"Pirate Freedom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wolfe Gene)

Preface

We do not usually hear confessions, but I heard several by special appointment last Saturday. Tonight one man came to the rectory to ask whether I remembered his. I said that I did not.

"Then you've probably forgotten what you told me after you heard my confession, too."

I shook my head. "I recall that perfectly. I told you I'm a murderer myself."

He looked a little stunned, and I invited him to sit down. "The housekeeper's gone home," I added, "but I can make tea for you, or instant coffee." I pointed to my glass. "This's ice water, something I can never get enough of. We've lots of that, too."

He said, "I told you what I did."

I nodded. "I know you must have. I advise you not to repeat it." "

I won't. I don't even want to. That felt so good! I shall owe you for that as long as I live."

Of course I said that was nice and asked, politely, what he wanted.

"I want to know what you did." He sighed, and grinned as soon as the sigh was finished. "You don't have to tell me. I know that. You don't owe me anything. But…"

"Confession's good for the soul."

"Right, Padre. It is. Besides, I very much want to know. I'll never tell anyone, and no one would believe me if I did. Will you? As a favor?"

"For my sake," I said.

"Mine, too. I think it might help me."

"And you told me, even though I've forgotten. I won't ask whether you'll forget this. I know the answer."

The smart thing was for him just to wait, which is what he did.

"I was on a ship. A certain man there had insulted me. Over and over, and in a way that threatened to do a lot of harm."

My visitor nodded.

"We had been in a big fight with some other people-he and I on the same side. There were a lot of other men on both sides. Fifty or so. And one woman on ours-I nearly forgot her. This man had a hammer in his belt, positioned so that he could pull it out with his right hand. He'd been using it as a weapon."

"I'm most sorry, Padre. I shouldn't have asked."

"It's okay." Now it was my turn to sigh. "This is only one instance. There are a good many others, I'm afraid, depending on just how God judges these things."

I sipped my water while I pulled myself together. "This man I spoke of- the man who had insulted me-came up to shake hands with me when the fight was over. I'd been using an oak bar with an iron tip as a weapon. It was about this long."

I showed it the way fishermen show the length of a fish, and my visitor nodded.

"Four and half feet, maybe. Maybe five. About that. It would have been heavy even without the iron tip, but the tip brought its weight toward that end. You know what I mean?"

"He wanted to shake your hand," my visitor said.

"Yes. Yes, he did. Everyone was shaking hands with me then, and he wanted to be one of them. I accepted his hand and held it so he couldn't get to his hammer, and I swung the bar I had been leaning on overhand with my left hand."

"I see…"

"When he was lying unconscious on the deck, I hit him again, harder, swinging the handspike with both arms. I've never been quite sure why I did that, but I did. A friend of mine picked up his feet, and I picked up his shoulders. His head was a mess-I remember that. Together, we threw him over the gunwale into the sea."

My visitor had a great many questions after that, but I answered hardly any, just telling him over and over that the answers were too complicated to explain unless we sat up all night. I did not add-although I could have-that he would not have believed me. Finally I promised I would write everything out and mail it to him when it could do no more harm.

Now I am going to take a long walk and do a lot of thinking. When I return to the rectory, I will begin.