forgiveness (book one)

sixth commandment

viii.

the sixth commandment

I sat beside the old man on a wooden bench, leant up against the white panel siding of the church and facing the street. Cars bustled past under the milky daylight, their drivers not bothering to glance out the window and take in the sight of the tiny church as they sped by. The cool afternoon air was calming, and my throbbing headache lessened just by a fraction.

The old man was fiddling with the handle of his cane. The object was made out of a glossy cherry-red oak, although the lower half had clearly been scuffed by years of use. He tapped the end against his right loafer, and I watched without a word. I waited for him to say something, since he'd been the one who was so eager to talk with me.

Except, the old man didn't say anything for a long minute. He took out a silver, rectangular box after a moment and popped open the lid with a stubby thumb. He withdrew a cigar and matchstick, proceeding to hold the cigar's end between his teeth and drag the match quickly across the striker. Bringing the flaming end of the match to the cigar, the man mumbled around the cylinder between his lips. "You smoke?"

"No," I told him. I watched as he huffed out a cloud of grey into the air, rapidly waving the matchstick beside him until the flame was extinguished by the motion. I saw him take another drag and remove the cigar from his lips, balancing the hand that held it against one of his knobby knees. I thought about how often I drank and how I no longer cared about anything or anyone, especially myself. What did it matter, anyway? "I'll take one, though."

"Wasn't offering," the old man retorted with a grin, making me roll my eyes and slouch further against the bench. I crossed my arms tightly and glared at the cracked pavement beneath my sneakers. "Besides," he continued, expelling another puff with flourish, "smoking's bad for you. Kills your lungs, they say. I reckon yours are clean now, so don't go dirtying them up like me."

My stomach lurked from the acrid smell of the cigar, and my head continued to pound. Bitterly, I snapped, "Whatever. I didn't want one anyway."

"Are you always this cheeky, or is it only because you're hungover?"

"I'm not hungover," I bit back. "It's just a headache."

He flicked the butt of the cigar with the pad of his thumb, ashes spinning through the air towards the pavement below in an array of glowing embers. I reluctantly glanced in his direction to see that the old man was grinning again, with an expression that seemed to say he'd already seen straight through the lie. He didn't say anything in return, so I only let out an annoyed sigh and sunk further against the bench.

"Mate," the old man stated after a minute, "you ever heard of the Ten Commandments?"

He hadn't looked at me when he'd said it, instead staring out at the steady stream of traffic through squinted eyes. I frowned and turned my gaze towards the street as well, replying blankly, "I've heard of them, yeah. I don't know them all, if that's what you're asking."

The man laughed, a gruff but hearty chuckle that seemed to shake the air around them. He stamped the cane into the dirt, grinning down at it. "No offense, lad, but I didn't think you would."

I scoffed under my breath in annoyance, already starting to wonder why I'd chosen to follow this man outside. "If all you plan on doing is insulting me, I'll just go."

"Don't get your knickers in a twist."

I wanted to laugh. Every word he said to me seemed to be careless, yet somehow rehearsed into perfection. His accent and rough voice made it difficult to understand him, and it was almost humorous how I was struggling to keep up. It was like I was being forced to translate a language I scarcely understood.

"I don't know 'em all, either," he continued. "The Ten Commandments, I mean."

"Okay?" I couldn't understand where he was going with this, but something was keeping me from standing to walk home. It was oddly calming to sit beside someone, outside in the cloudy lighting and watching the cars drive by. Hundreds of people with hundreds of other places to be.

"But I do know which ones I have and haven't broken," the old man said as though I hadn't spoken. He finally turned his gaze away from the passing cars, looking over at me with piercing blue eyes and winking. "Do you?"

I stared back. Something about his tone suggested he knew me, but I had never laid eyes on him before. It was setting my teeth on edge. "Don't know them all," I retorted stingily. "How would I? You've pointed out more than once that I don't come off as religious. Who even are you, anyway?"

The old man laughed again, but the sound made the pit of my stomach burn. I could feel the time bomb filled with anger starting to boil, but I swallowed it back. I was too exhausted and hungover to explode, like I had when my mom tried to talk to me in the cellar.

"Well, there's the obvious ones, of course." He'd moved on so quickly that I didn't notice he hadn't answered my questions. The man motioned with the handle of his cane as he spoke, listing off a few of the commandments with a tone that was hinted by sarcasm. "'Thou shalt not disobey thy mother or father.' 'Worship no other Gods because I am the only God', something like that? Dunno, actually. Maybe they're not so obvious after all."

"Is there a point you're trying to make?" I interrupted a bit harshly. The idea of standing from the bench and starting for home was looking more promising with every word the old man spoke. It was beginning to seem valid that he was, in fact, crazy, with a mind melted into mush by the passage of years. My curiosity had turned to annoyance.

The man didn't seem to hear me. He sucked in another inhale from his cigar, breathing out the smoke with his words. "There's the one about stealing. And everyone knows 'thou shalt not kill'."

I knew what he'd said had been intentional, because his tone had been pointed and he seemed to have been expecting me to flinch. I stiffened almost immediately, the sixth commandment hanging in the sudden silence between us. Twisting in my seat, I fixed a cold gaze on the man and snapped, "Do you know who I am? 'Cause you're sure as hell acting like you know every damn thing about me."

I'd expected him to shrink away from me, or put his hands up against my furious tone with an apology already on his tongue. But the old man chuckled for the tenth time, shaking his head and blowing a sloppy smoke ring. "Don't curse," he grinned, nodding his head towards the church behind them, "God is listening."

I stood from the bench with my blood boiling just beneath the layer of my skin. The emotional bomb inside the pit of my stomach was prepared to detonate, and I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab the cigar from the old man's hands and throw it to the ground, and I wanted to kick the oak cane out from under his arm. My skull felt ready to split open, and I wanted to hit something.

Instead, I swore loudly and kicked at the pavement. I turned away from the bench and the stupid man, spitting over my shoulder, "I'm leaving. Have a nice life."

I didn't turn back around after I'd spoken, but the old man called after me anyway, in a voice that suggested he knew much more than I ever would.

"See you next Sunday, mate."