Lucy turned toward the voice. When she saw the dignified, though serious-looking man before her, she immediately stood up.
—"Yes? How can I help you?" she straightened her speech, still wiping away tears.
He looked her over from head to toe and stopped at her face, where the tears had dried.
—"I apologize for my inappropriate curiosity, but I happened to hear your grieving," he said, stepping closer and sitting down on the grass.
Lucy, surprised and confused, lost her voice for a moment but soon recovered and sat down beside him. The man looked at her, waiting for an answer:
—"What happened to you, if I may ask?"
She began speaking while plucking bits of grass:
—"Um… do you know the church?" she glanced at him hesitantly. He nodded.
—"They say that when something bad happens to a person…" she faltered, "…like a terrible illness, poverty, or death… then the person should go to the church and confess." She looked into the distance, toward the path she often walked. The man listened carefully, watching as her hand nervously scratched the earth.
—"And do you know why?" She stopped moving her hand and looked at him questioningly. He shrugged with interest. "So they can talk with some saint about their problems!" she suddenly burst out, her voice rising. "They say he takes the person's burden and makes life easier!"
The man hadn't expected such an answer and didn't quite understand the girl.
—"But let me tell you!" she looked at him miserably, as if accusing him of something. "It doesn't help!" she screamed with all her strength, scaring the ducks on the lake into flight. "No church can heal my wound or bring back my father!" her cry echoed through the countryside. Then she fell silent, as if she had come to her senses.
Silence followed, broken only by distant quacking and her heavy breathing. For a moment, she remembered the man beside her. He was still watching her—slightly alarmed, yet strangely indifferent. She sat back down beside him, her eyes shy. Waiting for her to calm down, he finally spoke:
—"It really won't bring your father back," Lucy looked at him sadly. "But it can help you justify him… and let go of his death," he continued, gazing into her shining eyes that had just reflected unbearable hatred—now turned into inevitable pain.
—"It's up to you… which path you choose," he said, trying to sound dignified and as sincere as possible. His words struck her straight in the mind, leaving her speechless. He cleared his throat, trying to shake off the roughness in his voice that fear had left behind. When he realized she was lost in thought, he got up uncertainly. He cast one last look at the curled-up Lucy by the shore—and quietly left.
That night a strange dream appeared to Lyle, in which she stood in the middle of a vast emptiness. Through the white light came a familiar voice: her father's, calling her into the water. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't move. She stood frozen, seized by fear. In the end, she could only watch as he painfully drowned.
The dream had exhausted her, so she woke up early.
The sun hadn't yet risen when she left her house.
She sat on the shore and watched the quiet movements of the water. She tried to forget the dream, but the calm waves reminded her of everything she wanted to bury.
A boy appeared, a teenager. Lucy often saw him playing with other boys, but she never paid them attention.
He walked by, then spoke:
—"Hey, Lucy," he turned to her, "do you know why your father died?"
Lucy turned looking at him with perplexing at her face.
She waited for the continuing as if guessing his next move.
—"He was an alcoholic, everyone knows that."
Lucy frowned. Even though it was not the truth she expected, he was right.
—"What's it to you? Go where you were going."
—"I just wonder if you really understand that he killed himself not so you could grow up happy without such trouble, not so people would stop judging and mocking you, not so your mom could finally find a decent husband—but because he was an alcoholic and didn't like his life. If he had, he'd still be alive."
Lucy listened. His words cut into her head; something squeezed her heart. Tears filled her eyes. She couldn't do anything, couldn't take his words back.
She grabbed a stone and threw it at the boy. It hit his knee, and he groaned.
—"Get as far away as possible before I smash your skull!" she screamed helplessly through her tears.
—"Stupid cow!" the boy shouted and limped away.
Her mood got much worse. Mixed emotions overwhelmed her—grief, sadness, sorrow, anger, and hatred burned through her skin.
Now a desire to visit the church disappeared, but she longed for something she thought she could find only there.
