THE CONFESSIONS OF AN ALTAR BOY

An altar Boy Chews More Than He can Swallow And Ends Up Wasting The Priest's Life

This monument  of a chapel stands somewhere in the white settler’s highlands, towering over the magnificent mini-palaces, being the only lofty fortress that could offer the best view of the thousands of acres of the ranches and tea farms and coffee farms that surrounds it. It being colossal never at any occasion become intimidating to the villagers, workers and whites that resided therein and around it. As a matter of fact, it embossed the strong tower referred to in the Holy book, the one that the righteous ran to and they are safe.

A young man paces to and fro the now dimly lit church, whispering unto himself, rubbing his palms together in an attempt to generate enough heat to sustain him through the cold ordeal he was about  to plunge himself into.  Ludivicus Julius had since his early age served as an altar boy in this place. His father was the well-known and well-spoken of farmers’ supervisor in a nearby tea plantation and the mother the community nurse.

He now sits down and lets his knees knock against each other voluntarily as he pulls up the sleeves of his leather jacket to check the time. Just then an old, skinny, white priest enters the chapel. Ludivicus sighs, bows before him and kisses his finger ring. “What makes this call so urgent my son?” asks the priest in a concerned tone. Having never seen the boy in such a disturbed shape, he too was inwardly disturbed.

“Father, I have got confessions to make.” Replies the nervous Julius. “You know you are supposed to call it a confession and not confessions”, says the old man jokingly. “Yes, I know, but what I utter to you today cannot be held under the roof of a single confession. “Very well my son, join me in the confession chambers when you are ready.” Speaks the priest.

And so the two in their separate chambers, look at each other; the old wondering what is bothering the toddler and with the young man wondering what the priest would be thinking of him especially after serving under him all these years and not being able to follow what he had been taught. “Well, father. I am a sinner.” He begins. “Speak my son.” Urges the priest. There is a slight pause and silence and then followed a bombshell after another. “First, I am not directly laying the responsibility wholly to me, but I just want to be open with you especially now that my life is in danger that I was the brain child responsible for the mysterious transfer of the church funds from the church’s secret account to the unknown account.” He stops, looks at the bewildered priest and mutters with clinched teeth, “I have not started yet!”

He goes ahead, “On a Sunday afternoon after serving the mass, a beautiful lady walked to me together with a middle aged man. They said they worked for the bank to which I had earlier that year made an application to be sponsored for my university. They intimidated to me that I had indeed qualified for their sponsorship program except that I had to return the same with a favor. I was confused as to why an open-ended application had now turned into a dimensional informal deal.  Father, I was even more shocked to learn of the nature of deal they wanted in return.”  He pauses.

“What kind of deal did they want in return?” inquires the priest eagerly. “Listen, I swear to the virgin Mary that I was naïve and I did not perceive of the penalties all of these would land me into. Moving on, they said that they had a very loyal client of theirs. And this client in joint partnership with the bank had entered into a demanding venture that needed more money. The lifetime necessary for the venture to mature enough to plough back profit was to be exactly three months. They needed about a million Euros to fulfill this and all they had in excess is about a half of the same. And so where I fitted in was that they needed me to reveal he details of where the church’s cash was donated by the foreign Asian country lied so that they could fraudulently wire it to their own account, use it and return it before you knew of it. I later learnt that the client in question was a very prominent politician who for I shall say.” He sighs heavily looked at the profusely sweating priest who was turning red in color.

“I did not even know that such an amount had been donated to this church father until I slipped into your office and found documents pertaining to the same kept within your safe, of which I had spent weeks ironing out another fake spare key. One striking thing that I found out is that not even the documents revealed openly where the cash was, but each of the chief signatories to the secret account, you included was fully aware of the whereabouts of the secret church account. I knew deep within me that getting you to reveal these details would be unrewarding. And so I sought another avenue to gain the info I needed. I decided to beguile the least signatory of the account, Mr. Rodgers Windell, the richest farmer within the next fifty ranches.”

