to me. “But how?”

Blue,
finished with his survey, returned to my side. I swallowed and suddenly the
room felt small under Agapito’s penetrating gaze. Noticing my discomfort he
said,
“Come, let’s go to my office where we can talk;
I’m sure we will find a solution.”

Chloe
led the way back downstairs to a small office with dark wood furniture and big,
comfortable, worn arm chairs. Agapito sat behind his desk, the white of the
priest’s linen shirt looked bright in the dark room. Sunlight filtered through
a leaded-glass window, casting a flat light. Dan sat in one of the chairs and I
sat in the other. Blue settled next to me. Looking around at the space I tried
to think of where to begin. A part of me wanted to run from the church and leap
over that little gate. There was so much in the dogma of this institution that
filled me with loathing, but when I looked over at
Agapito I saw an undeniably good man.

“Do
you hate gay people?” I asked.

The
priest looked surprised for a second and then smiled. “Of course not, I
hate nobody.”

“But
do you think they are going to hell? Do you think they deserve to burn for
eternity?”

“This
seems off topic,” Chloe said.

I turned
to her. She was leaning against a low filing cabinet, her hands curled around
the edge. Chloe wet her lips and then bit down on her lower lip under my gaze.
“It’s not
off topic
,” I said. “I’m trying to decide who to entrust
with the lives of children and if it turns out one of them is gay, which is
statistically almost guaranteed, I don’t want them to grow up thinking there is
anything wrong with that. Their heads have been fucked with enough. They don’t
need some bullshit fake morality stuffed down their throats.”

Chloe
swallowed and looked down at her feet. “Of course not, but,” she
looked back up, her glasses reflecting the windows behind me, “you do
realize that this is India. It’s only just become legal.”

I turned
back to the priest. “Look, you seem like an exceptional man with
compassion and empathy. You obviously have a way with people. What I want to
know is do you accept them for how God made them or are you a hypocrite?”

“I
am gay,” he said. Chloe took a sharp intake of breath and the priest
continued. “Obviously, I am celibate but I
am gay. And I don’t think I’m going to burn in hell.” He smiled at me.

“Is
that only because you’re abstaining?”

He shook
his head. “Jesus wants us to love each other, care
for each other. I make no judgments, but
only want to help people find peace in this life and the next.”

“However,
that is not the standard line for the Catholic church. How do I know you won’t
get shipped out of here and another priest, one not as enlightened as you,
comes in and fucks it all up?”

“I
suppose you will just have to have faith.”

“Not
good enough.”

“I
will alert you if I ever leave. And, of course, Chloe’s organization, which I’m
sure you know is secular, is responsible for the majority of the school’s
curriculum and policies.”

I sat
back into my chair and held his gaze. He sat calmly but his eyes made me a
promise I trusted him not to break. “OK,”
I said.

“Good,”
he sat forward. “Tell me about the children.” 

Dan
spoke first, “I’m not sure how much you know about Kalpesh Shah and
his,” Dan paused for a moment searching for the right words,
“ways.”

Agapito
nodded. “I have tried to save those children since I heard of them but
have always failed.”

“Our
methods probably differ from yours,
Father,” I said.

“Yes.”
He
looked down at his hands. “Do you plan to kill him,
then?” he said, raising his head, making eye
contact. The man’s brown eyes glowed in the soft light.

I shook
my head. “No, but I do plan on taking him out of the country against his
will. Do you have a problem with that?”

The
priest shook his head and then smiled. “There is nothing in the scriptures
that tells us not to move criminals from one jurisdiction to another. Will you
take him to France?” I was surprised by the depth of the man’s knowledge
and it must have showed on my face. “Sydney, you will remember that it was a
Catholic choir the man abused. Before my time, but it is not something we
forget.”

“So
you will take the children and care for them?”

“Those
that will come,” Chloe said. “The older ones,” she shook her
head frowning, “you won’t
get near them.” She pursed her lips. “Once they reach a certain age,
they won’t let us help them.”

“But
you’ll take in anyone who wants to come?” I asked,
leaning forward.

“I
don’t know how many we can fit,” Chloe said. “And what if you fail?
What if he comes after them? It will put all the children in danger.”

Agapito
waved his hand. “We will take them and we will protect them. This is a
great opportunity for good.”

