‘I was a man then, Joseph. With all a man’s weaknesses and flaws. That was the whole point. And a man can feel great fear. So when they showed me the scourge, with its knotted thongs set with fragments of iron and lead, and told me what it would do, I cried from fear.’
‘I never thought of it that way, Lord. It was never reported.’
‘A small mercy. Why are you afraid?’
‘I feel there is something going on around me in this fearsome city that I cannot understand.’
‘Then I sympathize. The fear of what you can understand is bad enough, but it has its limits. The other fear is worse. What do you want of me?’
‘I need your fortitude, your strength.’
‘You already have them, Joseph. You inherited them when you took my vows and wore my cloth.’
‘Then surely I cannot be worthy of them, Lord, for they escape me now. I fear you chose a poor vessel when you picked the farm-boy from Mullingar.’
‘In fact, you chose me. But no matter. Has my vessel cracked and let me down so far?’
‘I have sinned, of course.’
‘Of course. Who does not? You have lusted after Christine de Chagny.’
‘She is a beautiful woman, Lord, and I am also a man.’
‘I know. I was, once. It can be very hard. You confessed and were forgiven?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, thoughts are thoughts. You did nothing more?’
‘No, Lord. Just thoughts.’
‘Well then, perhaps I may retain confidence in my farm-boy a mite longer. What of your unexplained fears?’
‘There is a man in this city, a strange man. The day we arrived I looked up from the quayside and saw a figure on the roof of a warehouse, staring down. He wore a mask. Yesterday we went to Coney Island; Christine, young Pierre, a local reporter and myself. Christine went into a part of the funfair known as the Hall of Mirrors. Last night she asked for confession and told me …’
‘I think you are allowed to tell me, as I am inside your own head. Go on.’
‘That she had met him inside. She described him. He must have been the same man, the one she knew years ago in Paris, a badly disfigured man, now become rich and powerful here in New York.’
‘I know him. His name is Erik. He has not had an easy life. Now he worships another god.’
‘There are no other gods, Lord.’
‘Nice idea, but there are many. Man-made gods.’
‘Ah. And his?’
‘He is the servant of Mammon, the god of greed and gold.’
‘I would dearly love to bring him back. To you.’
‘Most commendable. And why?’
‘It seems he has enormous wealth, riches beyond normal dreams.’
‘Joseph, you are supposed to be in the business of souls, not gold. Do you lust after his fortune?’
‘