Портрет художника в юности

           Hebeathisbreastwithhisfisthumbly,secretlyundercoverofthewoodenarmrest.HewouldbeatonewithothersandwithGod.Hewouldlovehisneighbour.HewouldloveGodwhohadmadeandlovedhim.Hewouldkneelandpraywithothersandbehappy.Godwouldlookdownonhimandonthemandwouldlovethemall.

           Itwaseasytobegood.God’syokewassweetandlight.Itwasbetternevertohavesinned,tohaveremainedalwaysachild,forGodlovedlittlechildrenandsufferedthemtocometoHim.Itwasaterribleandasadthingtosin.ButGodwasmercifultopoorsinnerswhoweretrulysorry.Howtruethatwas!Thatwasindeedgoodness.

           Theslidewasshottosuddenly.Thepenitentcameout.Hewasnext.Hestoodupinterrorandwalkedblindlyintothebox.

           Atlastithadcome.Hekneltinthesilentgloomandraisedhiseyestothewhitecrucifixsuspendedabovehim.Godcouldseethathewassorry.Hewouldtellallhissins.Hisconfessionwouldbelong,long.Everybodyinthechapelwouldknowthenwhatasinnerhehadbeen.Letthemknow.Itwastrue.ButGodhadpromisedtoforgivehimifhewassorry.Hewassorry.Heclaspedhishandsandraisedthemtowardsthewhiteform,prayingwithhisdarkenedeyes,prayingwithallhistremblingbody,swayinghisheadtoandfrolikealostcreature,prayingwithwhimperinglips.

           —Sorry!Sorry!Osorry!

           Theslideclickedbackandhisheartboundedinhisbreast.