The Pastor (short fiction)

The Pastor

By Siyu   思雨

 

Leaning his forehead on a side-window above the bookshelf, Theodore can tell the time is about to get late. The day has been cloudy as usual, and the sky still appears as unflinching as his permeable expression on the glass, yet the road which was once crowded with pedestrians has now finally turned sparse. Half an hour ago there were still two diverge streams of students slouching along the down-slope pavements, which meander on the hill as a worn, outmoded ribbon, and the city below would occasionally emit an indistinct hiss of engine as a sign of the unresolved evening traffic jam. But otherwise everything is tranquil, especially when one is observing behind a fixed window which insulates the external sounds. And the students, who just passed by with their white uniforms and masks on, sometimes might look like a group of meek lambs who were tailing one after another downhill. Yet sometimes also, especially to one who were musing like Theodore is at the moment, they tended to resemble some movable shroud-like clouds on a barely vegetated hillside.

 

Theodore is not musing on the book that he was supposed to be reading. Rather, he has been listening to the movement of the librarian for more than an hour. Some teachers might take his constant appearance in the library as a sign of an exemplary student of this Protestant college, though he would never identify himself as one. In fact, he has only got received by this college for less than a month. Before that, he was a student of another prestigious school, which was shut down recently because of the outbreak of a mysterious pandemic in the campus. All its teachers and students were “evacuated” to the quarantine camp promptly, while Theodore was fortunate enough to be on an exchange program at the time, so he was transferred expediently to the school that he is now in after he returned to his city. His original school would not reopen in the near future, according to the government’s statement, “until the medical experts have found a way to cure all its members’ disease”. Powerless to change any of the established fact, and even he knew that his new school was academically far behind of his original one, he had no choice but to attend it on an arid, cool Monday. And as he had anticipated, things did not go smooth for him even since the first day of his arrival. Theodore can still remember the unease when he first stepped on the threshold of the school office, that he was called from behind by an unusually strained and high-pitched voice,

 

“Young gentleman, please come here for a while.”

 

He turned, and saw a very sleek-looking man with spectacles standing a dozen feet away in the parking lot. It was not a breezy morning, yet every line of his all-black cassock seemed to be so stiff to the extent that as if they could hardly flutter. In fact, one with good imagination could even assert that his lean figure was in essence an unlighted fissure in the air-like vacuum, that if you were bold enough to shove your hands inside and pull it apart, you might as well tear away the lifeless fabric of the current reality and discover a whole new dimension existed elsewhere in the universe.

 

“Did your former school teach you how to tug your shirts in public occasion?”

 

The reality was impenetrable, Theodore realized. And the culture of this school was even more pathetic than he had thought it would be. The only distinguishable feature from this overtly conformist institution, was perhaps this insufferable man in front of him, who was, nonetheless unlike the others, wearing a transparent mask.

 

“Have you taken the blood test this morning?”

 

Theodore hesitated. He asked what a blood test is.

 

“I would expect you to either call me ‘sir’ or ‘ pastor’ in your words. Your sojourn here might be transient, still I believe it would be helpful for everyone if we could make some improvements on your manner.”

 

All right, improvements on patience, to be exact. And he continued, “the blood test is to test if there were presence of virus in your artery. It is school policy, so as to ensure students’ safety.”

 

So would there be any extra scholarship for the students’ daily scientific contribution to the school?

 

He laughed, suddenly in a wholehearted and almost overly humble way. “There is no need to afraid. Our needles are all sterile.”

 

He turned, and a light slipped from the end of his reflective lips, like a smile.

