Confexo (Confession), Part I

Bateren yo, go-xucufucu ba. Becado ba ocaximoxita.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” The first words of the Rite of Confession, known as confexo in Satsuman. These words were spoken, as they always are, with an overtone of deep personal struggle. And certainly not helping ease the tension was this cramped space called the confessional: a room—no, a closet—barely big enough for one person, a kneeler, a hole in the wall covered with mesh, and a ledge on which sat a pamphlet guiding penitents through the sacrament. But for the voice which spoke these words now, a voice belonging to a high-school age girl, the diction was remarkably brave, and remarkably honest. She continued.

“It’s been a week since I last went to confession. These are my sins.”

A beat.

“I’ve been hearing voices in my dr—”

“Not a sin,” the voice on the other side of the confessional’s mesh cut in.

“But—!” the penitent protested.

The confessor let out a deep sigh. “We went over all this last week, Noe. Hearing voices and seeing scary things in your dreams isn’t a sin. Everyone has nightmares every once in a while; some just have them more than others. If you want to get into—”

“But what if the voices are—”

“‘What if the voices are telling you to kill people’? Have you killed or thought about killing anyone in the past week?”

“…No, Bateren,” answered the penitent, Noe. “But…But what about the—”

“‘What about the images of people cut up and laying in pools of their own blood’? Again, have you entertained those images in your mind? Have you taken pleasure in recalling them?”

“N—No, Bateren,” answered Noe again. “But I know it’s not a sin. I just think there’s…something else wrong with me.”

“As in?” the confessor prompted.

“As in I…I think I’m possessed!” Noe cried out, overcome with emotion. “Possessed—by some kinda demon or something!”

“I can tell you right now, Noe,” said the confessor, “the chances of you being possessed are fairly low.”

“How?!?!” Noe asked, her voice growing all the more frantic and combative.

“I’ve spoken with exorcists before. The vast majority of possessed people they come across aren’t even aware they’re being possessed.”

“How do you know that?!” Noe pressed him. “How do you know my demon isn’t different?! He could be, like, a demon ninja or something—or whatever the opposite of that is!!”

The priest sighed again. “Sorry, Noe. Excuse me for one second.” The door on the other side opened, and footsteps softly made their way outside. They stopped after about twenty seconds or so, then returned shortly in the same manner. Once the confessor got settled down, Noe spoke again, this time with sheepish, scrupulous concern.

“Uhh…S—Sorry, Bateren. I wasn’t sinning by bothering you just now, was I?”

“Good,” said the confessor, “you didn’t realize I just grabbed a host out of the tabernacle and brought it here. Most possessed people, as you might figure, don’t like being in God’s presence for very long. They would realize what I brought, and would generally react in a…violent manner.”

“…Like in those exorcist movies?”

“Where do you think they got the idea from?”

“…Ah.” Noe had a moment of realization. “W—Well, guess that means my demon isn’t…that bad, at least?”

“Certainly not,” answered the priest. “Also, no, that wasn’t a sin before. But having recurring bad dreams could be a sign of something more serious going on psychologically. If you’re not able to forget about them that easily, or if they really start to bother you, it might be best to look into professional help from a therapist.”

“But I’m fine otherwise!” Noe restarted her argument. “I’m not depressed, I’m not anxious; I just keep seeing weird things in my dreams and can’t get them to stop! Surely there’s something you can do, Bateren!”

“There’s lots of things I do, Noe, but you can’t expect me to perform surgery on you, either. When you have a problem, it’s best to go to someone who knows that problem inside and out. Don’t you agree?”

“Sigh…Yeah, I guess.”

“Now, do you have any sins to confess today?”

“Yes, Bateren.” Apprehensive at last, Noe decided to continue on with the sacrament. The sins she recounted, need not be recounted here.

“You’ve made a good confession,” the priest answered once she finished at length. “For your penance, say three Hail Marys, and…talk about these dreams you’ve been having with someone you trust.”

Noe barely took the preparatory breath to speak before the priest added a postscript.

“And no, I don’t count.”

“Awww!”

“A parent, a friend…if no one else, you can always talk to God. Now, I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Go in peace.”

“…Amen.”

