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I’d love to live the way they do. Not caring what I ate in public. Not letting anyone tell me what my waist size should be. It must be heaven for women.
“How is being back in God’s light treating you, child?” The priest takes a seat in the conformist’s chair, clutching his Bible to his chest.
I smile at him weakly, then let my eyes fall away.
“Something on your mind?”
I shake my head. “No, Father.” But I make a show of pursing my lips and keeping my eyes closed as I take in a deep breath.
“God tells me you have something to share with me,” he insists. Oh, does he now?
But I sigh anyway. “It’s probably nothing.”
“Nonsense.”
Showtime. Make it convincing. Be the meek, shy, fragile little girl this priest clearly expects all women to be.
“I had a dream last night. A dream of a burning bush and a booming voice that surrounded me. But I—I don’t know what to make of it.” I twist my hands in my lap, avoiding his eyes as if what I’m confessing is slightly embarrassing.
“A burning bush, you say?” He leans forward in his seat, adjusting his bifocals to get a better look at me. “Well, what did the booming voice tell you, child?”
“It said to find a man in the asylum… that he has chosen this man to rid the evil lurking in my mind. He can rid the evil lurking in all of the patients’ minds.” I huff out a short laugh. “I know, it’s so silly, isn’t it?”
But the priest is nearly speechless.
“What was the name?”
“Pardon, Father?”
“The name, child! What name did He give you?!” The priest is on his feet now, clutching my arms like he might lose his footing if he lets go.
On the inside, I smile, wide with my teeth.
“Judas,” I say. “I’m supposed to find Judas.”
The priest processes the information, blinking rapidly as if trying to figure out where he’s heard the name. I give him a moment to put it together. Three, two, one…
“Judas! He is on the council!” He claps his hands together. There it is. “You must never ignore a message from God, child. He knew I would visit you today. He knew I would be able to find this man for you!”
I’d feel terrible for puppeteering a priest if it weren’t for my skin burning like I’ve been dipped in a cauldron full of hot oil. I was raised believing in God. It was something my father and I shared before he changed. So, this isn’t exactly making me feel like a saint. But it’s necessary. I know that. Not to mention, there are people in this world that use God’s word to attack, to judge, to hurt people.
“Oh!” He claps again, throwing his hands above his head. “Our Lord works in mysterious ways. I’ll find him at once!”
I can practically hear Dessin starting a slow, dramatic clap in the next room.
As the priest leaves, I take a bite of my cold, chewy chicken and take a bow.
~
Dessin and I learn to communicate through knocks on the wall.
It starts while I wait for Judas to finally come and see me. I’m bored, and in searing pain from the whipping. My head falls back against the wall with a deep thump, and sure, it hurts. But wouldn’t it be lovely if I knocked myself out on accident? Fell to my pillow and slept until my welts healed?
But I flinch as the wall booms back at me, like a dog barking on the other side of the fence. I stiffen, eyes widening at the coincidental replication of vibration and sound.
No, it can’t be…
I ball my hand into a fist, hovering over the wall, considering how dumb this will make me look if I’m wrong. But I do it anyway. My knuckles bang against the stone twice, quick and hard.
