He genuflected, signed himself, and exited the chapel observing
those holy men whose countenances stared blankly into the darkness. Back in his
room, he removed the collar and poured whiskey into a snifter tinted with past
libation. He sipped, felt the flames of hell tickle at his parched throat. A
wistful knock came softly at the wooden door.
‘Come.’
His friend, a fellow seminarian, entered almost reluctantly.
They exchanged no glance, just undressed until naught but their underclothing clung
to their damp bodies. They pulled back the sheets, arranged themselves on the
bed, and held each other tightly.
‘Is this chaste?’
‘I don’t know.’
They fell into deep and restful sleep.
