"He told me so," I said, an answer that landed on the front page of newspapers across the state the next morning.
"Would you explain that to us?" the A.D.A. persisted.
"He would not come with me. He wanted me to leave him to die," I said.
"Did you tell Fireman Kumminski that Brother Agnes was dead?" the man asked.
"Yes, I thought by then he was," I answered. This might have been somewhat disingenuous.
"Yet you did not know for sure," he said. "Brother Agnes might be here with us today had you said there was a man alive in the fire. Or even that you couldn't be sure."
"I suppose you're right," I said. "He'd be here dying of cancer and liver failure. And he'd be very angry."
I was not charged with any crime, but the judge attempted to lecture me on the value of human life. I interrupted him to say I was fully aware of it, but as an Abbot I was simply doing my best to take care of a brother. He told me to be quiet. The phrase, "my kingdom is not of this world" came to mind, but I stifled my urge to utter it while privately considering that I might never see the kingdom. Instead I asked if the judge ever had to make a combat decision. After telling me to be quiet a second time and threatening contempt of court, he continued his lecture while I remained mum. The silence was good practice for a future day when I will stand before my real judge.
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