Clemente
Clemente By Onur Saatçıoğlu He then uttered what he ought to have uttered all along, his Act of Contrition, while I leaned towards his side of the confessional to show my sincere interest. The paper-like curtains separating us would not prevent me from seeing his white, silk armor with gold embroidery, partially covered with a crimson stole. As I was trying to raise my aged eyes back to where they should be, I could not but help think about how much I detested this so-called house-dress. It made my stomach ache and it did not only do that but also made me want to vomit in an uncontrolled manner. A sudden silence filled the wooden box, when I realized it was my turn to talk, to repeat what I have been repeating for the past forty years, “I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father and Son and the Holy Spirit.” My rusty voice, which had been worn out since last week’s cold weather, caused an unpleasant contradiction with...