When the three of us entered the Night Chapel, Julio walked to the altar and seated himself on the platform that raises the small altar a foot off the floor. Izzy and I took the only seats left, the pew. Sitting there hunched before us, Julio brought to mind a poor field worker seeking sanctuary at the altar, his betters raised above him on the high pew. But the pew wasn’t any higher than a dining room chair and we weren’t Julio’s betters. We were his hosts. To him, however, we had become his brothers.
“I feel like I’m a part of you guys now,” he said, after we told him of our call to Alfred. “I don’t wanna go back to that life.”
“Yes, but…” I began
“I can’t pay you the kind of dough Alfred was probably giving you, but I can certainly pay for my own rice and beans,” he contined.
“Well, but …” I started again.
“Bouncer told me it isn’t unusual for you to take in a regular citizen from time to time to get him back on his feet,” said Julio. “So why ain’t I that kind of person? I wanna start a new life, too.”
“Julio, I said, “you’re a member of a criminal organization and …”
“Not no more,” he interjected. “And what did you know about other guys you took in?”
Nothing was the correct answer, but I didn’t offer it.
“Julio,” said Izzy, “we’re an order of monks. With your background and past sins, can you swear to really believing everything our church teaches?”
“Can you?” asked Julio.
Julio is no longer a Visiting Scholar. He is now a Guest Postulant, whatever that is.
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