Sinned - Short Story By Ikechukwu Henry

 

Sinned

Short Story

By Ikechukwu Henry

I hate the racket in this confessional  room. It should've been like a tranquil oasis, where silence wrapped around me like a soft, conforming blanket. Unfortunately, there wasn't any quietness as I tapped my feet impatiently on the wavy, tiled floor. My mind raged like a battlefield where anxiety, fear, and worry clashed like thundering armies.

I slid my hands in between my thighs, sulking, biting my lower lip as a swarm of foreboding-winded thoughts circled my mind, feeding on my fear. I gazed at the women beside me, whose bodies looked lanky, anorexic as though they'd been fasting longer than the one Christ did in the bible.

One of them continued to flag her scrawny hands that lagged like a deflated balloon, in rhythm with the mumbling of her lips.

I shrugged and looked away. They must be waiting for their turn. I glanced at the people that sprawled around me, waiting patiently for their turn to heap the cluster of sin, of abhorrence, of malice that clouded their hearts. One would have thought, looking at the sincereness in their eyes, the earnestness in which their lips moved in tight grim showcasing their genuine honesty that they're truly sorry for their sin and come to seek forgiveness. I snorted because I knew better. Throw away this week's sin and plant another next week. And the recycling would go on and on like a swirling fan. Some appeared to be unhealthily lethargic, while the rest must have a steady income, or merely want to feel included. Their sturdy, hale bodies curling on the wooden bench stapled against the white-painted wall riled me. I found it chafing that they looked robust and ecstatic, chattering their lives out. More cheerfulness and I would be tempted to yell at them. Their giddy voices rankled my skin and worse, they didn't in a slight tint look sober and melancholic.

“Next person, please,”  a voice called out. I darted my gaze around and noticed every eye was looking at me like I had grown a second head. I puffed and stood, dusting my dress, and strutted to the confessional booth. I plopped my handbag at the entrance, stuffing out the chaplet that felt dampened in my palms. I fastened it around my wrist and descended on my knees.

I wanted to peep into the squarish opening to see his face, to see how he looked since the last time I visited whether he would still recognize me or he had discarded me and found me unworthy and unclean to be with. But I will still do that— to see him, won't I?

“In the name of the Father.” his voice hadn't changed a bit. It was still euphonious. The mellifluous tone whenever he stood at the altar to sing the sacramental hymn that had lured me in, basking me in its warm embrace still retained its glorious melody.

“And the Son, and the Holy Spirit...” we recited together. Then silence wrapped around us, muffling all sounds and leaving stillness in its wake. The pregnant silence lasted for a while before he distilled it.

“Añurika, what are you doing here?” So he recognized my voice? And he sounded surprised to hear me. I clamped my mouth to stifle the giggles whizzing out of my lips.

“I thought you would be happy to see me, Father Sixtus.”

“Happy?” his voice rasped. “you should be—”

“Can we continue with this confession, please,” he grunted a reply.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” I said.

“May the Lord be in your heart and help you to confess your sin with true sorrow.”

“I think I'm pregnant by you, Father Sixtus. What should I do?” I revealed, and desperately wanted to see his expression. To know how he digested the news. Whether he believed my word but the white priestly garments obscured a huge part of him. “Father Sixtus?”

“Can you wait for me at the lobby of the church while I round up?” he said finally, his voice tinted with unrest, lacking the quietude it should've carried.

 

The weight of worry descended on me like a suffocating fog, clouding my skin as I trudged to the lobby using the two sides railroad of the church premises. It reminded me of my mother's words the day she saw me scrambling to the backyard to empty my stomach. I retched, spilling out the food I ate the previous night. Shadow of forebodes loomed over me, casting a dark pollard on every step I took. I made my way back, halting to see my mother standing akimbo at the door frame.

“Añurika, what happened?” my mother had asked, her voice jarring, galling my skin. In it, I could feel her restlessness, her worry that what we both suspected might be true. Like we're desperately wanting to believe it was just vomiting. I scratched my loose hair, inclining my neck sideways to avoid her gaze.