 

It was only later that Theodore learned the man was called Pastor Yuen, who was the school’s chancellor and was also his religious teacher. Nevertheless, that weirdo was the least thing that Theodore had to worry about. The culture of his new school, was a perfect exemplification of what a movie line said, “a well-scrubbed, hustling rube”, with “good bag” and “cheap shoes”. The lessons were tedious, and the curriculum was full of self-contradictory didacticism that could hardly withstand the simplest logical test. His classmates were all unexceptionally unenlightened and yet somehow self-assured, and the teachers would constantly repeat that they encourage thinking in class, only that everyone ought to keep in mind their thinking “should not involve judgement, as judgement would always lead to discrimination, and to mutual disrespect, and finally to ‘social opposition’”. Conceivably, given that Theodore was originally come from a school which had a relatively free and laissez-faire tradition, he now found himself occupied with the arduous task of self-amusement in this standardized and faceless environment.

 

“What do you want me to do, to do for you, to see you through...”

 

The task was clearly not a simple one. Yet for Theodore, his solution was simple: he dived himself into books. And his teachers usually would not stop him from doing so even in lesson time, as they would say in matter-of-fact way, “we understand that learning progress differ from school to school.” Nevertheless, out of curiosity, he still asked that if he could have a look on the textbook that the school was using during his first Chinese lesson. “Oh, how unfortunate!” his teacher exclaimed, “it seems we don’t have any extra new book for you... Urmm... but I remember there should be an old one at the school library’s counter.” The whole class burst into laughter, which made the whole scenario even more uncanny for Theodore, as he thought how come using an old book was laughable in any sense? Anyway, he went upstairs to the library, and found the book on the corner of the table. The librarian was somehow not around at the moment, and Theodore spotted an inconspicuous stairway at the very end of the corridor that was packed with bookshelves. He had been told that it was forbidden for students to set foot on, as upstairs it was the place where pastor Yuen resided. The school warned, that instead of mere disciplinary action from the school, there will be real legal consequence for trespassers, given that the whole eighth floor was the “private sector” solely for the chancellor. There were even rumors about a student who tried to secretly transgress the restricted area (likely because he had lost a bet to his classmates). He did not show up on the next day, and his class teacher did not bother to mention his name either when she was taking attendance.

 

Normally, Theodore was not a nosy person, and not to say right now his attention was captivated by something on the textbook that he intended to borrow. At the bottom corner of its back, there was a neat cursive signature, Virgil, written in a purplish-red color. And when he randomly flipped through the book, he was surprised by how many handwriting and sketches it had on almost every margin of each page. Therefore, eager to find out what it was all about, he quickly glimpsed one more time to the cavern-like, non-ventilated stairway, of which its entrance was situated under a glossy bronze Christian cross, and for a moment its sidewall seemed to ominously disclose a very pale glow of bluish green... But then he thought it might just be his imagination. A cough from the doorway informed him that the librarian should have returned, and he swiftly picked up the book and left without saying a word to the middle-age man who just entered the room, as he was still rubbing his eyes in apparent drowsiness and seemed not even to be aware of his existence.

 

