I

  “Could you explain to me, Mr. Congressman, why you are so determined to see the entire building?” the priest asked. There was clear impatience in his voice, along with a slight shortness of breath.

  “Isn’t that natural, Father?” Davies replied calmly. “It’s one of the oldest buildings in the city. It was built in completely different times. Isn’t that fascinating?”

  “Not particularly,” the clergyman cut in. “History may be impressive, but my role here is more important. Don’t you think? The past is irrelevant. What matters is enforcing the rules that have been established.”

  I kept slightly to the side the entire time, though closer to Davies. The priest clearly looked down on me, even if he never said it outright. We wandered through the cathedral corridors for quite a while before finally stopping in one of the more ornate chambers. The conversation was stiff, purely political—until Davies suddenly changed the subject.

  “Have you heard what happened downtown recently?”

  I flinched involuntarily at those words. The priest, however, looked as if he barely remembered the details.

  “Not particularly. What matters is that the corporation dealt with those rats and restored order.”

  “Word of mouth says otherwise,” Davies replied. “Apparently it wasn’t the corporation or the police. And it’s not just rumors. The newspapers seem to agree on that.”

  He pulled a folded newspaper page from his pocket. The headline screamed: ‘Shooting in the City Center.’

  “And as for that ‘order’… I believe you may have exaggerated slightly,” he added coldly.

  After a moment of silence, the bishop sighed.

  “You’re right. I did exaggerate. Those ungrateful vermin are still lurking around.”

  “I wonder why,” I muttered, tired of the empty talk.

  “Don’t tell me you’re one of them too!” the clergyman snapped. “Always dissatisfied. You should live your lives and stop meddling in matters beyond your understanding.”

  I had no intention of continuing the discussion. Davies, sitting beside me, sighed as well—clearly just as weary.

  “Would the bishop be so kind as to escort us to the exit? I have other matters to attend to.”

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  And that was how our meeting ended.

  II

  On our way out, we found ourselves once again in the main part of the cathedral. Davies suddenly stopped and stared up at the ceiling for a long moment in silence.

  “Do you know the function of those stained-glass windows?”

  The priest, noticing the shift away from politics, continued walking without a word. I, however, asked:

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you see the rose window above the altar?” he said, pointing to a pale blue pane. “It was placed there to let in the light of the rising moon. And above the entrance, there’s its orange counterpart, designed to catch the rays of the setting sun.”

  “And what was that for?”

  “Perhaps transience. Perhaps the passage of time. Or maybe someone simply thought it looked beautiful. Tell me—do such riddles interest you?”

  “I don’t really have time for that.”

  “I used to say the same thing,” he smiled faintly. “But sometimes I wonder whether things truly have meaning… or whether they simply exist.”

  “I don’t mean to interrupt,” the priest interjected, “but if I recall correctly, the congressman is in a hurry.”

  Anthony only smiled.

  “Yes. We’re leaving.”

  III

  A completely different reality awaited us outside.

  The cathedral was surrounded by armed corporate gendarmes. Beyond the cordon stood an enraged crowd. Amid the smoke of flares and the roar of shouting voices, insults were hurled at the government, the clergy, and the military.

  When the protesters spotted Davies, silence fell for a brief moment. Then the chanting began:

  “Davies, end this bitch!”

  Davies himself looked shaken. He rushed toward one of the gendarmes.

  “What are you doing here? I didn’t call you! What happened?!”

  “I did,” the priest replied coldly. “Those dogs keep barking. One of them nearly tore my cassock off.”

  Davies grabbed him by the shoulders.

  “That’s not how you treat people!”

  He turned and began walking toward the crowd.

  “Charlie. We’re going.”

  People parted before him like water before the bow of a ship, still chanting his name. He remained composed.

  Only several streets away did he call Peter.

  A long silence followed.

  “Do you remember when you said you don’t like killing?” he asked suddenly.

  “I remember.”

  “There’s something I don’t like either. I don’t like people who believe they’re better than everyone else.”

  At that moment, a car pulled up.

  “Shall we?” he added, his tone completely different now.

  IV

  Inside the car, the atmosphere loosened, though Peter seemed far more disturbed than Davies.

  When he dropped me off at my apartment, the congressman asked:

  “Charlie… could I pay you in a few days? I have urgent matters to handle.”

  “Sure.”

  I stepped inside, exhausted.

  “I’m guessing it didn’t go well,” Susan greeted me without taking her eyes off the television.

  “Since when do we have a TV?”

  “Since today. Morgan sent it. The futon too.”

  “I don’t want his charity.”

  “It’s not charity. He simply doesn’t have a choice. And you know that.”

  I sat down beside her. The news was showing today’s protest.

  “He’s got quite the support, doesn’t he?” she asked.

  “Yes. Though today he looked like he was about to lose control.”

  “They reinstated my pension. We’ll manage,” she added quietly. “Now… the bathroom.”

  I carried her there and waited outside the door, giving her what little privacy I could.

  “You should go see Morgan tomorrow,” she called from the shower.

  “Why?”

  “He wants to see you.”

  “Did he say that?”

  “Not everything is said out loud, Charlie. An

  d stop pretending you don’t see it.”

  I was left alone with my thoughts.