“Except-”
Chloe started, but the priest shook his head.

“The
Lord has led Sydney and Dan to us so that we may aid them in this most noble of
tasks. Fear will not deter us.”

Chloe
bit her lip and nodded but I could see she was scared.

“I’m
glad we are on the same page,” Dan said. He looked over at me. “We
should discuss the size of the donation.” Turning back to the priest he
continued, “What will you need to care for these
children?”

“How
many do you think he has?” Chloe asked.

“About
a dozen, we think,” I said.

“I
know more are arriving tonight,” Agapito said. “And he will be
releasing several.”

“What?
How do you know that?”

“I
told you this situation has worried me greatly since I learned of it. So I’ve
made it my business to know what was happening.”

“You
have a source inside his household?” I asked.

“Where
my information comes from is not of consequence.”

Chloe
spoke up. “I can do some math with a couple of different scenarios and get
back to you. When do you
plan on bringing them?”

“The
night of the Kite Festival,” I said.

The
priest nodded. “Yes, there will be many distractions.”

“But
that is only 3 days away,” Chloe said. “That’s not much time.”

“We
can get you some cash right away,” Dan said. “So that you can buy
beds, clothing, whatever you think you need. Then we can do a larger transfer
once you’ve figured out the long-term costs.”

Chloe
chewed on her lip some more, but nodded in agreement.

“What
about the boys being ‘released’ tonight? What
does that even mean?” I asked.

“He
doesn’t sell them,” Chloe said. “After Shah is done with them he
gives them their freedom.”

“Freedom?”
Agapito said softly. “Perhaps from his house, but not
his influence. I’ve talked with many of the older boys. Tried to bring them
here,
but am always rebuffed. I will go again tonight though, if I can find
them.”

“Let
me try,” I said.

He
cocked his head. “How many languages do you speak?”

“Only
English, but I have a friend who speaks a few more,” I said,
thinking of Anita. “She will translate for me.”

“It
can’t hurt,” Chloe said.

Agapito
nodded. “Yes, it will be good for you to speak with them. Perhaps your
influence will be greater,” he said with a sad smile.

“We
should get going,” Dan said, looking
at his watch. “I’ll get in touch once we have more information and Chloe,
send me your banking information, I’ll arrange for the first transfer
today.”

Agapito
stood and the rest of us followed. “We’ll show you out,” he said.

As we
walked back through the nave to the front entrance Dan paused. “You know
what? I should probably run to the bathroom before we go.”

“I’ll
take you,” Chloe offered.

Agapito,
Blue and I stood under the reproachful gaze of St. Nicholas and waited for
their return. The priest tilted his head up and looked at the large stained
glass portrait. “How much would it cost to replace him?” I asked.

He
smiled and shook his head. “It would not be worth it, there is so much
else to do.”

“Doesn’t
he bother you?”

“No,
it is good to be reminded of how our teachings can be twisted into
judgment.” Agapito reached into the neck of his shirt and pulled out the
gold chain that hung there. On the end was a small coin. He held it out to me
and I stepped closer to see it in the church’s dim light. There was an image of
a man stamped into the gold. “St. Nicholas is my patron saint,” he
said.

“Like
Santa Claus?” I asked.

Agapito
smiled. “In fact, you are right, that he is the basis for the Santa Claus
myth. A generous man, he was known for bestowing
gifts without anyone’s knowledge.”

I looked
up at him. “How can you be known for something no one knew you were
doing?”

“It
is harder than you think to hide one’s
goodness.”

I
stepped back and leaned against one of the pews. “So what makes him your saint?”

“I
picked him.”

“Is
that how it works?” He bobbed his head side to side in the Indian gesture
of yes, no, maybe. It was a culturally specific form of communication and
impossible not to pick up. “So why him? Because of the presents?” I
smiled.

“You
might think,” he said with a smile. “But no, he is the patron saint
of children. One of the miracles he performed
was resurrecting three children who’d been murdered and put into a barrel to
brine by a butcher who planned to sell their meat as ham.”

“Gruesome,”
I said.

“Yes.”

“They
were lucky that St. Nick showed up and brought them back to life.”

“As
the boys held by Shah are lucky that you have come here to free them.”

“I’m
not a saint,”
I said,
“and
there won’t be any miracles performed.”

“I
do not think we see the world so differently.”