She was experienced enough now, so she didn't hesitate and went. Men in long black cassocks moved slowly around the room.
I hadn't noticed that before, she thought. They looked solemn and respected. She took a candle, lit it, and placed it among the others.
—"Ahem…" someone cleared his throat.
Lucy turned and saw before her a tall, rather powerful man. He was dressed like all the priests here, in a long black cassock. Not only did his dark robe highlight his presence, but also the massive cross hanging over his chest gave him a commanding air.
But her eyes were drawn to his own. Frozen, she stared at him, not understanding anything. Time stopped, a fog swallowed all the other people around. She had no idea who was in front of her, but she felt she knew him.
Words tried to reach her mind, buzzing like static.
—"Lucy," he said once.
—"Lucy," again.
—"Lucy!" he shouted impatiently.
The words struck her head and woke her up.
—"I'm here… I'm here," she focused on reality. She looked around to make sure she wasn't asleep.
—"I saw you standing, Lucy..." he quickly corrected himself, "miss...next to the candles."
—"I think I know you...it is fine…" she smiled awkwardly and blushed.
—"Do you know why candles are lit?" he ignored her.
—"Well… no. I don't know. I thought it was good. I saw others do it…"
—"Mhm," he replied indifferently. "Are you ok, miss?" he noted. Even though she tried to hide her sadness behind a smile, he saw her wet eyes.
Lucy was silent for a while, hesitating.
—"Do you want to talk here?…"
—"We can't," he refused.
She waited for an explanation. She didn't understand why they still had to use the confessional when they'd already met face to face, but for some reason, she couldn't oppose him. In the end, they went together to the booth, where she told him about what had happened that day.
He wasn't somehow moved by it, but he wasn't shocked either. Perhaps he simply didn't show emotions, so she couldn't tell.
—"Tomorrow we have the holiday chants, which happen every two weeks. I recommend you to come."
Luct hadn't even known such chants existed in churches.
—"Will it be fun?" she smiled.
—"You should dress formally," he said, ignoring her cheerfulness.
He didn't react to her antics. Though no one had ever shown interest in her, right then, for the first time, she felt unnoticed.
Even though she had never been to such events, she chose her best dress.
Out of all the others, it was special. Her mother had worn it the first time she renewed her wedding vows. Despite it was not quite bridal, it was the best she had.
It fit delicately and emphasized her slim figure, while the ruffles on the shoulders added lightness and grace. To complete the look, she wore white lace gloves, through which parts of her skin peeked. A white, translucent veil covered her face.
Did she not want him to recognize her? Or did she not want him to see her strong, real emotions?
The grand hall, bright with light, was unusually full of people. Everywhere moved figures in black robes — priests. Someone was picking up lost papers, another was lighting an almost burnt-out candle, others were practicing songs. Most were praying, some were resting on benches. The songs were mixed with holy prayers.
The young lady's eyes fell on a tall man, singing with the choir, holding the text in his hands. The only thing she heard was his cold and distant voice reaching her. She stood among the crowd, listening.
For a moment, their eyes met. There was a quick flash of surprise and unease.
She waved at him shyly, smiling. From that moment, the tension in the room grew, and she could no longer stay in the same place with him. She left outside the church .
After a few minutes, a familiar figure came closer.
—"Hello, Nicholas…," she smiled timidly. She teased him.
—"How do you know.."
—"I heard someone call your name. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," she joked.
He felt ashamed but kept his seriousness.
—"By the way, you look nice today," he paused, "the dress suits you."
Lucy blushed. "Only today?" She broke the awkward silence.
—"Do you want to visit the church this evening?" Nicholas asked.
—"Hm… are you asking me on a date?" She smiled again.
—"No. I need to tell you something," he gave her a quick look and walked away.
After he left, she was surrounded by the strong smell of incense.
When she came home, she met no living soul. She didn't know if it was better to stay alone with her thoughts or talk to someone for a moment.
She kept thinking what Nicholas wanted to tell her. In fact, she often thought about him. Maybe she had no one else to think about.