Vestavia Hills

Johnathan remembered several images of the young man hanging out around the church and vicarage, but he tried to remain focused on the scene he saw.

Trischer and Elizabeth spoke animatedly, her more worried, him with more silent pauses. Abblepot saw him put his hand on his head a few times, scratching it slightly; then, he saw him approaching his wife as someone who wanted to reassure the other person.

The last part of that scene, which must have revealed a lot to him by now, was a silent glance between the two young people, who were now holding hands. Finally, they parted.

Elizabeth waited a few more moments, again with her head tilted against the wall; then, she set off, probably to go home.

Abblepot did not follow her.

What he had seen paralyzed him.

It seemed definite: the book of love poems came from Martyn Trischer, he was almost sure of it; it was even more confident that his wife wasn't indifferent to the flirting the young man must have done with her.

Abblepot clenched his fists in the pockets of his overcoat until they almost hurt; he did not know why but the thought and image of his church, benches, altar, and crucifix, crossed his mind.

He quickly returned to the vicarage, lost in his thoughts, and confused as he had never felt before in his life.

He spent most of the afternoon wandering about the questions he would ask Elizabeth without even worrying that would also have to explain to her how he had come to that conclusion. It seemed to him that he was meters underwater, where the sound of the world was muffled, where even what you see loses its consistency.

He went back to reality later that afternoon.

It was almost dark when he heard someone marching quickly towards the house. He looked out of a skylight: he saw a shameless Martyn Trischer crossing the lawn.

The boy knocked on the door, and a confused Elizabeth greeted him: the two argued a bit, Elizabeth did not seem willing to let him in. But in the end, she gave up and let him in.

Abblepot without too many precautions left his hiding place and, helped by the fact that it was almost dark, he went down to the lawn to secretly go round his house. He looked through a couple of windows before seeing his wife and Trischer: the lights on in the house allowed him to see the scene perfectly.

They were in one of the sitting rooms at the back: Johnathan could not grasp their words, if not just an indistinct buzz or something a bit clearer when they raised their voices, but it was apparent what they were talking about.

Elizabeth was holding Keats' book and showing it to Trischer. He was sitting in one of the armchairs like a back stubbing throne usurper.

What they were saying was worth little now, thought Johnathan Abblepot, all taken up by the morbid obsession to watch what was going to happen.

Every movement the two made, every incomprehensible word they said, flared more in his mind. In a moment of clarity, Abblepot realized that he was still clenching his fingers into his fists until they hurt.

Then Trischer put his head down as if he was overwhelmed with thoughts: Elizabeth went up to him and put her hand on his hair.

The boy got better, touched Elizabeth's arm, before looking at her and standing up.

Finally, he kissed her.

Abblepot continued to watch as if he wasn't him doing it; he felt like a stranger watching a forbidden scene of lust.

They passionately continued kissing until it turned into the ultimate betrayal.

Trischer began to run his hands over Elizabeth's body, while she, equally voluptuous, took off his shirt.

The clothes fell almost entirely.

Martyn Trischer and Elizabeth Abblepot made love before the annihilated eyes of Johnathan. He stared at all his certainties and his whole determination of man crumbling like salt statues hit by the storm.

7.

Johnathan Abblepot opened his eyes. It was Tuesday morning.

Only one night had passed, but the impression he had was that he had crossed unimaginable distances and geological eras to get to that moment.

He felt utterly dizzy as if he had an iron circle around his forehead of a much smaller size than his head. The pain barely left him the chance to focus on the first awakening operations.

He rinsed his face with cold water, as abundantly as possible. He quickly dressed, casually choosing clothes. And of course, he avoided Elizabeth.

Then he went to church.

Sometimes he did not like the sense of emptiness that was perceived in there when there was nobody: the light that came in through the windows was too much; he seemed to call someone at a party who did not want to introduce himself and therefore gave a feeling of abandonment.

Automatically, he took his place on the first bench in front of the altar, knelt and rested his forehead on the knuckles of the clasped hands.

It was still Reverend Johnathan Abblepot after all, and that was always his church. With his God.

The previous evening he had let Martyn Trischer leave.

After the disgusting scene he had witnessed, Abblepot had run to hide in the trees that were immediately beyond the fence, also to recover from the extreme sense of nausea he felt. He was astounded: with all the anger he felt in his body, would have loved to rush into the house, but a physical sickness had caught him, almost taking his breath away, and he just run away.

Once recovered, he waited a bit more time, daydreaming.

He saw the shape of Martyn Trischer going towards the city. So he decided to go into the house to let out all his resentment and hurt.

Elizabeth was shocked to hear someone knocking on the door. It was as if the whole house collapsed on her head when, once she opened the door, she found her husband's gloomy and flushed face in front of her.

The few moments after that were so confusing that it almost seemed as they never happened. Elizabeth wondered why her husband came back early, without luggage, and if he had by any chance seen Martyn leaving their house. Johnathan spent a few minutes undecided on what to do, begging himself to remain calm, but at the same time eager to throw on his wife all the suffering he felt.

In the end, they said each other everything, or at least what was left to say.

After that terrible event, Johnathan had earned the right to not justify himself for his lie and for spying on his wife: he told her the whole truth about his plan. Elizabeth listened indignantly but, submerged as she was by the weight of her guilt, she said almost nothing.

While Abblepot made his legitimate outburst, asking his wife the reasons for her action, as if this could have soothed his pain, Elizabeth confessed her love for young Martyn Trischer and the circumstances in which it was born.

Abblepot left his wife without saying a word, and he went up the stairs as if he was carrying excessive weight on his back. Elizabeth burst into tears: she fell on the sofa and only after many hours, overcome by exhaustion, she finally closed her eyes.

She didn't know or cared what her husband was doing upstairs, nor did he worry about his wife anymore.

Johnathan Abblepot thought about all these things, while with his head down, he tried to concentrate on prayer.

He looked up at the crucifix. A question echoed in his head, but he did not dare ask it out loud, for he knew that "you should not tempt the Lord."

"Anyway, He can read inside us," he thought immediately after, with resentment.

However, he refrained from speaking. He stared with greater determination at the wooden cross above the altar, and tears rose to his eyes. He felt prey to intense depression, yet a constant tingling ran through his limbs; he clasped his hands tightly together.