The bishop was a skinny old man, dressed in the ritual gold
and scarlet garments. Jozef entered his large office and looked around in
wonder. The stone walls were paneled in warm oak wood. Tapestries depicting
saints helping the poor hung behind the bishop’s desk and on the two side
walls. A large window in the south wall let in the spring sunshine, which lit
up the reds, greens and blues in the decorations.
Bishop Majewski sat down behind his desk and leaned forward,
hands on the spotless blotter. “It must be something major that brings you all
the way to the city, my son.”
“It is. I don’t
think I’m called to be a priest. It feels all wrong. I thought maybe Satan is
tempting me, or the Lord is testing me, so I was going to wait it out. But as
time passes, the feeling is getting stronger, not weaker.” Jozef crossed his
arms in front of him. “I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to do.”
The bishop watched him, even as he had finished speaking.
Eventually he said, “Is there a woman?”
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