Портрет художника в юності
Chapter 3
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.
