By Ben Antao  »  James Kennedy slid out from the pew and made the sign of the Cross, casting a glance towards the brocaded tabernacle where, after the distribution of Communion, the associate pastor had stored the gold-plated bowls of hosts. He paused in the centre aisle, waiting until Alice and Sean joined him. They stepped out leisurely, their eight-year-old son safely between them, as the echoing of the organ began to recede. At the entrance to a spacious foyer, they dipped their fingers in the holy water stoup and crossed themselves one final time.

“Would you like to stay for coffee, James?” asked Alice.

James was thinking of the choir and how exceptionally exuberant it was that Sunday in November, as if the feast of All Saints had inspired singers to hit a high note of transport that one could imagine flowing down from the proverbial throats of angels. The liturgy too, he felt, was inspiring, made even more edifying by the music coupled with expressions of animated joy on the faces of the choir members. And during the recessional hymn, the congregation had stood to attention in the pews and lent their voices with a rousing air of celebration, while priest and altar boy wended their way out from the centre aisle. After the choir had finished, the young male organist continued to play the melody as if unable to end his own joy, seemingly eager to make people feel good as they departed, slowly, with the peace of God in their hearts. His long, poised fingers pounced on the keys and glided, nimbly, across the black and whites, which had the power to enrich his soul with the sounds they produced. The jubilant expression on his face convinced James that he could play on forever if he so chose. Indeed, the organist was in fine form that eventful Sunday. James glanced around the busy foyer, trying to dismiss the restlessness that was cloaking his soul, wondering at the same time why he was feeling that way.  

“Would you like to stay?” He turned the decision over to his wife.

“Yes,” she nodded her approval. “I’d like that.”

Their pastor had made it a priority to encourage his parishioners to get acquainted with one another, his hope being that the leavening of community worship might spread into the hall where the Ladies Auxiliary served coffee after Mass. The priest knew that in matters of faith and its practice, the powers of friendly persuasion could never be underestimated. The net result of amiable sociability tended to run deep, often surprisingly changing one’s life. Some Sundays, of course, produced little evidence of anything that could be labelled as sensational, but other Sundays, as the spirit willed, generated the formation of new and lasting friendships. Who could tell how the Spirit would move among his people? A hundred or so people milled about in the round hall, on the same level as the church. After exchanging pleasantries with a few familiar faces, James stood in the middle of the room, while Alice moved to the back to fetch coffee that had been poured into cups and placed on a long table covered with a white linen cloth.

James and Alice Kennedy were madly, hopelessly, in love when they got married. They were convinced their love was, and would continue to be, rooted in and sustained by their faith. As practising Catholics—and there were as many interpretations of what being a practising Catholic meant as there were Catholics—they tried to adhere to the precepts that offered them the greatest comfort, a solid rock upon which winds of change or circumstance could not prevail. James truly believed his relationship with Alice would always be strong enough to withstand the adversities of life, and his belief system remained unaltered for an entire decade. They’d weathered the normal storms that blow across the plains of marital bliss—disagreements about finances, guidelines for raising children, pros and cons about pets—but James’ conviction about their marriage having the strength to cope with adversity had never really been put to the test. Their lives, unlike many of their friends, had been relatively calm and trauma free. He and Alice had been blessed with one child, Sean, whom they loved “more than life itself,” as James was often heard to declare whenever he spoke of his son.

There was another couple that came to their church regularly, a new church in Willowdale in the North York district of Toronto. Karen McNulty and Donna Thistle also believed they were a couple deeply in love, and would have welcomed being referred to as such. They considered themselves as married in every sense of the word, although the Church and society-at-large did not recognize a relationship between partners of the same sex.  Interestingly, while James and Alice attended church to participate in the prayer of the faithful, a ritual that nurtured their spirit and maintained their temporal life in good condition, Karen and Donna did so as believers who, despite their perceived faults, had found precious meaning in their faith, a meaning they wanted to hang onto for spiritual reasons. And until today both couples had remained strangers.

Karen McNulty and Donna Thistle stood a scant ten feet away from James Kennedy. Karen, a 25-year-old brunette with a charming, oval face, noticed James in his tailored brown woollen suit and silk tie. His suit looked custom-made, as if it had just been purchased. The jacket, its third button undone, hung smartly on his angled shoulders. His neatly trimmed beard, sloping trowel-like towards his chin, framed his face in a square. His medium brown hair matched the colour of his suit, with his dark beard playing up his appearance as if he’d just been made up for a TV show. Karen liked his appearance and continued to observe him in a way that transcended natural curiosity. She’d felt the pull of attraction, rather like from a horizontal gravity field. She saw a muscular body beneath his tailored suit. He appeared to be in excellent condition for his age which, she guessed, was about 40, give or take a few years. Karen watched him survey the scene before him, his piercing blue eyes panning the room like the lens of a video camera. During the second pan his eyes, as if drawn by an invisible magnet, locked on hers. She smiled and trembled inexplicably, sensing an unfamiliar desire sweep over her body. As he walked towards her, she tried to swallow the yearning that had already crept up her throat.    

“Good morning,” he spoke in a husky voice. “I am James Kennedy.”

She stood riveted to the spot, scarcely daring to breathe. His voice gave her goose pimples. She tried to control herself, refusing to give in to the irresistible attraction she felt, unwilling to act like a silly schoolgirl. In a twinkling—in the brief seconds between hesitation and acceptance—at a precipitous moment of unacknowledged desire, she managed to recover her poise.

