all eternity by his own imprudence, by my blunder and, finally, by his immeasurable generosity. That is the only true thing.”
“If, in the end, you decide to change your mind, we’ll be waiting.”
“I doubt I will change my mind.”
The right hand of the Prime Archbishop of Mexico embraced Padre Salas, for a few seconds, as if through such an unusual and close gesture, he would be able to achieve what he had not been able to through words.
“We’re going to miss you. Myself, and many other people in need.”
“I’m in no condition to help anybody. I’ve made myself a danger, and I hope to liberate myself from the evil that stalks me. Only God and prayer can save my soul now.”
Padre Salas did not say any more. He left the cathedral, and the Plaza de la Constitución, reflecting on where his next destination would be. No sooner had he stepped onto the street, he came across a swarm of black flies, thronged around some object on the ground. The priest knew that this was no coincidence, and that these insects were a message sent directly to him from Hell. Fortunately, Zócalo was a bustling hive of vehicles and people at this time, and that calmed him. He had not been transparent with the Archbishop’s right hand man, and had not told him that he was fleeing Mexico for one sound reason: Beelzebub was coming back, lying in wait for him, and Baal was circling in some strange way throughout his insides. Now, whenever he looked at himself in the mirror, he no longer saw his own face: he saw the deformed head of a large insect, with white-hot pupils. It was such a horrifying scene, that he was rendered both paralysed and subjugated at the same time. He gripped tightly onto the Saint Benedict medal, which he had in his pocket, and picked up his pace. He had already decided on the destination for his retreat to prayer and devotion to God: he would escape to Spain, to Madrid. Perhaps there, the Lord of the Flies would forget about an insignificant priest who had dared to challenge him, and who had also triumphed on several occasions. Perhaps in the capital of the motherland he would find the ideal pardon, even from the demon itself, for his repeated acts of defiance.
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“If, in the end, you decide to change your mind, we’ll be waiting.”
“I doubt I will change my mind.”
The right hand of the Prime Archbishop of Mexico embraced Padre Salas, for a few seconds, as if through such an unusual and close gesture, he would be able to achieve what he had not been able to through words.
“We’re going to miss you. Myself, and many other people in need.”
“I’m in no condition to help anybody. I’ve made myself a danger, and I hope to liberate myself from the evil that stalks me. Only God and prayer can save my soul now.”
Padre Salas did not say any more. He left the cathedral, and the Plaza de la Constitución, reflecting on where his next destination would be. No sooner had he stepped onto the street, he came across a swarm of black flies, thronged around some object on the ground. The priest knew that this was no coincidence, and that these insects were a message sent directly to him from Hell. Fortunately, Zócalo was a bustling hive of vehicles and people at this time, and that calmed him. He had not been transparent with the Archbishop’s right hand man, and had not told him that he was fleeing Mexico for one sound reason: Beelzebub was coming back, lying in wait for him, and Baal was circling in some strange way throughout his insides. Now, whenever he looked at himself in the mirror, he no longer saw his own face: he saw the deformed head of a large insect, with white-hot pupils. It was such a horrifying scene, that he was rendered both paralysed and subjugated at the same time. He gripped tightly onto the Saint Benedict medal, which he had in his pocket, and picked up his pace. He had already decided on the destination for his retreat to prayer and devotion to God: he would escape to Spain, to Madrid. Perhaps there, the Lord of the Flies would forget about an insignificant priest who had dared to challenge him, and who had also triumphed on several occasions. Perhaps in the capital of the motherland he would find the ideal pardon, even from the demon itself, for his repeated acts of defiance.
––––––––
Your Review and Word-of-Mouth Recommendations Will Make a Difference
––––––––
R eviews and word-of-mouth recommendations are crucial for any author to succeed. If you enjoyed this book, please leave a review , even if it is only a line or two, and tell your friends about it. It will help the author bring you new books and allow others to also enjoy the book.
––––––––
Y our support is greatly appreciated!
Are You Looking For Other Great Reads?
––––––––
––––––––
Y our Books, Your Language
––––––––
B abelcube Books helps readers find great reads. It plays matchmaker, bringing you and your next book together.
Our collection is powered by books produced at Babelcube, a marketplace that brings independent book authors and translators together and distributes their books in multiple languages globally. The books you will find have been translated so that you can discover terrific reads in your language.
We are proud to bring you the world’s books.
If you want to learn more about our books, browse our catalog and join our newsletter to learn about our latest releases, visit us at our website:
––––––––
w ww.babelcubebooks.com
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