“It’s nothing, Mama. It's just vomit due to ingestion.” in that intense gaze of hers, I wanted to hear what was running through her mind. To make her believe me. Then she spoke, her tone unchanged. Its monotonic cadence wiping me backward.

“Have you seen your period?”

I stifled my gasp, sifting through my memory. It had never occurred to me that I missed my period. It should have been four days ago if my calculations are right but I haven't seen any. No pain. No menses. My heartbeat quickened. I noticed my palms are clammy. I wobbled backward.

“I... I have....” any words I uttered would be a lie and my mother would know it.

“Añurika,  you miss your period, don't you? Come inside and tell us who you have been meeting.” It stunned me, as I watched the room swallow my mother's frame, that despite the secrecy of whether I had been seeing someone, her assumption was right. It seemed now the cat had been let out, there was nothing to hide again. I had to tell my parents who I suspected to be responsible.

 

Amidst the glow of the fervid sun above, I sat on a bench, waiting for Father Sixtus to round up. Mosaic memories of the unsettling encounter with Father Sixtus flooded my mind. The inexorable attempts to ensnare me with honeyed words had got me wondering if he was truly a priest. Perhaps,  if I was more content and careful, I wouldn't have fallen for his charms that masked his true nature. Perhaps the seductive melody of his voice as he had urged me to accept his proposal to be his chick wouldn't have affected me. I met Father Sixtus at the time I was in dire need of financial aid since my parents were unable to help. It was months ago, during the beginning of the semester and there were a lot of books to buy,  school fees to pay, and provisions to sort out.  For one, I thought I would lose hope and Father Sixtus would genuinely help me without any hidden intention. Maybe if I had known, I wouldn't have chosen him as my last option. Like a spider, he spun his words, trapping me in between choices. It was either I accepted sleeping with him or wouldn't be getting the help I wanted.

 

“It will be easy. After all, I'm a man with a sexual need and it's just once we will do it,” he had said, his tone an enchanting symphony of seduction that lured me, a tender invitation that awakened a whirlwind of desires from me.

“But you're a priest and shouldn't be doing this.” I tried to negotiate with him. To reason with him, even though I'm battling between two choices. With each passing moment, it became hard to resist.

He had frowned. “So because I'm a priest, I shouldn't take care of my sexual needs? Now, you have two choices: accept and we will be done in a jiffy or...” he trailed off, leaving the remaining words unsaid.

So I accepted and I didn't realize it wouldn't be happening once.

My gaze shot up at the trampling feet heading toward me. He hadn't changed a bit. Melanin-skinned. Nearly trimmed low cut and his priestly garments still fitted his burly frame. Maybe this was why I accepted to sleep with him apart from the financial aid. I cursed myself at the stupid thought.

 

“Father—” his calloused arm dragged me to his office down the pavement. The same office it all began. I exhaled as he spun me around to face him once we are inside.

“Start talking right now!” he was infuriated. Maybe it was a faux expression.

“You are the only man I know I have been sleeping with.” I winced at the grotesque of the words, of my grisly action of coming back again for more financial help like a starved wolf.

“But I used protection. How come? He crossed his arms, staring at me. I shrugged. “Are you sure you're pregnant?”

“My parents want to talk to you. That's why I'm here.” his eyes widened. I could see a flutter of fear encircling his brows.

“What! Did you tell them? Oh my God! My career is gone. ”

I watched him ruffle his head, flinging his arms in annoyance.

“How am I going to hide the intense vomiting, fever, and stomach ache?”

“You did a test, right? So what's the result?” I said nothing, counting the straight lines of the tiled floor. “I'm talking to you! It's pregnancy?”

“Please, Father, stop shouting at me. I'm not allowed to breed a word until my parents see you first,” I said. “If you're not busy, we can go now and get over this.” I shuffled out from his office, catching the echo of his feet against the floor behind me. I was suddenly struck with guilt. This was what I should've done the first time I came here.

