The curate looked into the church before locking up for the night.
He could see a light coming from the back of the building. He went through to the sacristy, where he found the priest sobbing gently.
The young curate was shocked and concerned. “Are you alright?” he asked the old priest.
“No. Not alright. Not at all!” he replied, lifting the goblet to his lips. After taking a sip he ruminated on the idea that at the end of the day he liked to think that he was being thanked for all his trouble and his unwavering devotion to his holy duties. He licked his lips.
The curate frowned and asked, “Father, please tell me, what has happened?”
The old holy man dabbed at his eyes, and said, “The funeral was this afternoon. There was nobody there to pay their respects. He was homeless, a man who had lost his way.”
The curate frowned. “But I’m sure you did what you could to give him a decent burial.”
The priest shook his head. “I failed him. He came here just a few days ago, but I couldn’t save him, he wouldn’t allow me to give him absolution. He died out there in one of the pews, cradled in my arms. Today he leaves us along with all his sins. I tried so hard to get him to denounce the devil and all his evil works. He simply refused. It was very upsetting.”
“Why did he do that?”
After a great sigh, the priest replied, “With his dying breath he whispered that he couldn’t be sure where he was going to end up, and until he knew, he didn’t want to upset anybody. It was very upsetting,” he repeated.
“Yes, I’m sure it was,” said the curate, “but I’m surprised to find you back here drinking wine.”
“Oh! No. It’s only water. I just wanted to sit quietly for a while and sip a little water.”
The other lifted the goblet and sniffed. “If I’m not mistaken… that’s a Sauvignon Blanc.”
“Praise the Lord!” exclaimed the priest. He looked up. “He’s done it again!”
