The Torment of Hatred

The Monestary

Twenty Years Later  

Fresh, orange light poured into fabric curtains and dripped down the adjacent clay-colored walls with early morning brilliance. My eyes opened and my mind churned to produce some thought of what I dreamed of during the night, but nothing came of it. It had been an empty night of simple rest, of which I was eternally grateful for. The days were busy this week, as an outbreak of some new skin condition had broken out among the slums' children. I had made twice as many rounds as I usually did, accompanying the nuns and nurses as they treated the poverty stricken village as best they could. I prayed with each of the family and laid hands on the children's feverish foreheads to bless them, pleading with God to ease the fire on their skin. No one had died, but many were bedridden and the bright red pustules on their palms and arms made the little ones cry constantly. The parents were frantic and the homeless children flocking the streets were worried over by the nuns. These people needed comfort, they needed reassurance, and only the peace of God could bring that in such dark times. They knew my face and many say the soft, dark eyes gave them comfort. I rubbed them now in the prelude of the day and rolled over briefly to see an angel by my side, feathered eyelashes gracing the soft cheeks as she slept. I kissed my Maria's forehead before arising and preparing myself for the next day and mission."Up so soon?" A familiar voice was heard from the bed. The angel had stirred awake.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. The bandages of the children in the eastern slums are three days old and need changing, and I want to make it there in good time." My voice, deep and gentle, seemed to become soaked up by the walls of the small room.

"Well, no matter, I shall have a muy delicioso dinner waiting for you when you get home from your long adventures." I heard faint laughter in her voice, accenting her sweet latina smile as she sashayed over to my side and kissed my grogginess away. I loved her so, and I could see love itself reflected in her odd jungle-green eyes, wild and alive. I thanked God every night and every morning for blessing me with such a wife. Despite my absence in the days and my exhaustion in the evenings, she kept a fire alive in the humble Hernandez household and constantly cared for me and supported my dedication to God and His work.

"A fleet of the fallen angels themselves couldn't keep me from your cooking! I should battle one thousand, no, one million of the demons to be by your side once again!"

"Aye, Ernesto, quit your silver-tongue tales and get off to the monastery! I've cleaning to do." She ushered me out the door.

"You can kick me out but you cannot keep me away, Maria! I'll see you tonight, princessa." I kissed her again, tucked my small bag and Bible under my arm and spun around, kicking up the dirt road as I headed to the monastery.

The sun was still new to the sky when I reached the steps of the small stone church. It was so welcoming to me, despite the cob webbed corners and cool breeze that swept over the floor. It had seen many trials in it's time, but stood high and mighty in the Puerto Rican foothills, and I loved it so. The grand wooden door stood stark against the cold stone, and I pushed it open to reveal a small vestibule, humbly decorated with paintings of Mother Mary and the Messiah. It opened up into a dimly lit sanctuary, where the pews whispered to each other of the many confessions and tears and hearts spilled out over the carpets below. I hushed the gossip with sunlight as I threw open the curtains of the openings that serve as a windows. "Father?" A mouse spoke from behind me. I turned and smiled at the young timid face of sister Anita.

"Child, you're here early! What called you to come before even I could open the doors?" She fidgeted with her hands and pulled her habit closer to her face, eyes focused on the ground between us.

"Well, uh, Father Ernesto, I've actually been here much of the night... On your behalf." I furrowed my brow in confusion and curiosity. She took it as her cue to continue. "I believe the Lord sent me a dream last night, Father. It was oh so monstruoso. I dreamed I had come to a dark room, and soft cries met my ears when I entered. A candle lit the room and I stepped toward the light to see a pair of hands become uncovered in the darkness. They were covered in blood, Father! Dark blood coated both hands and dripped on the floor before me! It terrified me so much, that I couldn't move! I looked up from the hands and the light also revealed a face...and..." She put her hands to her face, shaking slightly. I put a hand on her shoulder gently.

"Go on, Sister." She took her hands from her face and looked up at me, tears now staining her cheeks.

"It was your face, Father. The hands belonged to you. Blood even speckled your face and your eyes were alit with murderous rage. I feared for my life, that I fled from the room and awoke in cold sweat, and immediately ran to the altar to pray for your soul, that God may take that vision from me and spare you whatever demon the Devil may be sending to you!" Her eyes were frantic and I could tell she was shaken. I can't say it didn't bother me as well, but I put aside the tremor that pulled against my heartstrings in order to still her own worries.

"Sister, your heart knows no bounds! God will honor your faithfulness to come here so late to take this concern to Him. The dream could mean many things; blood not always evil, perhaps my hands were washed in the blood of the Lamb! I won't permit you to worry about it any longer." I ushered her from the room, telling her to have Sister Pauline fix her something to eat.

I made my way to my little study room, and fell back into the chair, contemplating the dream. What could it have meant? Blood, on my hands? Could I even think about killing a man with my own hands? I remembered the former fury and hatred I held towards a man long ago, who had been responsible for my parent's death, and I had considered killing him in my foolish youth. But now, even he had received my forgiveness when I accepted salvation and baptism. I was not a man quick to anger, the whole town knew me to be soft spoken. Patience had been a gift of God to me. Deciding it was simply a dream, I swept the thought from my head with a prayer and arose to begin the work day.