Free John by Niall Williams Page B

his hands. The waves are against his calves, his robe darkly stained to his waist. Against the backs of his legs and beneath his feet he feels the suck of the out-flowing sea. His actions are uncalled for. He has already tumbled entirely in the waves since visiting the fisher's wife, but nonetheless scrubs now at his hands with a wild passion for absolution. He knuckles one palm then the other, presses his fists through the cold surface of the sea and holds them there as if manacled. The gulls wheel, waiting to see what strange fish may appear.
    By the time Papias is done, his hands are as red as if hell-burnt. He comes from the sea shivering, and Matthias is standing nearby watching. Two paces behind him stand Linus and Auster.
    'Young Papias,' Matthias says, 'what troubles you?'
    'I did not see you there.'
    'You were occupied intently.'
    Papias turns back to look at the sea, as though a plausible reason may be written there.
    'How cold your hands are,' Matthias says, stepping closer and for an instant taking the reddened fingers in his own. 'Are you suffering some ailment?' Matthias's voice is soft and comes about like a velvet cloak. His eyes are darkly inviting. 'Papias, tell me,' he says, and lets go the hands.
    'No. No, I am well. It was something from the cave, something on my hands,' Papias tells him, tells the others behind him, folding his arms so the evidence is tucked beneath them. He feels the lies multiply like flies around a rotted fish. 'I was foolish. I thought it might be . . . I thought there might be disease.'
    'You are upset by the death of our dear Prochorus.'
    'Yes.'
    'Indeed are we all. He is a grievous loss.' Matthias looks to the others and nods towards them. 'But he is now in everlasting life, therefore why should we mourn? Don't you believe so, Papias?'
    'I do.'
    'What does the Ancient say? What does he say about the death of our scribe?' Matthias is close enough to kiss Papias on the cheek, the cloak tightly enwrapped.
    'The Master has not spoken of it.'
    'Truly?'
    'Truly, he has not.'
    'Not of Prochorus. Nor of me?'
    'No.'
    'You find no comfort in that, I am sure. I find no comfort in it. Indeed it is troubling that he has not offered us wisdom.' Matthias looks out into the sea. 'He is himself perhaps unwell. Have you remarked it?'
    'The Master?'
    'Yes.'
    'No, I have not.'
    'You may have other concerns. Let me ask you, Papias, do you think the Lord God wishes us to remain here?'
    'The Master says so.'
    'Indeed.' Matthias considers the sea a moment longer then turns to face the youth. He smiles and says, 'Does the Lord speak only to him? Curious if one blind old man was to be the only ear for the heavens.' Slowly he shakes his head. He places one hand on the other's shoulder. 'Did not the Lord speak unto Moses and say, "Speak unto all the children of Israel and say unto them: You shall be holy"? So it is written in scripture, Papias. Yes, dear brother, surely there is more discourse between heaven and earth than to one Ancient. The Lord does not speak to only one. But we will talk again of this, you and I. I can see you are anxious to be elsewhere. Perhaps Linus will attend to the Master and allow you . . .' Matthias throws open his hands. 'Go wherever it is that presses on your mind so.'
    'No, Matthias.'
    'O, yes, I insist. It is small charity to attend to yourself, Papias, that you may better serve. You are free, I relieve you.' He turns to those behind him. 'Linus, go and serve the Ancient, our beloved apostle.'
    'He does not like to be called that,' Papias says quickly.
    Matthias spins about as if stung. 'Truly?'
    'Yes.'
    'And why not? Is he not the Beloved? Was he not the one our Lord Jesus loved the best? Who sat at the right hand? Who laid his head upon his breast? Surely he was the Beloved? Or am I mistaken? Does my memory go? Or is it his? Who does he say he was now?'
    'No. No, his memory does not.' Papias's cheeks burn. Matthias's eyes are dark. He is close. His gaze seeks entry to