Chapter 108: Unable to Prove Himself
But Jared didn’t know English. He could only read the Bible with my guidance. I had spent the previous night teaching him the pronunciation, just enough so he could sound out the words. But now, gripped by a paralyzing nervousness, he stumbled. The sacred words became a jumbled, stammering mess, his thick slum accent twisting each syllable into a barely recognizable shape.
“Hahahaha!” A wave of derisive laughter rolled through the onlookers. The priests laughed loudest of all, their voices sharp with contempt. “Is that the miracle you spoke of?” one of them sneered. “Is this it?”
Seeing the sheer desperation on Jared’s face, I wanted to scream a reminder at him, Look at the pictures! The illustrations were the key, the true trigger for his power. If he just looked at them, the holy light would come. But I didn’t dare shout, and in his panic, the simple thought had vanished from his mind.
“I don’t know where you scavenged an English version of the Bible—not even a Latin one, and you can’t even read it,” the priest said impatiently. “But let me tell you, boy, the Church is no place for a child like you to scrounge for a meal. If you truly wish to join the faith, go and study with a preacher for a few years first.”
“No, please believe me! Just give me a little more time, I can really summon the holy light!” Jared’s plea was raw and anxious, but the more he panicked, the further the power seemed to slip from his grasp.
Just then, a priest with an even fouler temper shoved through the crowd. “Enough!” he bellowed. “A beggar’s child like you, who can’t even read the scripture correctly, wants to share in God’s glory? If you could do it, what would that make us—the devout believers who have studied for over a decade?”
“But, I really…” Jared was at a loss for words, yet he refused to give up. He hadn’t cared about such things before, hadn’t even wanted to join the Church. But he was doing this for me, for the future I had painted for him. He could not bear the thought of my disappointment.
Just then, a man in fine, wealthy clothes approached the priests. “I wish to buy ten indulgences,” he announced, “and three bottles of holy water.”
“Yes, sir, please follow me.” Instantly, the priests’ cold masks of scorn melted into wide, fawning smiles. They crowded around the rich man, all vying for his business. No one paid Jared any more attention; to them, he was already a forgotten joke.
Jared stood quietly to the side, hoping to wait until the transaction was finished. He just needed a moment of calm to summon the light. But the rude priest, seeing him lingering, grew even more annoyed and gave him a hard shove.
“You little brat! Get the hell out of here! You still want to perform a miracle? I’m telling you, you’re not worthy! If I see you again, I’ll beat you to death!”
A silent fury ignited in Jared’s eyes. Before coming to the church, I had taken my hand ornament and Jared’s dagger and hidden them in the hole in our alcove—the one the witch had dug out. But he didn't need weapons. He wanted to use his fists. To put it simply, he wanted to beat the man senseless. Jared possessed a certain ruthlessness born from the gutter; he would fight to the death at the slightest provocation. As their eyes met, the priest felt as if he were being stared down by a wild wolf, one ready to leap and tear his throat out.
“What do you want?!” the priest demanded, taking a half-step back. But just as Jared lunged, a large hand clamped down on his shoulder, stopping him. Jared’s strength had grown, but this person held him fast with a single hand, effortlessly.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you think you’re doing?!”
The two shouted at the same time. Jared’s question was for the stranger who had inexplicably blocked his path, while the priest, still shaken, yelled at Jared.
The one who had stopped him was an old man in a pure white cloak. His face was lost in the shadow of his hood, revealing only a flowing white beard. The cloak was tattered, its edges frayed, but it was startlingly clean, neither old nor dirty. His shoes were tied tightly with rope, and his hands were wrapped in white linen bandages. He looked like a traveler of some sort. I had no idea why he had intervened. But seeing him stop Jared, I let out a long sigh of relief. I had been scared to death. This was a church; they had the numbers. Even if Jared had gotten the satisfaction of a single punch, he would have been swarmed and beaten by the other priests. And after striking a religious figure, the trouble would be endless.
“You little brat! Looking for a beating, are you? Watch me beat you to death!” The priest, perhaps shamed by his earlier fear, now puffed out his chest and rolled up his sleeves, ready to teach Jared a lesson.
“Wait, wait, brother, he’s just a child. Why bother with him?” the old man in the white robe said, blocking the priest again.
“And who are you to meddle in other people’s business?” the priest asked, scowling at the old man.
“I’m just a passerby. I couldn’t stand to see you bullying a child, so I presumptuously stepped in to mediate,” the old man said.
“Heh, bullying a child? He’s just a swindler, here to cheat for food and drink!” the priest sneered.
“I’m not a swindler!” Jared shouted, but he was held fast by the old man’s single hand. No matter how he struggled, he couldn’t move. Most importantly, the old man just seemed to be resting his hand lightly on Jared’s shoulder, not using any force at all.
“Alright, the Lord is all-knowing and all-good. Why can you not tolerate just one poor child?” the old man persuaded. Strangely, upon hearing his light, airy words, the onlookers all felt he made a great deal of sense. Even the irascible priest suddenly felt that bickering with a child from the slums was beneath him. He was a clergyman of status; how could he fight with a little beggar? It was truly undignified.
“You too, don’t be so impulsive. Do not be disrespectful before God,” the old man said, turning to Jared. In an instant, Jared felt a pang of shame, a sense that he had indeed been wrong. He lowered his head, but he didn't apologize. He still hated that priest with a passion; he just felt that he shouldn’t have been so reckless.
“Then I’ll take him and go. I won’t disturb you any longer.” The old man said his farewells and left with Jared. The priests even watched him leave with a measure of respect.
I, however, noticed the gesture he made upon leaving. He drew his right hand across his chest, then down from his forehead—the sign of the cross.
Back by my side, Jared said dejectedly, “I’m sorry, Parula, I messed up. They don’t believe me at all.”
“It’s alright.” Looking at the crestfallen Jared, I couldn’t help but want to comfort him. “It doesn’t matter if they believe you or not. As long as I believe you, that’s all that matters.”
I threw my arms around him. It seemed Parula’s instincts still remained in this body, and I didn’t resist. I just followed my heart and said, “Brother Jared, don’t worry about that bunch of blind fools. We only need each other’s trust, don’t we? We’ve always been like this. As long as I know you can perform miracles, it doesn’t matter if they believe it or not.”
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