The Bishop arrived home late at night and was surprised to see the kitchen light burning as he approached the missionary house. He entered the house and avoided going to check who was in the kitchen and went up the stairs to his room.

“Donald,” a soft, broken voice called out to him.

Something about that voice calling out that name felt as though someone placed a dagger in his heart.

“Donald please,” the voice pleaded.

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned around to face his caller.

“It’s Bishop. Always Bishop. I stopped being that man a long time ago,” he replied and carried on walking to his bedroom.

Sister Mabel followed up the stairs and he closed his bedroom door leaving her outside and unwelcome.

“So sorry,” she said from outside the door and at a few minutes later whilst she stood there, the lights went off and the Sister headed back to her room.

She didn’t cry that night. He didn’t cry that night. He was angry; now, double angry that she was pinching money out of the fundraising bag too. She was the treasurer.

Sunday morning came and as usual, the nuns woke up early to prepare the amphitheatre and pray for the service. Sister Mabel usually prayed with the Bishop at the upper home where she stretched his cloak and made sure he was presentable before the congregation. But this Sunday she wasn’t there with him praying. She was cleaning with the other nuns.

The rest of the nuns had sure realised that Sister Mabel has not been herself of late. They did not know why or how come, but she was the head nun, protocol did not permit them to address her in that fashion. The nuns loved and respected Sister Mabel a lot. She was the mother figure. Whenever they had heard her crying in her room, they often whispered amongst themselves saying:

“Why doesn’t she seek the Bishop’s counsel? We are sure he would be able to help her.” They had not noticed so far that things were estranged between the Bishop and Sister Mabel.

The Bishop was in the upper room but he was not praying. He sat there expecting Sister Mabel to walk in with his cloak, but truly hoping that she wouldn’t. He was about to deliver the good news of salvation to innocent people, he didn’t want emotional conflicts with his past to interfere with that. She didn’t walk in, much to the relief of the Bishop. He waited his queue to hear the sound of the keyboard playing then he stood up to leave.

“Where is my cloak?” he posed the question to himself since he was alone. “Oh there it is,” he answered himself when his eye caught sight of it.

He smiled gently. Realising that Sister Mabel must have gone and placed it at the crack of dawn to avoid him. Much like he was avoiding her now.

It hurt because he loved her. It hurt because he trusted her. It hurt because he missed her. It hurt because he needed her and the same was true for her too. The congregation rose to their feet at the sound of the keyboard playing and began to sing hymns and connect to God. The Bishop came down as expected, strangely carrying his own Bible today. No one might have noticed though, but Sister Mabel carried his Bible for him every single Sunday but sure enough he felt her absence.

The church was vibrant and free and ready to receive, but all the Bishop truly wanted to do was take the amplifier and scold at Mabel. Humiliate her the way she humiliated him. Hurt her the way that she hurt him. Betray her the way that she betrayed him. But he could not do that. It was not godly.

The Bishop cast his eyes into the congregation searching for his daughter. She wasn’t there. He looked again, questioning himself whether he had forgotten her face but she wasn’t there. As usual, he cast his eyes looking for Thekeza’s son but he too was not there.

He glanced his eyes at the front row where his team sat and there his eyes met with the Mayor’s eyes and all the nuns, but Sister Mabel was not there. His heart skipped a bit. The Mayor must have noticed that as he asked one of the nuns to go and put a jug of water and a glass on the pulpit. This man was heavily burned and no one in this house except for himself, the Mayor and Sister Mabel knew this.

The nun did as she was told and the Bishop thanked her for her kindness and she smiled.

He threw his eyes into the crowds again and at last he saw Mabel sitting amongst some mothers in the congregation. Self-doubt had filled her heart she did not know where she belonged any longer. No one thought of this to be strange though. She did many works of the church with the women and perhaps she was there for a purpose. The Bishop found strength and addressed the congregation. The people clapped and cheered as his teachings changed them and transformed them into better human beings.

Immediately after the church service, the Bishop went into his study where he knew he would find Sister Mabel counting the money.

“Why haven’t you left?” he asked her with his eyes fixed at her.

She was overwhelmed by his presence in the room. She did not answer nor did she carry on counting. She just froze.

“Perhaps you did not catch it the first time around,” the Bishop repeated. “Why have you not left yet?” he asked her again.

“Maybe we should speak when you are a little less angry, Bishop,” suggested Sister Mabel.

“You are a dark woman Mabel. You are a liar and a thief and you are not worthy of that uniform,” he said to her.

Sister Mabel sat confused at the other end of the table.

“Go at once!” he said to her pointing to the door.

She understood his anger so she endured it. As she opened the door the Mayor was standing on the other side about to enter.

“Is he in?” he asked Sister Mabel.

But she didn’t even answer. It seemed as though she did not even see him because she walked right passed him. But he too understood. So he did not take her disregard of him to heart. He entered the room and looked at the Bishop. He studied him a little, hoping he would know the right thing to say to him at this point. He read nothing. The man stood there, empty and cold.

“This is really tearing at you brother. You must gain composure. I heard everything clearly from the other end of the door. It could have been anyone else standing there,” the Mayor warned his friend.

The Bishop shrugged his shoulders, not really able to care right now.

“Tell me what to do then,” the Bishop asked the Mayor, “what would you do?”

“You know what to do. Call the woman in and hear her out,” the Mayor explained.

“I can’t stand to be in the same room with her,” he confided to his friend.

“You are angry because you don’t know the truth. You have crafted the worst picture for yourself in your head and reality is killing you inside,” the Mayor went on to say.

“You saw the girl,” the Bishop said to the Mayor, “do you think she is mine?”

“Ask Mabel my friend,” she has all the pieces of this puzzle you are trying to build.”

“And if she is mine, where do I begin?” he asked the question, more to himself than he was posing it to the Mayor.

“Mabel, what a dark, dark woman. Whatever the outcome she must leave the missionary house,” he said seeking counsel from his friend.

“You are the evil one if you can’t forgive her,” answered the Mayor with his face hardened towards his friend. “We have known Mabel since we were kids. We are old men now. Come on, Donald. When did you become such a coward?”

There was no reply from the Bishop. He sat down in his armchair in his study as he internalised the message from his friend. The Mayor stood hovering over him, ready to attack him again if he did not change his mind towards Mabel regarding this situation.

“The funny part is, you do not know the truth. You have not asked her. You could be living with all this anger in vain. It could happen she is not your child,” the Mayor said to the Bishop.

In a matter of split seconds the Bishop dived from his chair onto the Mayor and punched him in the face. “I am the only man she knows dammit,” he said shaking the Mayor.

The two men lay on the floor, one over the other quietly, in this awkward position.

“Are you done beating me, Sir?” asked the Mayor the Bishop.

The Bishop sensed the hidden humour in the words of the Mayor and remarked, “I guess I am done. Have no power left. In fact, I think I dislocated something,” he said laughing.

They wiggled their bodies and helped each other get up.

“I am serious; I think I dislocated my shoulder.” Said the Bishop patting his shoulder.

“That suits me just fine,” joked the Mayor, “atheist I know I am safe now,”

The two men laughed happily in each other’s company. The Bishop opened the cooler he kept in his study and place an ice pack over it.

***

Tell us: What would you do if you were the Bishop, how would you react?