absque abbas

Sitting side by side they talked. Charles enjoyed the sun light. It warmed his skin. The bright light did hurt his old eyes, but it was worth it to experience the heat which sunk into his old bones. Charles sat next to his good friend Father Alex, a young man willing to sit with the old man every sunday afternoon after mass, for an hour or two, depending on the older mans health and energy, they would discuss any number of subjects. Charles was known to be a calm man, able to hold the excitement within himself at bay, in order to learn from others. Unlike others his age, Charles still had a tendency to change his opinion on the world. One thing that bothered Alex was Charles inability to be forthcoming about his life. Alex, like many youth in his position, wished to learn from Charles experience. Charles did teach life lessons, but Alex craved context and testimonials. Alex believed in lessons linked to real life, and though he believed Charles, and himself could attest to the old mans wisdom, he held doubt, ever so slight, of where the wisdom came from. The source of knowledge seemed as important as the knowledge itself. 

Charles was quiet this afternoon, replying with short brisk sentences, and relying greatly on body language to express his inner feelings. Alex could sense the weariness that emanated from Charles. Alex, being sensitive, but also caring, understandably inquired respectably. 

"Charles, you seem tired. More so then usual. How are you feeling my old friend?" Charles affectionately referred to Charles as his old friend. Charles smiled and glanced in Alex's direction. "Do you think of me as a good man Alex? A pious man? A heaven bound man?" The question, though one asked of Alex often, took him aback. Charles and Alex had been close friends for many years, as long as Alex became the parish of the humble farming town in which they both resided. Looking back, Alex counted 8 years. During that time, as Charles grew older, inevitably closer to death, not once did Charles ever discuss his own mortality with Alex. It was an unspoken understanding that although Alex held a public position of authority, he was the pupil and Charles the teacher. As was often the case, the private truth contrasted greatly with the public perception. 

"Charles, you my old friend, are the best man I know. If you are not heaven bound, that I can confidently say my own faith in God would be greatly misplaced." They both smiled at the mildly blasphemous explanation. Charles looked down, a smile still on his face. His large hands, though once strong, now held onto his cane with a stiff desperation, holding onto any object through muscle memory and strength of will. "I am saddened to tell you my friend that I am dying." Alex nodded in understanding. Young Alex maybe, he understood death and birth as a natural cycle of both his job and his life. He entered both the young, and exited the old unto the hands of his god and his faith. 

"You Charles, have brightened my life and taught me much." Charles grabbed his friends hand and squeezed lightly. A son, that was what Alex was to Charles. A son he couldn't have, but one he was able to find. A stark difference. The two sat silently, watching the sun, and feeling the warmth. Charles raised his head and thought to himself. He had waited for the day, and had planned. All parents must die in order to free their children from the grips of their authority. All parents.