 

****

 

I had never envisioned my future heading this way. Perhaps I had no future or reality in this priestly road I took. It was all my parent's fault. They coaxed me into accepting this phony life I disdain. But I didn't have a choice then. My quaking hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, afraid that if I lose it, I might run the car into a ditch or gutter.

“Is it only your parents that know about this?” I asked Añurika, glancing at her. I stared at her frame and sifted through the memory of what attracted me to her. Perhaps it was her hourglass figure. Perhaps it was her confidence and the way she carried herself. In introspection, I know it was a lie. It was this ghastly lust over her body. To get a feel of her fair-complexioned skin. The opportunity came and I seized it. I knew long ago I had broken the sacramental vow of celibacy and obedience I took during the ordination ceremony.

Her reticence to my question Infuriated me and all I wanted was to snap at her to speak. I had my lips shut, listening to my thumping heart.  I drove into her parents' compound and beeped off the car, sliding out of the car. I exhaled, gazing around the duplex building, and began to slump towards the pavement. Añurika strode ahead of me, still retaining her self-confidence as if this wasn't a big deal to her. I gritted my teeth.

I made my way to the front door and halted, exhaling again. I daubed my palms and walked inside, noticing nobody was in the sitting room. I strode to the nearest couch and sat. At that moment, someone entered.

 

“Welcome, Father Sixtus.” Añurika’s mother shuffled towards me and genuflected. I forced a smile and patted her back before she went inside, calling her husband who was a deacon. She returned with her husband and Añurika behind them. I stool, handshaking Añurika’s father, Pa Simon.

“Greetings, Pa Simon,”  I said. In the smile lingering on his lips, I wondered what he would be running through his mind. Will he expose me for committing an unholy sin? I felt restless at the curl of his lips.

“Please, sit,” he gestured. I nodded, surpassing the shivers surging at my skin. I quickly glanced at Añurika and her mother. They looked edgy in their seats.  “I won't bore you with long talk. My daughter here has been having a series of pregnancy symptoms. When forced to reveal who is behind it,  all fingers are pointed at you. I want to know —”

I went on my knees immediately. “I'm... I'm so sorry for the act. I realized later that what I did was unholy in the sight of Christ and Mother Mary.”

 

“But you should've either consulted us when she visited you for aid or helped her without a hidden intention. I find your actions unacceptable. If not for my husband, the bishop would've heard about it long ago.” Añurika's mother's words pierced faster than a sword. Her eyes blazed like a burning ember. She kept flinging her hands which gave her away that she was the strict one. I noticed her husband was merely glancing at her.

“I beg you in the name of the Lord, please, I don't want the bishop to get wind of this. I may be banned. ”

“You should've thought about it before allowing your lust to cloud your reasoning. What's the essence of the sermon you preach if you can't  go by example?” Pa Simon said. “Anyway we did a pregnancy test.” my heart thumped loudly and I'm afraid they could hear it. If it turns out to be positive, I'm finished. God, please! I'm sure abortion wasn't in their blood and to protect their reputation, they can't keep it. I sighed and gave up. At last, I accepted defeat.

“It turned out to be pseudocyesis after we performed a pelvic exam and ultrasound for my daughter. So thank your stars.”

I arched my brows. “It is negative, Pa Simon?”

He nodded. “Yes, it is."

"Fake pregnancy.” I sprawled on the floor immediately and exhaled a huge breath snugly on my nostril. Finally, I felt redeemed.

Ikechukwu Henry is a Nigerian writer who seeks to explore the adversities and darkness of human minds, along with his fervor for books. He's also a myth enthusiast and Betareader. His works have appeared/forthcoming in Kalahari Review, Trash to treasure, Swim  press, Icreative Review and others. He won the first runner up in RoNovella Writing contest first edition and awarded at Tenacious Writer's Award 2022 for fiction and nonfiction. He tweets on Twitter as @Ikechukwuhenry_, Facebook @Ikechukwu Henry