joe

by The Rev. Fr. M-

On that Saturday night I was very busy in the confessional. When the last person had left and no one else came in, I put the light on and finished my breviary prayers. Then after some minutes in the sacristy putting out the lights I walked out through the side door in order to go to the rectory. As I came out, suddenly I saw a young man with a revolver standing before me.

"You are the misbegotten pastor . . . the man . . . who . . ." The man let the words trail off and after each word he came closer to me. His eyes were burning, his face showed anger.

"I am not the pastor," I told him quietly. "You have made a mistake; but why are you so angry with our pastor. I cannot imagine that he has done some injustice to you.

"I shall kill him," he cried hysterically. It was quite clear that the young man was very excited, but I could not get the reason why.

"I would like to help you," I began, "but I don't know what has happened between you and the pastor. Would you explain it to me briefly?"

"You wouldn't understand. All of you must be killed," he interrupted; but at the same time he put the revolver in his pocket. Relieved, I noticed that his dark and intense eyes and their penetrating glance emerged from beneath finelyshaped black eyebrows. His hair was swept back above the ears. His fine face, well-formed figure, and his whole appearance reflected a nature passionate and proud.

"Will you come with me to the rectory? Let us talk about your problems. Believe me, I would like to help you if I can."

"No!" he answered. "If I cannot kill him, I will kill myself!" And he pulled his revolver out of his pocket. At that moment I didn't know what I was doing: with one hand I caught his wrist, with the other I hit the revolver so that it fell on the ground. Then within a moment we were fighting, standing, or on the ground sometimes he was on the bottom, sometimes I was. Suddenly I remembered I was a priest. I knew I should not be fighting. I should not use force. Such actions were against my beliefs. But at that moment in my mind there was only one idea to save this man's life.

"Now enough!" I cried, breaking away. "Come, let's go!" He didn't resist. We We got up from the ground both tired and dirty. I gave him my hand saying "My name is Father Davis." He looked at me. After a while he wiped his hand on his pants and offering it to me replied "My name is Joe."

"Where do we go?" he asked.

"To the rectory."