The textbook was perhaps the only rewarding thing that he had ever got since his arrival in this characterless and clearly good-for-nothing institution. And as a student, he could pretty well understand that it was a common habit for them to write song lyrics or popular mantras on the blank spaces of schoolbook. The only thing that surprised him was that though the book was a Chinese textbook, all its handwritten notes (likely from its former owner) were written in English or other foreign languages, and Theodore could tell, they all shown a sort of literal dexterity and complexity that was obviously far more advanced than this school’s level. Most importantly (and also perplexingly), was that they usually seemed not to be logically coherent, were seemingly unrelated to the Chinese text beside, and were more like some quotations quoted out of context. For example, next to an excerpts of the Analects, there was a line stating that “Let life be short, else shame will be too long”. Under the Chu Shi Biao, a short note “Parce sepulto.” (spare the buried) was remarked at the end of the page. The title of a passage from Xunzi was crossed out and replaced next to it by the highlighted phrase “Écrasez l'infâme”, and in Flowers tide written by Li Guangtian some comments like “Quod genus hoc hominum? Quaeve hunc tam barbara morem | Permittit patria?” (What race of men is this? What land is so barbarous as to allow this custom?) were inserted compactly between its paragraphs. And although Theodore was come from a so-called traditional elite school of the city, he was not familiar with western literature, given that his interest had long been more on the Chinese side. Thus he found this to be a heartening opportunity to remedy this longstanding defect of his and also to “rejuvenate” his new insipid, meaningless school life. He spent a lot of time in the library, not just because the computers were accessible, but also because this was the least-likely place throughout the whole school for his classmates to show up, so that he could conduct his “leisure research” in a relatively undisturbed environment. He searched those quotes one by one on the internet, in the hope of comprehending their literal meanings, provenances and also possible subtexts, so as to see if he could “construct” a better image of the disposition of the book’s original owner. However, partly because of his limited knowledge on the western literature, and partly owe to the fact that many of those “quotations” were remarked in a so gratuitous and random manner, he had to admit that his “construction” project was not getting anywhere; nor could he comb out a very distinct pattern of the literature that were used. Still, Theodore noticed that there was one subject that was frequently mentioned in the dizzying net of intertextuality comprised of miscellaneous quotations, which was the figure of “father”. In fact, this trait was not so evident to him at first, as sometimes he would find some puzzling excerpts which seemed to come from some dialogues of a play, like the following one,

 

“'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature... To give these mourning duties to your father: But, you must know, your father LOST A FATHER; That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound in filial obligation for some term to do obsequious sorrow: but to persever in obstinate condolement is a course of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief; It shows a will most incorrect to heaven...”

 

Conceivably, Theodore found the text completely ungraspable. “What kind of life advice is that? Sell crazy someplace else...” he thought, but still could not help admiring the breadth of literature knowledge that this “Virgil” had displayed throughout the notes that he had jotted in this seemingly nothing-special textbook. But a few days later, something did occur to Theodore’s mind when he was reading another excerpt from a blank page of the textbook, this time the quotation was much longer,

 

“My father is still a giant... You wanted to cover me up—I know that, my little offspring—but I am not yet under the covers. And even if this is the last strength I have, it’s enough for you, too much for you... He leapt out the front door, driven across the roadway to the water. He was already clutching the railings the way a starving man grasps his food. He swung himself over, like the outstanding gymnast he had been in his youth, to his parents’ pride. He was still holding on, his grip weakening, when between the railings he caught sight of a motor coach which would easily drown out the noise of his fall. He called out quietly, ‘Dear parents, I have always loved you nonetheless’ and let himself drop.”

“At that moment an almost unending stream of traffic was going over the bridge.”

 

Theodore frowned, as he felt that he should have read this before... probably in a Chinese-translated version of some western literature classics. He closed his eyes for a second, and finally recalled the text that he just read was from the ending of Kafka’s “The Verdict”, in which a man had unexpectedly broken down and committed suicide due to the long-accumulated mental pressure that his father imposed on him. Theodore also remembered the letter that Kafka wrote to his father, in which he vividly recounted the mental torture that he had suffered from his father (who was almost clueless about it) through his upbringing. Then a thought suddenly came to Theodore’s mind, which was that in many situation, “what a person empathized on was perhaps who he could identify himself with”. And over these days, he had already developed a liking toward this mysterious Virgil, as although in most time his notes were all just quotations from certain literature, sometimes he would also express his opinion on some of the school matters or policies in a very brief and concise manner, like saying that “The blood test is morally untenable”. To Theodore, he seemed to be the only conscientious human-being that he could find in this sordid institution, though he was not sure if this kind of person could exist anymore in the current social system. He continued to skim through the page, and was halted at an endnote next to a crimson Ankh impression,

 

“If anyone sees his brother sinning a sin which does not lead to death, he will ask, and He will give him life for those who commit sin not leading to death. There is sin leading to death. I do not say that he should pray about that.”

 

And this time, it was along with a bracket indicating its provenance, 1 John 5;16.

