They say infinity isn't measurable in any category. It is said that the human mind cannot know it and breaks down in careless attempts. And they say that no matter how much you know about the world, about all its gods, about the
One God and about yourself. Infinity slips away from your fingers and thoughts, intangible and cold, laughing and gloomy. But Father Browning was sure that he had caught her. Or she caught him.
Far away from Pervers School, at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, in the Mariana Trench, he finally opened his eyes and looked forward through the blue water. In the new prison cell, he lost track of time, thoughts, and even fears with which he collapsed here.
Sometimes it seemed to him that he was asleep, sometimes - that he was lying in a fever and counted his demons instead of sheep, but usually, he just hoped he was dying. And he was always wrong. Wasn't it her? Infinity? She walked away from all sides and did not laugh. She was judgingly silent. And God was silent, too.
The water was pushing from all sides so that at other times Browning would feel like a big herring in a very tight barrel. The situation was as follows: the water was very salty, and there was only a lack of dill or wine marinade, onion rings and spices. But now the pastor, who had recently become a wizard against his will, did not have time for such thoughts, especially for gastronomic self-irony. He had no time for anything. All his efforts were directed to the opposite - to stop thinking and feeling at all. It didn't work out.
Browning lowered his eyelids again, pressing his knees and wrapping his hands around them. From this, the water around him moved for a second but immediately closed. It felt strange when there wasn't a single piece of space available.
When the piercing cold had already become as natural as breathing difficulty: as if the chest had been crushed by stones and a huge Romanesque church had been built on it. But in the end, he chose it himself. He always chose everything himself, and only this does not seem to have changed with desecration.
They probably find this magic difficult. And it turned out to be a half-pinch, just to have a desire to be alone. Where no one will find it at all. Does he, a priest, have any other choice? He is sick. Obsessed. And he is probably dangerous. And for some reason, he feels like a traitor, though what did he seem to have done? What? No gardens, no careless kisses, no silver bribes. He, on the contrary, did the right thing when he escaped here. Reasonable. Righteous. As it should be. Didn't he?
The thought was superfluous and painful. Even here, in the endless dark blue, Browning immediately saw them clearly - a short Assa, who during his work used to be called just Fanti, stupid Miss Susie, red Mergie. Wildness: when you think about them, it got warmer, the infinity stopped pressing, and the heart got more measured. Browning opened his eyes irritably. He was a prisoner, he was not supposed to be warm. But his thoughts were already categorically refusing to disappear. He was drowning in them.
A curse. He cursed himself. Any wrong attachment becomes a curse. That's what they say.
It wasn't like that with the investigation from the beginning. From the first day, he and Ass showed up at Perverts... no, from their meeting. They liked each other. Right away. And we worked together. Quickly. We should have sounded the alarm already then, but Browning did not.
Phantom Ass was noisy and superficial, but quite charming, and he wasn't a bad guy. No horns, no hooves, only baldness and a wide smile. He even immediately invited Browning for a drink - but apparently, befriended to learn something about his future partner, added:
- Just coffee and talk about business, you're not on beer, are you?
- Yeah,- Browning simply replied, smiling for some reason.
And now Ass willingly updated him on the matter and did not sorcerer, much more irritating to his nervous habit of throwing a tennis ball. He was definitely not even a standard bad guy, especially not a great sinner. He was also a good partner. Browning felt a vague trick but hoped that the sinners would go on.