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Chapter 18
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125 C Chapter 18 hen Father Van Vuuren placed his hand on a doorknob in one of the cathedral’s portal doors, a familiar voice reached him. “Father Van Vuuren?” it was Lerato’s voice. “It is I, my child,” he shouted at the door. “Are you in trouble?” “It’s Mrs Makgunda. Please let me in. I need to talk to you.” He unlocked the door and opened it. Mrs Lerato Makgunda stood alone in the atrium. Her face cosmetic-free, she was as plain as a pikestaff. Silently, he prayed she wasn’t making a surreptitious visit on some pretence when in actuality she wanted to tempt him into sin. Her husband had lain bedridden for quite some time now. Desire might be upon her. The Devil was a cunning deceiver. One had to be on guard all the time. Many parish women, many beautiful from many angles, many of whom he fancied, had tried to seduce him from as far back as he remembered. The frailty to succumb was in him as it was in all men, but he had asked God for the grace to stand by his vows. He was a man, a bundle of sexually desirous feelings, though his desire lay dormant in him. Father Van Vuuren stood aside to let her in, appraising her at the same time in an attempt to detect what impelled her visit. She appeared shaken though physically she was unflustered, and her entry had an air of haste. In a long-sleeved floral chiffon blouse and floorsweeping matching skirt, everything on her; from her hairstyle to her shoes, was commonplace. Her figure was still on the lean side, and stunning in a way. Her attire betrayed her as a countrified woman. Distinctly on her were signs that in her former years she was a succinct paragon of beauty. “What brings you here, my child, after sunset?” He glanced at his wristwatch. “What devils chase?” “We need to sit down, Father.” W 126 He left the door open. “You shouldn’t have come alone to meet me. Ethics forbid it. Our actions should be beyond reproach all the time.” “I’m sorry, Father, but I didn’t think it was necessary to find a nun or deaconess to accompany me. There’s no time.” Before closing the door and locking it, the priest looked outside. “Many priests have fallen this way. In Egypt it wasn’t Potiphar’s wife who started everything, but seclusion with a woman. A man and a woman mustn’t be alone in the same room. God deliver us from temptation and wrong interpretations.” He led her to his office, the sound of her footsteps attesting to her following him. Though he walked without looking over his shoulders, he was sure she was timid and frightened judging from her arrhythmic footfalls. He suspected she was stopping to check behind her. Erect, his gaiety that of a man on top of the situation, he walked, which was in accordance with the priestly grooming he had at the seminary. If he lacked confidence and exuded fear under any circumstances, his sheep would shake and scatter. In his office, he gestured at a visitor’s chair and sat in his swivel armchair. “We aren’t in the confessional. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?” “No. Thank you.” “What can I do for you, my child?” His mind locked on her husband. His bedside priestly prayers had failed to raise the man from his sickbed. “Have you finally come to receive prayers on behalf of your husband?” “I want you to pray for me, Father.” She sat with her shoulders hunched. She had never been inside his office. He saw it from her eyes roving on the religious effects on his polished desk; crosses, crucifixes, bottles of unction, a stone carving of hands clasped in prayer and a glass menagerie of the Madonna holding the Holy Child, Jesus on a donkey and Jesus receiving baptism, and a caricature of the Ten Commandments. The desk was a shrine of some sort. “What do I ask God to do for you, my child?” [44.199.225.221] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 11:57 GMT) 127 She looked up from the artefacts on the desk. “It might sound absurd, but of late I’ve had terminal feelings and experienced weird dreams. Of death and devils I’ve dreamed. The culmination is an urge inside me to receive a...