Free Never an Empire by James Green

because today he had brought all his years of seminary training to the situation. The first time she had come it had been a complete surprise: his actions therefore could be explained and understood. He was inexperienced in matters of the flesh and his reaction was made while the mists of sleep still held him. The woman had tempted him and had fallen before there was any chance of serious reflection. Had he been sure of what he was doing? Might he have thought, at first, it was no more than dream and discovered too late that it was all too real. To look at it that way removed much if not all of his blame from his shoulders. The woman had tempted and he fell, but he fell from inexperience and unreadiness, not from any clear will or intention. That there had been a sin was not in question, but it was the pleasure he had taken on remembering, not necessarily the act itself. The greater sin was the young woman’s, not his. To look at it in such a clear and rational way, the way of his training, made his sin venial, not mortal; nothing more than impure thoughts, a temporary fall from grace, easily corrected by Confession or, if no other priest was available, by saying a sincere Act Of Contrition.
    Unfortunately, he realised only too clearly that that interpretation would have solved his problem yesterday, had he thought of it, but couldn’t be applied today. Last night he had waited for her, wanted her. When he went to bed he had lain on his back, happy, thinking of her coming to him, and his penis had stood rigid and he was glad, until tiredness overtook him and he fell asleep. But when she came he had woken and knew that she was real and no dream. An evil mind, he allowed, might put an uncharitable interpretation on his decision to let her stay. An evil mind might say that he had almost told her to come. But he rejected that. He had merely told her and Maria that she might stay the night because, as previously, it was too late to send her away. His problem today was that he had colluded wilfully, not simply given way to a sudden and unexpected temptation.
    These thoughts had run through his head during the morning Mass as he mumbled the Latin and mechanically went through the necessary liturgical gestures and motions. They had continued to run through his head at breakfast. They persisted as he had listened, unhearing, to the Confessions of his parishioners and continued as he made his visits. Through the morning he became increasingly annoyed and impatient and wanted to get back to the house and announce that the young woman could stay until she found somewhere suitable to move to. That she was welcome under his roof for as long as necessary. He was sure that that was his decision, but not at all sure that it was the right one. If only he could find some way, some theological avenue of escape, some formula that turned the sin from mortal to venial, but a morning’s effort had produced nothing and he could hardly resort to prayer for assistance. Then a thought struck him, an interesting one he wished to pursue. This morning the young woman had not come to Confession. Did that mean that she considered their love-making no longer a sin and, if so, what was her reason?
    Back in his house with his lunch on the table before him and Maria standing over him he announced his decision.
    â€˜I have made up my mind about the young woman.’
    â€˜Carmen.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜She has a name: Carmen Jacinta.’
    â€˜Oh, I see. Well, all the same, I have decided.’
    â€˜There is no need. She has gone.’
    Father Enrique dropped the knife he was holding. It bounced off the table and fell to the floor.
    â€˜What?’
    Maria bent down and picked up the knife.
    â€˜I will get you a clean one.’
    â€˜Wait, forget the knife.’
    â€˜But it has been on the floor.’
    â€˜Damn the floor and damn the knife, what do you mean she has gone?’
    If this sudden outburst of bad language