Memories of the Saint

Murmuring

Father Nelson's office always seemed to be shrouded in darkness. It had two windows, but the velvet curtains did not let in enough light to appease the gloom. Behind his oak desk, an altar with a Christ in what looked like a golden cave glowed in the dark. Nelson used to preach about vanity and how simplicity and the sacrifice of the pursuit of beauty pleased God, yet some of the decorations in his office seemed a bit ostentatious. There were several paintings of religious icons framed in gold pieces, or at least it looked like gold, and all the books sitting on the shelf were hardcover editions with decorated covers.

It seemed like the philosophy of wanting those spaces dedicated to God to be striking in their beauty was not only limited to Father Nelson's church. Not only was it an ostentatious office, but it was also pretentious, with several letters and photographs of Father Nelson with various important positions in the Catholic Church on display. Of course, he always said it wasn't bragging, but out of devotion to Christianity.

Little Malthus loved to go into Father Nelson's office. Sometimes while Father Nelson was quietly reading his papers, the little brown-eyed boy would slip in quietly to scare the old man. Before, the office seemed mysterious and otherworldly to him, like a wizard's cave in which potions and books full of spells and letters with premonitions were hidden.

Over time Malthus grew older, and the office became cramped, still resembling a cave, but a small one which would be difficult to get out of once inside. Father Nelson also seemed different to him, with the stature of a child, Malthus saw a wise and powerful wizard, now he saw a frail old man whom he surpassed by a full head in height. In a way, that now made him feel more worried and fearful about making him suffer or disobey him.

But Father Nelson hadn't changed that much, let alone his office, which had remained the same for decades. The one who had changed was Malthus, regardless of how much Father Nelson or his Mother tried to ignore it. The young man's face had elongated, just like his body, and it seemed that his skull was trying to escape from the inside of his skin, creating marked and somewhat rough features, leaving behind any remaining trace of the chubby cheeks he used to have. Although he was always somewhat hunched over, as if the space was taking him up, his head was still above the rest in multitudes, and his knees touched the underside of the table when he sat at his desk to read. The little that remained of his childhood in his appearance was an aquiline nose and eyes with an animalistic air,... and the cross on his neck that his mother gave him as a gift at birth, of course.

But no matter how much time passed, Father Nelson made him feel like a child. He still looked forward to his hugs and tokens of affection, and listened attentively to his guidance. Father Nelson filled the void that Malthus' father left, and filled it so much that he overflowed that space, spilling over and staining other places in Malthus' heart.

In that same office often Nelson would leave Malthus reading some of his books, preferring that certain volumes not leave the office due to the care and affection he had for them. There Malthus would read and memorize every detail about the lives of different Saints. Many of the stories fascinated him because of their morbidity. He suffered reading about the tortures, how many were hanged, beheaded, mutilated.... There were female Saints who had their breasts and eyes gouged out, forced into prostitution, and men tortured to death.

Malthus read the macabre stories with an upturned stomach and grimaces of indignation, but he could never stop reading them. They had all made great gestures and sacrifices. But what had he really done to deserve that title? There were no monsters to slaughter, no Romans to torture him now. "Evil has learned to hide among the mundane, the devil no longer shows his fangs, he fools us and lives among us. Don't look for monsters, look for traitors," said Father Nelson to him when Malthus expressed his concern.