* * *

Finally outside of St. Francis Xavier Catholic Church after what felt like an eternity of a confession, Noe Numasaki heaved a sigh of relief. But the roots of her anxiety had not been fully scoured; Bateren’s lack of concern had surprised her, but she was still inclined to believe something evil could really be behind all these visions, even if it wasn’t possessing her. She had heard of great saints being visited by the Devil before, though this was likely not something as grand as those.

And then there was the problem of who to tell about these dreams. She would likely just keep it between her and the Lord, unless it truly got out of hand. Certainly she would not tell old Dona Murata, whose pet shop was her next stop today.

As the news had said last night, today, May 15, was a public holiday; Satsuma’s very own Armistice Day. The schools were closed, which meant it was a perfect day to go out for a stroll around Seikyo. And Noe had no doubt she would still find Dona Murata at her pet shop in the middle of downtown. For a girl aspiring to become a veterinarian, and who loved animals in general, this place was her heaven on earth. She could already almost feel her worries being melted away by the fluffy embrace of oodles of dogs, cats, and whatever other furry friends were waiting for her.

Under the warm late-spring sun, Noe finally felt comfortable wearing shorts outside, a little long and loose-fitting. On top she wore a simple white sweatshirt, and she let her short golden curls feel the full effect of the sun’s rays. Surprisingly, as she made her way down the downtown’s open promenade, she did not spot many people her age, let alone from her school. There were couples here, families there, some pensioners doing calisthenics out in the streets, but no high schoolers. She really had to wonder what most of her classmates did on their days off. She had made friends in her first few months of high school, of course, but it was a little hard to invite them along to confession, even if this was a Catholic school.

But then, past the pensioners, she caught a glimpse of something posed up by some corner-store window that made her pause her thoughts for a moment. Her eyes darted away, then back again. That was someone from St. Protasio. Someone whom she only remembered because of his looks—frosted tips on a shaggy cut, shades, ring on the left ear, patch of hair on the chin, and today a T-shirt with some illegible kanji scrawl. Looks which placed him in a near-universal category at Satsuman high schools: delinquents. Whether he was actually looking back at her Noe could not tell, but she assumed he was and kept her head forward. She nimbly slipped passed the threat, and a few seconds after gave a quick turn to the side to make sure he was still just people-watching.

Oh, God.

Nope, he was gone. Noe’s eyeballs strained against whatever was connecting them to the rest of her head. She caught him again—tailing her.

Oh God, oh God, oh God…

Seriously, what would a delinquent want with her?! If he thought she had money, he had another thing coming; Dona Murata told her she might be looking for someone to work part-time, but that was still a distant dream. Could he be…trying to hit on her?! The thought alone made Noe’s skin crawl, but also, why?!?! Surely she wasn’t the first choice a delinquent would have. She had to find a way to shake him, and fast—he was closer now.

Up ahead, Noe spotted a line of benches along a wide corridor connecting to some side street, away from the passers-by. That would be good. If he tried to force her off in any way, or if he joined her on the bench and got too close, she could threaten him with her bear spray (which she always carried) without causing a huge scene. Planted like a tree beside the waters, as Scripture said, that was the way to handle this. She veered off to the left, slowed her pace, and took a seat. By the time she was situated, the boy’s massive shadow was already over her.

“Yo.” He crossed his arms and flashed her a grin.

“…Hi,” said Noe with the last bit of courtesy she had. “Can I help you with something?”

To Noe’s surprise, the boy slouched down and…squatted? Yes, squatted, on the ground, right in front of her. Then again, she did remember seeing delinquents do that a lot at school. Still, very awkward.

“Nah, just wanted ‘a talk,” the boy replied. “You’re a first-year at St. Protasio, too, right?”

“…I am. So you should know not to mess with me.”

“Eeeasy, I don’t plan on doin’ anything weird to you. Just…”

VVVVVT! VVVVVT! VVVVVT!

The boy’s phone began to buzz in his pocket.

“Hm?” He took it out and glanced at the notification on the screen.

“Ahh, I see.”

He leaned in closer to Noe, verging on too close for comfort for her. But, strangely, she thought she could hear the buzzing getting…faster? The boy addressed her again, more hushed this time.

“You’ve had a curse put on you, huh?”

“…I’m sorry?!”