 

Theodore could not help but to ponder for a while. What kind of unforgiven sin would that be? And if he was actually alluding to any clandestine incident in reality, or perhaps, in this very institution? He turned to the next page, and was met with a capitalized line which was written in an unusually savage manner,

 

“HOW I WISH THE STAIRWAY UNDER THE CROSS WAS TRULY LEADING TO HEAVEN INSTEAD OF DESCENDING INTO HELL!”

 

Theodore froze. He tried to think it was a metaphorical expression, but to no avail. A glossy, bronze-like Christian cross, seemed to lurk more and more palpably at the very backdrop of his mind.

 

The school bell rang. And like marionettes at the end of a lifeless play they bowed to their teacher. Theodore packed his bag slowly and waited until all his classmates had departed, he swiftly picked up his bag and hurried to the library. The corridor was deserted, except its wall was hanged with the shadows of some ceiling fans which were still sluggishly rotating. He opened the door, and much to his relief, the librarian was not present, which meant he did not have to make up stupid lies or to dissolve some sleeping pills into his always-uncovered tea in order to get rid of his “supervision”. Theodore strolled silently toward the terminal of the bookshelves, and glanced at the deep, dusky stairway, and this time he was sure that there was indeed a very pale glow of bluish green, as it was shimmering on its inner sidewall in a barely noticeable way. He sneaked up the stairs with his torch ready, yet he soon realized that it was totally unneeded, as the stairway only became lighter and lighter through his advance. He turned around at the first corner, and was caught by a gigantic, rectangular fish tank on top of him, which was illuminated statically and also surrealistically by its lighting control system.The tank was placed next to a glassless awning window, and when Theodore approached closer, he could see there were no fishes in it, and the simulated rockworks or plants were also scarce. What’s more was that when looking through the window (though the only way to do so was to nestle your eyes to the transparent tank), he could tell that both the hill road and the parking lot were actually within sight. The world, with its every detail diluted in the tank, seemed for once to unbosom a kind of benign serenity in its fluid state. And sometimes when a light flashed from a car’s windshield, it seemed like a soothing blink from some outside deities, who were both sympathetic and perceptive toward the privation of its people, as well as the cause that made it to be.

 

Beside the tank was a half-open door, which led to a long balcony that piled with miscellaneous worn out red-white-blue bag and easels and canvas. Theodore was cautious enough to not step on these sundries in case they cracked and alerted the homeowner. And through the screen door, he could see that there was a cowhide couch situated in the middle of a simple parlor. The man who sit on it, with his back turned on the door, was unmistakably Pastor Yuen. Theodore watched as an emaciated hand suddenly emerged at the side of the couch, holding a delicate cup, and put it under the water dispenser that beneath a brown half-furled drapery. Blood-red liquid flowed out, then the hand took back the cup and receded from view. He heard the pastor clicked his tongue, and seemed to be relishing his drink. In front of him was a medium-size television, though what it was playing was a bit too far to tell from Theodore’s position. He waited patiently, until the crisp evening elicited the first yawn from the pastor, and a quarter later, he finally heard his steady snoring. He opened the door soundlessly, and crept as careful as he could to the front of the parlor. He noticed that the video was played by a very old-fashioned cassette recorder. The TV’s visuals were still continuing and seemed to be set on a loop. He took a quick look at the screen, and was immediately aghast by what he saw. It was a naked young boy’s body, with water kept hitting and splitting over his shoulder and back. The shower was on, yet his hands were not moving in a normal way to clean his flesh. Rather, one of them was hanging loosely by his side, while the other was shaking strenuously in his crotch. The camera was likely to be placed somewhere near the ceiling, so the boy’s expression was only in view when he lifted his chin up during his release. Theodore also recognized that the scene was actually taken in a shower compartment of the school’s changing room, as he could tell from the pattern of the floor tile and also the special shape of the towel hook on the door. The footage’s protagonist seemed not to be aware that his action was being filmed, as Theodore can see that he then bent down and patiently wiped and cleaned the wall before him. A chill ran down Theodore’s spine, as he turned and saw a weird smile manifested on the pastor’s sallow face, who still seemed to be relishing the TV’s imagery in his dissolute dream. Feeling like he was about to vomit, he quickly left the scene in a as quiet a manner as he could. He tiptoed through the balcony, walked past the tank, and turned at the corner of the stairway, when he suddenly heard a fainted “click” sound, and was met with a flash of white light.

