The view of the city from the catwalk was magnificent although the grey curtain of the rain made things hazy in the middle distance. Fallon gazed about him with obvious pleasure. He had changed in some supple, indefinable way and smiled slightly.
“Now this I like. Earth hath not anything to show more fair: isn’t that what the poet saidP9
“Great God in heaven, I bring you up here to talk seriously and you quote Wordsworth to me? Doesn’t anything touch you at all?
“Not that I can think of.” Fallon took out a packet of cigarettes. T)o you use these?”
Father da Costa hesitated, then took one angrily. “Yes, I will, damn you.”
“That’s it Father, enjoy yourself while you can,” Fallon said as he struck a match and gave him a light. “After all, we’re all going to hell the same way.”
“You actually believe that?”
“From what I’ve seen of life it would seem a reasonable conclusion to me.”
Fallon leaned on the rail, smoking his cigarette, and Father da Costa watched him for a moment, feeling strangely helpless. There was obvious intelligence here – breeding, strength of character – all the qualities and yet it seemed impossible to reach through and touch the man in any way.
“You’re not a practising Catholic?” he said at last.
Fallon shook his head. “Not for a long time.”
“Can I ask why?”
“No,” Fallon told him calmly.
Father da Costa tried again. “Confession, Fallon, is a Sacra-ment. A Sacrament of Reconciliation.”
He suddenly felt rather silly, because this was beginning to sound dangerously like one of his Confirmation classes at the local Catholic school, but he pressed on.
“When we go to confession we meet Jesus who takes us to himself and, because we are in him and because we are sorry, God our Father forgives us.”
“I’m not asking for any forgiveness,” Fallon said. “Not from anybody.”
“No man can damn himself for all eternity in this way,” Father da Costa said sternly. “He has not the right.”
“Just in case you hadn’t heard, the man I shot was called Krasko and he was the original thing from under a stone. Pimp, whoremaster, drug-pusher. You name it, he had a finger in it. And you want me to say sorry? For him?
“Then he was the law’s concern.”
“The law!” Fallon laughed harshly. “Men like him are above the law. He’s been safe for years behind a triple wall of money, corruption and lawyers. By any kind of logic I’d say I’ve done society a favour.”
“For thirty pieces of silver?”
“Oh, more than that, Father. Much more,” Fallon told him. “Don’t worry, I’ll put something in the poor box on the way out. I can afford it.” He flicked his cigarette out into space. Til be going now.”
He turned and Father da Costa grabbed him by the sleeve, pulling him round. “You’re making a mistake, Fallon. I think you’ll find that God won’t let you have it your way.”
Fallon said coldly, “Don’t be stupid, Father.”
“In fact, he’s already taken a hand,” Father da Costa con-tinued. “Do you think I was there in that cemetery at that particular moment by accident?” He shook his head. “Oh, no, Fallon. You took one life, but God has made you responsible for another – mine.”
Fallon’s face was very pale now. He took a step back, turned and walked towards the hoist without a word. As he drew abreast of a buttress, some slight noise caused him to look to his left and he saw Anna da Costa hiding behind it.
He drew her out gently, but in spite of that fact, she cried out in fear. Fallon said softly. “It’s all right. I promise you.”
Father da Costa hurried forward and pulled her away from him. “Leave her alone.”
Anna started to weep softly as he held her in his arms. Fallon stood looking at them, a slight frown on his face. Perhaps she’s heard more than was good for her.”
Father da Costa held Anna away from him a little and looked down at her. “Is that so?”
She nodded, whispering, “I was in the church.” She turned reaching out her hands, feeling her way to Fallon. “What kind of man are you?”