Fiends of the Rising Sun Read Online Free PDF Page B

downtown Honolulu for the longest time, summoning the courage to go inside. People bustled by on foot, or drove past in their cars. A few tipped their hats or beeped their horns to acknowledge the priest's presence, but most were too busy going about their lives to pay him much heed. Besides, what was more natural than a man of god standing outside the Cathedral of Our Lady of Peace? The coral stone church was one of the city's oldest buildings and a local landmark.
    The priest took off his straw hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He hadn't expected Hawaii to be so humid, the air so close. It felt like a sauna. Father Kelly replaced his hat and took a deep breath. Enough was enough, he decided. I came here for a reason. The priest crossed the boulevard and strode into the cathedral. As soon as he stepped inside the air was cooler, the atmosphere calmer. The hubbub of the street outside was replaced by the gentle murmur of prayers from the faithful, sitting in pews or kneeling before burning candles. Father Kelly gave his eyes a moment to adjust, letting them get used to the gently lit interior.
    By comparison to most cathedrals he'd been in, this was simple, almost stark. There was no gaudy gold leaf or elaborate trappings here. The walls were white, while a stark wooden altar stood at the far end of the church. Woven matting lined the aisle, soft underfoot. Even the pews were plain wood, roughly hewn, with no sign of the ornate carvings and curlicues commonly found in cathedrals stateside. The simplicity of the place pleased the priest. He had long felt uncomfortable preaching how difficult it was for a rich man to enter the kingdom of Heaven, while serving communion wine from a solid gold chalice; and asking poor parishioners to give generously while living rent free in a rich house seemed hypocritical, at best.
    "Hello? Can I help you?" a young voice asked. The priest turned to find a Hawaiian child in the garb of an altar boy looking up at him. "Sorry, father, I didn't realise... I couldn't see your collar before."
    Father Kelly smiled. "That's all right, my son, you weren't to know. I was looking for the confessional, actually."
    The altar boy pointed to a corner of the cathedral, where three tall wooden cubicles stood side by side, red velvet curtains drawn across each entrance to shield the occupants from view.
    "I was hoping there'd be someone to hear mine."
    "Priests have to go to confession too?"
    "None of us are perfect, my son, except the Holy Father in Rome."
    The boy nodded. "You can wait in one of the pews. When a curtain is open, it means that confessional is available." He laughed and clapped a hand over his blushing face. "Sorry, father, you probably already knew that."
    The priest shrugged. "Each place of worship has its own ways. Thank you for explaining to me what happens here." Father Kelly walked over to the pew nearest the cubicles, but didn't sit down. He waited for a few moments, biting his bottom lip. The priest was about to leave when one of the curtains was pulled aside and an old woman emerged, her head bowed. Once she had moved away, Father Kelly took her place inside the booth and pulled the curtain closed. He knelt down in front of a small wooden grill that masked a window between his booth and the centre cubicle. After a few moments, a ruddy face peered at him through the grill, while whisky soaked lips whispered the ritual greeting.
    "Forgive me, father, for I have sinned," Father Kelly replied, making the sign of the cross before clasping his hands back together in prayer. "It has been three months since my last confession."
    "Why so long, my son?"
    "I was on board a troop ship that came here from San Francisco."
    "Could you not have taken confession with your unit's chaplain?"
    "I am the unit's chaplain."
    "Ah, I see, difficult." The other priest considered these facts. "But the voyage from San Francisco doesn't take three months, does it?"
    "No, father, it's..." Father Kelly didn't