 

“AH HA! See I gotcha!”

 

Theodore blinked, and recognizes that it was his classmate David Ho, who had just taken a photo of him with the phone in his hand.

 

“I know you are up to something”, he continued, with an unconcealed triumphant expression on his face, “always pretended to be so hardworking, huh?”

 

It was pointless to reason with him, Theodore thought. Yet there was something that he could exploit on, namely, a person’s curiosity.

 

He told him truthfully about what he saw in the pastor’s parlor.

 

David gave a snort of disbelief, yet Theodore noted that his eyes were suddenly sparked with malicious intent.

 

“I can steal the videotape for you,” Theodore offered, “I know how to evade people’s attention, while you may not want to risk it yourself.”

 

Thus, a deal was sealed. And here comes back to the beginning of our story, when Theodore is waiting for the librarian to drowse off. Apparently, his sleeping pills are working, and the librarian soon descends into a calm, peaceful sleep on his table. Outside the window, the last sign of the remaining cloud-like students has already dissipated from the road, and the indoor light remains as static and indifferent as it was since his first arrival. David is waiting downstairs, as he was afraid of being “wronged” as his conspirator. Theodore grasps his book, and slowly retreats to the entry of the stairway. He does not know why he prefers to keep the book with him, as if it were a kind of guidebook or amulet that is necessary for his risky excursion. He goes upstairs, walks past the fish tank and the balcony, and sneaks a peak at the parlor. The television is still playing, and beside the couch, there is now a decently clothed table, with two set of tableware on it. The pastor is not in sight, but Theodore can hear the chopping and washing sound coming from the kitchen. Obviously, he is preparing for the evening meal, and this should be a perfect chance for Theodore to extract the tape before anyone could notice. He pushed the button on the recorder, and the cassette tape pops out. He picks up the tape, and suddenly realizes that there is a label on its back side. He turns it over, and is struck by the name, Virgil, though it was written in a more adult handwriting style. He is stupefied for almost half a minute, until he suddenly realizes that the kitchen’s chopping sound had stopped, and a black, looming cassock is standing right in front of him! The pastor, who is now without his spectacles, glares fixedly at Theodore. Blood rampantly fills in his eyes as they bulge in an almost inhuman way, as his wax-like countenance suddenly contorts with both fury and anguish, making every sapless crease in his face salient, and a cleaver is in his hand.

 

Theodore’s blood runs cold. He tumbles a few steps back and tries to stay calm. His mind is racing, yet he is unable to think of anything to say to this hideous creature, nor to form any feasible strategies that could outwit or neutralize the threat in front of him. Only his survival instinct has thwarted him from uttering the word “please”, which was about to slip his tongue, and instead prompts him to ask a more sensible question, “Where is Virgil?”

 

The effect is not immediate. The pastor freezes for a moment, then he catches a glimpse of the textbook, which is still clutched in Theodore’s sweaty hand, and ultimately gives vent to a shattering scream which almost cracks the glass neath the water dispenser. Staring right into his face, Theodore is like witnessing a pile of aged rock suddenly cleft in front of him, as through recurrent convulsion the pastor’s expression undergoes a rapid decay. Then, without warning, his cleaver drops, and he storms out of his parlor, and crashes through the screen door of the balcony. He gazes at the sky for a second, then leaps himself like a large bat at the vacuum-like mid-air —

 

Paralyzed by the outburst, Theodore slowly pulls himself together and drags his feet to the balcony. What he beholds, is the pastor’s body, halted at a protrude eaves by his cross necklace, hanging and swaying slightly in the gentle breeze of the evening. A thin ray of sunlight has finally pierced through the thick heap of clouds, and rests stilly on his motionless figure.