“I’m—I’m Karen,” she blurted out stretching her hand. “And this is my friend…my very good friend…Donna.”

James acknowledged Donna briefly, choosing to ignore her outstretched hand. His eyes continued to dwell on Karen, noticing how her belted overcoat accentuated her tiny waist. He was captivated by her smile.

“Nice suit,” Karen groped for something to say, vaguely uncomfortable and yet strangely excited with the way his eyes were obviously exploring the curves of her body.

“Thank you.” He looked away from her, trying to hide the excitement he’d felt while clasping Karen’s soft warm hand, a sensation that made him nervous. He felt weak, irresistibly drawn to a woman he had never met before. He chose to attribute that to her youthful beauty. And suddenly, he felt vulnerable, far too vulnerable. How could that be? Wasn’t he a contented, married man who loved his wife and son, in equally good measure? He would never jeopardize his marriage. Would he?

“My wife’s getting some coffee. Would you care for a cup?” he asked dissembling politeness, suppressing the other impulse.

“No, thank you. We’re just fine.” Karen spoke for both of them. She wanted to keep the conversation going but found herself tongue-tied by his presence. She uttered the first thing that came to her mind. “So, Mr. Kennedy, what is it that you do?”

“Boring stuff like teaching.” James’ flippant answer surprised him. What was the matter with him anyway?

Karen seemed to like his sense of humour. “Really? Boring, is it? We find it quite fulfilling. We’re both teachers,” she said, radiating with the pride of one satisfied with her mission to mould and shape the youth of tomorrow. 

Donna pondered whether to query him about the subjects he taught or to whisk Karen out of the building. She suspected at once that this James Kennedy had been drawn to Karen, like a moth to a flame, and from the subtle change in Karen’s mannerisms, she feared his interest was about to be reciprocated. However, as Karen’s self-appointed kindred spirit, Donna decided it was her duty to allow Karen to be herself; she would find out later what Karen was trying to hide.  

Alice walked towards the trio, holding a white foam cup filled with creamed coffee for her husband.

“I’d like you to meet my wife, Alice, and my son, Sean,” James introduced his family.

“I’m Karen.”

“And I’m Donna.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Alice acknowledged both women and smiled with her lips compressed, the way she did whenever she felt uncomfortable. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other as a tiny seed of doubt embedded itself inside her subconscious, frowning slightly at the feeling, unable to recognize it for what it was. 

“They’re both teachers,” James shared his knowledge with Alice.

“How interesting! So is my husband. Did he tell you that?” Alice’s eyes brightened from behind her glasses.

“He claims to find it boring,” teased Karen.

“He teaches high school,” said Alice. “It’s anything but boring. And you?”

“Elementary,” Karen offered, waiting for James to make a smart remark about it. He didn’t.

Donna glared at him with the intensity of someone whose best friend was being stolen away right in front of her. And when he returned her look, Donna knew in an instant that he was disconcerted. She’d managed to unnerve him, not an unusual feat for her. She could hold her own with anyone, male or female.

“Awfully nice meeting you two,” said Alice seeming to sense her husband’s discomfort.

“Perhaps we’ll see you next Sunday?” Karen’s statement took the form of a question. She smiled as the family of three passed through the double doors on their way out.

“Interesting man, didn’t you think? And rather good looking too… if you like his type,” said Donna. But she hoped against hope that Karen would vigorously deny both claims. 

“Do you really think so?” Karen’s eyes betrayed her feelings.

“Have I ever been wrong before? You should know I’ve a sixth sense about these things. I could tell right away that he liked you. And what’s more, you liked him too. Don’t pretend otherwise.” Donna’s voice took on an accusatory whine.

Karen answered in a whisper, “Yes, you’re right.”

Donna’s heart sank. She stared at Karen, wanting her to confirm her suspicions but afraid to hear the words.

Karen’s eyes were misty. “Yes,” she whispered again. “Yes, I liked him.”

Donna chose to ignore Karen’s words. She glanced at her wristwatch. “It’s almost time for the next Mass. We’d better be on our way.”

She slipped her arm through Karen’s and they marched out of the hall like a couple accustomed to walking that way.

The sun had stolen the bite out of the morning air. Donna took deep breaths, fearing she would dissolve into tears if she didn’t concentrate on breathing. For the first time in five years, she felt a certain misgiving, a tug at her heart, a keen sense that she might lose Karen. And as they walked to the car, her body shivered with pangs of jealousy. Unbridled fear swept over her; a chill climbed its way up her back, hairs bristling on her neck. In her mind’s eye, she could see a ridge of darkness creeping over the horizon of what was until now a perfectly luminous life. In a few, brief moments, her relationship with Karen was threatened, and silently she named James Kennedy as the enemy. As for Karen, she seemed lost in the sea of her own feelings, glowing in the new unfamiliar feeling of being attracted to a member of the opposite sex. A strong wave of desire engulfed her even as she tried in vain to put up a wall between her feelings and her common sense.

• Published by the Goan Observer in 2006, Penance is available in major bookstores in Goa, and in North America ($25) from the author at ben.antao (AT) rogers.com. For reviews of this novel and Ben Antao's other books, click here.