dogmas, and was in truth far more of an ethical doctrine than a religion in the established sense of the
word.
One of the unsolved mysteries about Man is why, at a time when the comfort of religion should have been so avidly sought after, it should have flourished for so short a time and gained so few advocates.... —
Mihal scurried along, looking neither right nor left, trying not to think of all the filth he would later have to remove from his robes. He carried a number of books in his left hand; in his right hand was a finely embroidered white handkerchief with which he was constantly mopping the sweat off his face. He longed for a cigar or a pipe, anything to keep his mind off the oppressive heat, but tobacco had been increasingly hard to come by in recent years, and since its cost had risen correspondingly with its scarcity, he had broken himself of the habit, though not the desire for it. A little girl peeked at him from behind a decrepit building, and he smiled at her. “Can you tell me where I can find Rodat?” he asked. She wiped a runny nose with an unwashed forearm, then pointed to a nearby structure. Just before she ducked out of sight he thanked her and approached the building. He looked for a door on which to knock, but could find none and, with a shrug, he walked inside. “Hello?” he said. “Is anybody home?”
“In here,” came a hoarse voice. He followed it and soon found himself in a small room. A number of insects were flying in and out through the holes where windows had once existed, and the heat grew even more unbearable, if possible. Sprawled on the floor atop an exceptionally grimy blanket was an old, emaciated, bearded man, whose age Mihal estimated at eighty or thereabouts. “I am Per Mihal,” said Mihal, trying to avert his eyes from the man's naked body. “A new one, eh?” said the man. “What happened to Per Lomil?” “He was transferred to Spica II,” said Mihal, mentally adding: Lucky devil! “And Per Degos?”
“Dead,” said Mihal. “You are Rodat?”
The man nodded, and was suddenly wracked by a coughing seizure. “This is my first day on Raxar II,” said Mihal when the man sank weakly back on the blanket, “but I'll be here for quite some time. I was told that...” He paused, searching for a delicate way to phrase it. “That I was dying?” asked Rodat. “Well, they told you rightly, priest. What can I do for you?” “For
in your ... ah ... last hours.”
“I'm good for three or four more days yet, priest,” said Rodat. “Don't go rushing me off before I'm good and ready to go.”
“That's quite all right,” said Mihal, seating himself on the floor beside the old man. “I'll stay right here with you to the end.”
“Going to give me a real good send-off, eh?” “View it as helping you prepare to be taken to the bosom of your Maker,” said Mihal. “Let Him wait until I'm good and ready,” said Rodat. “I'm in no hurry.” “I don't mean to be presumptuous,” said Mihal, “but I can't help thinking your attitude is all wrong. This is God you're talking about, not some landlord to be put off with a sneer. This is the Creator of all things, who is preparing to take you into His kingdom.” The old man stared at him for moment, then turned and spat on the rotting floor. “Priest,” he said at last, “you've got a lot to learn. I believe in the same God you do, and I believe in Him more devoutly than you do.”
“Then ask his forgiveness, and surely it will be given,” said Mihal, wondering what kind of madman he was ministering to.
“Ask His forgiveness?” said Rodat. “For what?” “For Man's transgressions against God's law,” said Mihal. “Do you believe all that, or are you just spewing it out by rote?” asked the old man. “I beg your pardon!” said Mihal.
“Don't,” said Rodat. “If I can get along without begging God's pardon, you certainly don't have to apologize to me. Maybe you ought to just leave me and peddle your religion elsewhere.” “I'm not in the peddling business,” said Mihal hotly. “Whether or not you believe in the religion has absolutely no bearing on the truth of it. If all the Men who ever lived did not believe in God, would that make His existence any less real?”
“Don't confuse God with religion, priest,” said the old man. “God has always been around. It's religion that comes and goes with the seasons.”
Mihal leaned over and wiped some sweat from the old man's brow. “You're burning up with fever,” he said, “Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?” “Shutting your mouth would be a pretty good start,” said Rodat. “What have you got against me?” asked Mihal. “All I want to do is help you.” “You can help me by leaving me alone. I'll give you plenty of warning so you can be in for the kill.”
The old man closed his eyes and lay motionless for a number of minutes, and Mihal opened one of his
books and began reading aloud. It was a prayer of penitence. “I hope you're doing that for your own benefit,” said Rodat, reopening his eyes. “I don't mind being kept awake, but I'll be damned if I'll let you beg God to pardon me.” “You may be damned if I don't,” said Mihal. “Please allow me to aid you in the only way I know. Your soul may not matter to you, but it's vitally important to me.” “Why?” rasped the old man. “Yours couldn't matter less to me.” “Because I entered the priesthood to serve people,” said Mihal. “That is my only goal in life, and my greatest pleasure.” “Then I feel even sorrier for you than you do for me.” He closed his eyes again, and soon his breathing, although weak, became regular.
Per Mihal sighed. It seemed so futile, sitting here with a man who wanted nothing that he had to offer, and yet that made the offering no less important. He wondered, as he sat and stared at the dying man, why religion was having such difficulty in reestablishing itself after a six-millennium hiatus. Originally it had died off because it tended to pile dogma atop dogma, pyramiding them up to the sky. Then, as Man learned to live in the air and beneath the sea, as he controlled first his environment and then his destiny, more and more of the dogmas fell by the wayside. The basic laws of religion began eroding, and when Man finally reached the stars and performed acts that religion had reserved only for God, it spelled the temporary end of religion. But religion was more than just a series of dogmas and rituals; it was a means to comfort the oppressed with the promise of a day of judgment when all wrongs would be righted and all losers made over into winners. Man didn't need that comfort when he ruled the galaxy, but now he was a loser once again.
But this time, reflected Mihal, Man didn't grab for the bait as readily. He was willing to worship God, but on his own terms, not God's. Mihal had seen many things in his brief life: poverty, lust, greed, pride, fury, resignation, nobility. The one thing he hadn't seen, outside the cloistered walls where he took his training, was a single Man who felt any need or desire to ask God to forgive the race for what it had done. Love, devotion, and worship were all parts of Man's spiritual makeup; apology, it seemed, was not. And yet, did that make him any the less worthy of salvation? After all, Man was what he was, an animal that would always remain true to his nature. And since God had provided him with that nature, surely there must be a purpose to it. And what God created and gave purpose to, God must love. Mihal disdained ivory towers, but he was an idealist nonetheless, and his job was to bring comfort to God's downtrodden children. If they didn't particularly want that comfort, that just made his job all the more challenging.
He became aware of a sound behind him, and turned to see a girl of sixteen or seventeen standing in the doorway, a woven basket in her hands.
“Is he dead yet?” she asked.
“My God, what a callous question!” said Mihal.
“A practical one. I've brought food for him. There's no sense leaving it here if he's dead. There's barely
enough to go around as is.”
“I see,” said Mihal, wondering whether an apology was called for and deciding against it. “He's just sleeping.”
She placed the basket by the old man's side. “My name is Pilar,” she said. “He's my uncle.” “I'm Per Mihal,” said Mihal, extending his hand. “Oh. The new priest?”
He nodded.
“Have you been here long?”
“I arrived this morning,” he said. “I have spent most of the day wondering how you can put up with these living conditions.”
“Nobody told us we had a choice,” replied