 

Theodore stumbles back to the parlor. It seems that he can no longer think straight. All his previous contempt and abhorrence for this pastor, this school, and this sort of conformist culture, are gone. Nothing seems to make sense anymore in his understanding. He turns to the water dispenser, and see if he could get himself a drink. The liquid flows out, he takes back the cup and brings it near his lips, and is suddenly caught with a smell of blood. He quivers, and the cup falls from his hand, breaking into pieces on the floor. He glimpses a small desk is placed alongside the dispenser, and above it, there is an old diary, titles K.Y.’s notebook. Acting in an almost robotic way, he opens it, and read a line, “dedicated to Virgil Yuen”, on the middle of its very first page. He continues to peruse the book, as it seems like a memoir, and it recounts the pastor’s life. From what Theodore could understand from the text, he and Virgil were a pair of vampiric father and son. The fact that the latter’s mother, who was a human and was died of dystocia when she gave birth to her son, had made the pastor to become what is commonly called a “helicopter” parent. His excessive care for his son also brought him the same extent of anxiety, as he had observed apprehensively since Virgil’s young ages, his son had shown more empathy to not only human but also other types of living things than his species normally should. And to ease his conscience, the pastor had thus invented the daily blood-test policy in his school, so they would no longer need to directly feed on the human’s flesh. However, as time went on the pastor sensed that guilt was still stocked up in Virgil’s heart, as the latter felt that their policy was like rearing the students as livestock in pens. Clueless about what he could do, one day he suddenly came up with an idea that he told his son, the objective of the blood-test was not to provide food for him, but rather to check if he had bitten anyone in school. In other words, the policy was a necessary surveillance on his conduct, and its design was based on principle of considerateness, so as to ensured other people’s safety. Looking at his son’s expression of seeming apperception, he was like suddenly regaining the confidence that he had long forfeited since his wife’s decease, and he soon began to expand his surveillance “scheme” on his son. Closed-circuit televisions were successively installed in the campus, and sometimes even with bugs attached. Yet, although after all these measures he did feel more secure in his life, his action had engendered growing estrangement between him and his son. Quarrels were often, and one of their most frequently quarreled topic was about masturbation. In the pastor’s viewpoint, the deed was simply improper and even deplorable, because it would significantly “weaken” the vampire’s blood power, given there was an old saying that “one drop of semen equal ten drops of blood”. “So,” he reproached his son, “how can you discard your blood in such a wasteful way?” However, to Virgil, the habit was essential for him to relieve his daily pressure. Unlike the others who could play and run and hop on the field, he, given his vampiric endowment, could not imprudently do so even in his spare time, or else his physical ability would probably astonish anyone who witness. He did not dare to get into relationship either, as he was sure that he would inevitably hurt his partner, just like his father did, so he had long been living a emotionally isolated, miserable life in school, yet now his father still wanted to deprive the only pleasurable activity that he had retained. As a result of this conflict, the gruesome “changing room” footage was produced, and one day the pastor threatened to leak the footage publicly if his son still refused to stop his depraved habit. And his son, like his father consequently did, stormed out of the parlor and hanged himself on the same eaves that took his father’s life. “I named him Virgil because I wanted him to have an empathetic heart,” he wrote at the end of his diary, “so that through the inevitable pain of life ‘he might learn to comfort the suffering of other men (Non ignara mali miseris succurrere disco)’. How naive for me to not realize, that a man’s empathy could also be his downfall!” Yet in the later paragraph, he did also express his remorse,

 

