“I understand all that,” he’d said. “I was an altar boy. I memorized my catechism answers. That wasn’t the terrible sin I meant. That only set the stage for it.” And he’d stepped out of the booth and walked into the darkness and the rain. Tonight there was no sign it would ever rain again. The moon, about two days short of full, hung over the yacht basin and made a bright yellow streak across Manila Bay toward Moon. It cast his long shadow ahead as he walked down the broad path and sidestepped this evening’s migration of roaches and turned onto the bricked corridor that led to the cathedral steps. But the moonlight didn’t follow him inside. It seemed darker than he remembered.

And emptier. A fat bald man sat in the final pew at the back of the church. One woman knelt in the candlelight at the side altar. An old man in a white shirt leaned against the wall at the end of the confessional row, apparently waiting his turn.

Moon sat, stretched his legs before him, felt himself relax. The doors were closed at the confessional where Julian had been three nights before, and a little green light glowed above it. Julian was at work. The door to the cubicle where Moon had sat opened. Ayoung woman emerged, made the sign of the cross, genuflected, and walked past Moon. She was smiling. The waiting man disappeared inside, taking her place. Moon considered how he would describe this incident to Halsey, how Halsey would react to it.

“Why did you go in there?” Halsey would ask. And then he would, Halsey fashion, answer his own question. “Because you wanted to recapture your misspent youth, I think. No, you wanted him to forgive you for not being nice to your mother. So then why did you cut out before you got to that part of your story?” And Moon would find himself pulled into a discussion about why he, and why Halsey, behaved in the way they did. And what it all meant. And why they couldn’t seem to relate to the sort of women who appealed to them, and what life was all about in the first place.

The door of the other penitential cubicle opened and another woman emerged, this one elderly. She walked slowly toward the main altar and knelt. The door remained open, inviting another penitent. None appeared.

Moon’s thoughts drifted back to Halsey. In retrospect their rapport seemed odd. Conventional wisdom says opposites attract. But, except physically, he and Halsey were very much alike. They would not try to defeat the world but they would survive. Their cuts would heal. Halsey was no more ambitious than he was. The three stripes on Halsey’s sleeve were there by default. The same with Moon’s rank as sergeant. The army was all right with Halsey. It was stupid, senseless, inefficient, full of the absurdities that Halsey collected and treasured. He’d found a home in the armored division. And so had Moon. And both for the same reason: the draft board lottery came up with their number. Halsey could have qualified for a deferment. Why hadn’t he? A lot of trouble, he’d said. And he was curious. What else would he do? Fate had decreed it. The two of them had sat in the post exchange night after night drinking bad PX beer and discussing such questions. Going into town together in usually fruitless searches for women. Exchanging boyhood embarrassments, triumphs, and defeats, looking under it all for some hint of meaning.

The man in the white shirt emerged from the penitential doorway and departed, leaving it open. If the priest in the center cubicle was indeed Father Julian he would be idle now, looking out to see if another customer was waiting. Moon was aware that the priest was probably looking at him right now, wondering if he’d come in. Well, would he? Moon wasn’t sure. It was a long, long time since he had had a talk like the ones he and Halsey had shared. He hadn’t realized how he hungered for them. He glanced back, saw that now the center door was open too, and a small priest, his cassock hanging loosely on his skinny frame, was limping down the aisle toward him.

“I decided that you might not be coming in,” said Father Julian. “I decided I would bring you a personal invitation.”

“You recognized me,” Moon said, because he could think of nothing else.

Julian made a deprecatory gesture. “Biggest man in the cathedral,” he said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re the biggest man in Manila.”

Moon laughed. “You exaggerate,” he said.

“How big are you?” Julian said. “Six and a half feet, I’d say. Maybe two hundred sixty pounds.”

“You’re still exaggerating.”

“But not by very much, I think. Anyway, I am happy to see you. I had hoped-” Julian paused, thinking.

“That I’d finish the story?”

“Oh, that. Yes. That would be interesting. But I had hoped, too, that you would tell me something that would jar my mind from its lethargy and I would somehow think of something wise to say to you. And you would say, ‘Yes! Yes! Of course! This dinky little priest is absolutely correct. I should forgive myself for this awful sin of which I am so proud. And then I will allow God to forgive me.”

Father Julian had seated himself in the pew beside Moon, and he looked at him sideways now, grinning.

“We priests sometimes entertain such grand delusions. It is something that happens to us when we receive the Holy Orders, when the bishop ordains us.”

“It happens to all males, I guess,” Moon said. “I used to enjoy some grand delusions.” But when had that been? As a child, of course. But not much after that. He had time enough to think about it because Father Julian seemed to be thinking about it too. At least he wasn’t talking. He sat, head slightly down, smiling slightly, a minuscule nod in agreement with whatever was passing though his mind. Relaxed. It skipped Moon back to post exchange evenings he and Halsey had spent.

“It’s not a séance,” Halsey had said after they’d finished a second beer without a word spoken, “because a séance requires some effort. And some outside interference from a spirit. I’d call it nonverbal communication-the ultimate in intellectual inertia.” And Moon had said, But we don’t communicate, and Halsey had said, “Sure we do. When the First Sarge came in a minute ago you raised an eyebrow. I looked. You smirked. I remembered how he tried to take the wrong gal home last time we were here. I nodded. We communicated.” And Moon had said, Just call it comfortable silence.

And the silence now was comfortable. Father Julian, having heard his quota of sins for the day, seemed to feel no hunger to hear more. Moon was in no hurry to provide them. They talked about why Julian had gone into the seminary, and why he’d returned to it after dropping out. They talked about American journalism, and Manila journalism, and, eventually, about what Moon was doing so far from Durance and the cold, clean air of the Colorado high country.

“That’s odd, don’t you think?” Julian said. “That your brother didn’t tell you he had a daughter? Didn’t he tell your mother either?”

“Maybe he did,” Moon said. The thought had hung at the edge of his consciousness for days, but it was the first time he’d allowed himself to really consider it. “if he did, she didn’t tell me.”

Julian seemed to notice how forlorn that sounded. He looked at Moon, expression sympathetic. “Maybe he thought you would disapprove. Big brother-little brother, you know. The infant born out of wedlock. Woman of a different race. All that. Maybe he told your mother to keep it a secret.”

“Possibly,” Moon said. “Who knows? Maybe she knew all the time. Maybe not telling me was her idea.”

“And why would that be?” Julian said, but he was asking himself more than Moon, and Moon had no comment.

A woman came in through the side door, lit another candle before the alcove altar, and knelt. From somewhere far out in Manila Bay came the sound of a tugboat hooting; from Quezon Boulevard the sound of a siren; from somewhere behind them, someone coughing. Silence.