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“Uh-oh,” said Dr. Daruwalla.
“My feelings for him had already lessened, as I’ve said, but I was still not immune to his attractiveness,” the missionary admitted. “Here was such a sudden opportunity—the availability of him was painfully apparent. Do you know what I mean?”
Dr. Daruwalla, who was remembering his disturbing night with Madhu, said, “Yes—of course I know. What happened?”
“This is what I mean by how cynical I was,” the scholastic said. “I was so totally fatalistic, I decided that if he made the slightest advance toward me, I would respond. I wouldn’t initiate such an advance, but I knew I would respond.”
“And did you? Did he?” the doctor asked.
“Then I couldn’t find my car—it was a huge parking lot,” Martin said. “But I remembered that I always tried to park near Christ …”
“The statue, you mean …” Farrokh interrupted.
“Yes, the statue, of course—I had parked right in front of it,” the Jesuit explained. “When I finally found my car, it was so dark I couldn’t see the statue, not even when I was sitting inside my car. But I knew exactly where Christ was. It was a funny moment. I was waiting for this man to touch me, but all the while I was looking into the darkness at that exact spot where Jesus was.”
“Did the guy touch you?” Farrokh asked.
“I turned on the headlights before he had a chance,” Martin Mills replied. “And there was Christ—he stood out very brightly in the headlights. He was exactly where I knew he would be.”
“Where else would a statue be?” Dr. Daruwalla cried. “Do statues move around in your country?”
“You belittle the experience to focus on the statue,” the Jesuit said. “The sta
tue was just the vehicle. What I felt was the presence of God. I felt a oneness with Jesus, too—not with the statue. I felt I’d been shown what believing in Christ was like—for me. Even in the darkness—even as I sat expecting something horrible to happen to me—there was a certainty that he was there. Christ was there for me; he’d not abandoned me. I could still see him.”
“I guess I’m not making the necessary leap,” said Dr. Daruwalla. “I mean, your belief in Christ is one thing. But wanting to be a priest … how did you get from Jesus in the parking lot to wanting to be a priest?”
“Well, that’s different,” Martin confessed.
“That’s the part I don’t get,” Farrokh replied. Then he said it: “And was that the end of all such desires? I mean, was your homosexuality ever again engaged … so to speak …”
“Homosexuality?” said the Jesuit. “That’s not the point. I’m not a homosexual, nor am I a heterosexual. I am simply not a sexual entity—not anymore.”
“Come on,” the doctor said. “If you were to be sexually attracted, it would be a homosexual attraction, wouldn’t it?”
“That’s not a relevant question,” the scholastic replied. “It isn’t that I’m without sexual feelings, but I have resisted sexual attraction. I will have no problem continuing to resist it.”
“But what you’re resisting is a homosexual inclination, isn’t it?” Farrokh asked. “I mean, let us speculate—you can speculate, can’t you?”
“I don’t speculate on the subject of my vows,” the Jesuit said.
“But, please indulge me, if something happened—if for any reason you decided not to be a priest—then wouldn’t you be a homosexual?” Dr. Daruwalla asked.
“Mercy! You are the most stubborn person!” Martin Mills cried out good-naturedly.
“I am stubborn?” the doctor shouted.
“I am neither a homosexual nor a heterosexual,” the Jesuit calmly stated. “The terms don’t necessarily apply to inclinations, or do they? I had a passing inclination.”
“It has passed? Completely? Is that what you’re saying?” Dr. Daruwalla asked.
“Mercy,” Martin repeated.
“You become a person of no identifiable sexuality on the basis of an encounter with a statue in a parking lot; yet you deny the possibility that I was bitten by a ghost!” Dr. Daruwalla cried. “Am I following your reasoning correctly?”
“I don’t believe in ghosts, per se,” the Jesuit replied.
“But you believe you experienced a oneness with Jesus. You felt the presence of God—in a parking lot!” Farrokh shouted.