“The bible said that ‘Whoever believes on Him will not be put to shame’ (Romans 10), yet here I am, who, as a father, had single-handedly put his son to shame, while still trying to find alibis for himself. Nevertheless, it is plain he would not have the courage to die, and thus now the only way for an old man to make peace with his nostalgia, is to keep re-watching the footage that had brought to his son’s demise. It is true that he did have other photos and videos which also contained his son’s image, yet they were all too joyous in an artificial way. From now on, he wants to humbly study and understand the ‘true self’ of his son, as well as the’ true happiness’ that the latter had experienced, while he had somehow ignorantly missed in the past seventeen years.”

 

Theodore is still immobilized by the shock, yet his mind seems to start awaking. And before he could form any coherent thoughts in his mind, he is interrupted by a heavy tread coming from the stairway.

 

“I’ve just checked the changing room, there was no sign of a CCTV on its ceiling. You fuckin’ liar! And where is the pastor...”

 

David stops, as he notices the blood-red liquid, the cleaver, and the fragments of the glass on the floor.

 

“He killed himself,” Theodore answers blankly.

 

“What?”

 

“He killed himself. Gone. Suicide.”

 

At first, David seems startled by the truth. Then, he forces out a smile, and stares mockingly at him. “You think I would believe in you?”, as he casually draws out his mobile phone, and takes a full body picture of him.

 

Theodore’s breath is rising. He cannot help himself but to say, “this is pointless...”

 

“Yeah?” he jeers, “Indeed, it is pointless to try to vindicate yourself. I have a phone, and I know you don’t. No one would know who takes the photo, but you are clearly its protagonist. So you are obviously in trouble now, mate.” He pauses, and considers for a moment, “unless I would decide to keep you as my personal pet. You know, that is, to do what I say, and work for me.” he smirks complacently.

 

Theodore stands still, though his wrath threatens to consume him. He found that his habitually-employed contempt is no longer enough to shield him from venting his anger toward the reality, especially when facing this sort of evil that is almost childish-like. Nonetheless, he tries to make himself look as demoralized and confused as he can, then asks uncertainly, “All right. What about the corpse, should we handle it first?”

 

Surprised by his smooth compliance, he inquires, “Where?”

 

Theodore leads him back to the end of the balcony, which is still covered by the mess of red-white-blue bags and canvas. He bends down, and starts flipping and turning over the sundries, while simultaneously explaining to his classmate, “just now I found there is a trap door somewhere under the canvas, and I thought it would be fit to hide the body... damn, where has it gone?”

 

Impatiently, David pushes him over and decides to find it by himself. While pretending to stretch his body, Theodore silently falls back to the stairway, and see the fish tank glowing next to his face. Then, with great exertion, he shakily lifts it up and holds it over his head. The ceiling is undulating like a pulse under his gaze, as he is careful not to spill any water out of the tank. He treads softly back to the balcony, and see that the young boy is still in search of the non-existent “door”. Squatted, and with his back turned toward the door, his nape suddenly twisted slightly to his side. And in a swift movement, Theodore smashes the tank right into the back of his head. The glass shatters, and the water leaps out, momentarily restoring its original hue in the air, then all of them unexceptionally falls between the canvas and the ground, forming small streams which are slowly diffused with a pale, red pigment. The boy lies face-down on the ground, unmoving. Theodore kicks at his body, which does not respond. A small breeze licks at his fingers, which are bloodless, and are only slightly wet by his sweat. He bends down, and picks up both the half-damp textbook and the pastor’s diary. Then, he leaves quietly.

 

On the next day, when Theodore comes back to school, he spots that the eaves that was once hanged with the pastor is now somehow empty again. In the sports field, everyone is apparently gossiping about his mysterious disappearance; and for David, no one can tell where he is either, until one of his classmate finally speaks up impatiently,

 

“He’s in quarantine. I peeked at his blood-test result yesterday, and it was positive.”

 

19 April, 2021