“Oh, my God!” Sighs the priest and goes on, “are you making all of this up?” he asks in shock and fatigue as though he has had enough. “No sir,” he says smiling and goes on, “just be very patient. And so with only two weeks left to the deadline of the submission of the account details to the bank, I stroke a master plan. I learnt that Mr. Windell had been childless for years, and that his fie Phoebe had always wished that their niece Laura bear for them an heir but this was always against the liking of Mr. Windell and had thus on several occasions brushed it off”

“I used the same bait, to catch a different fish father. I approached the Windell’s and informed them about a shylock who needed to invest quite a substantial amount of cash in a successful ranch. And among the key signposts he looked out for was whether the family had a child. This according to my fib was to be an assurance to the very old investor that in the event of his sudden demise as well the Windell’s death too; a perpetual continuity of their friendly partnership would then be guaranteed. And so I suggested that Laura be made to conceive, and the report about her conception from the doctor be sent to them. Just as not to raise Mr. Windell’s eyebrows, I brought up an issue about some heavy but temporal collateral that the investor needed as a threshold security to be waived after six months after being sure that Mr. Windell would not pull out of the deal. The collateral, I said would play to a tune of half a million euros.” The young man paused as he smiled and wiped the foam that was now steadily forming at the corner of his lips.

“What happened next?” Asks father.  “Father, I mentioned this figure to Mr. Wendell knowing too well that he was not at the peak of his budget; having paid off his entire workers and left with a meager to live on with his wife, he must have been dying to get his hands on something plusher. The old farmer fell a big prey to my treachery and even let me impregnate his niece as a token of appreciation. He never bothered to ask who I was and why I, a young man was the one chosen to represent the investor in such a serious deal. I bet it I was because I sounded very convincing and even more passionate about the whole lie. The following week I revealed the details of the bank and got my sponsorship immediately. That was about a year ago Father. Mr. Wendell never saw me until yesterday when I met he niece and got into a racket with her over the baby she claims to be mine; something that I am really not certain about. In an attempt to calm her down, she started yelling. I then strangled her and just when I was about to hide her in the wheat plantation, her uncle, Mr. Wendell pulled over some miles away with his farm tractor. I managed to flee and now he is pursuing me with all his workers.” The young man keeps silent and starts to sob silently. Then he continues.

“The bank did not return the money because they lost the details to the secret bank and I so misdirected them to my late mother’s account which was due, servicing a series of heavy loans. I say late because MR. Wendell killed her this morning Father.” Julius now bursts into tears and unrythmical sobs among intertwined slurping of the nose. He stops, blows his nose into a bloody handkerchief, wipes his tears using the back of his palm and looks at father and says, “I am sorry father. Please forgive me.”

“There is nothing too big for the Lord not to forgive my son. There is no sin so vast for the Lord not to atone for my little boy. But please before we pray, is there something that you are not telling me? You know I can read you like a book.” Asks the Priest.
“Well, Father. This is what is going to happen, maybe as soon as I finish telling this to you. The army has traced the circuitry of the money back to me. And they are on their way here. I lied to Mr. Wendell that you knew about this, and were a part of it too. And so he thinks you together with me are responsible for all his losses. He too is on his way here. My died committed suicide after learning all this and the farmers’ association is infuriated and are now rioting against each other and blaming themselves. They say the politician paid me to poison him and then cover it up as a suicidal occurrence. If I die, Father, go to locker at the village square poster, number twenty three, you shall get all the cash there. If I do not die but you do, then I shall have more chance to vindicate myself. These are my confessions father.”

“Very well son,” says the priest. And just then, the chapel door opens and in floods army officers with cocking short guns. The two keep silent in their chambers saying silent prayers and hail Maries. And army officer spots them, and pulls them out.The first distant bang of the gun sends both rolling to floor, one injured and the other safe, but shocked, though with a second chance to redeem his life.