The Map of the Sky (Trilogía Victoriana #2)(97)

“Notwithstanding your sufferings, you have certainly managed to occupy a respectable position in earthly society,” he concluded after his scrutiny, gesturing vaguely at the tiny sacristy. “You are the minister of an Anglican church and that is the official religion of England and Wales, or is the information stored in my host’s head incorrect?”

“Indeed, sir, it is not,” the priest confirmed, unsure whether the Envoy’s remark was disapproving or congratulatory.

Then he remembered the day of his “human” birth, as told to him by his parents, who had lived under the guise of lowly shopkeepers in Marylebone. A week after his mother gave birth (with the aid of a midwife as nonhuman as they, who informed the neighbors the child was stillborn), his father heard that a young priest had arrived at the neighborhood church. He instantly decided that this was the ideal host body for the newborn larva hidden away in their attic bedroom. He contrived to lure the priest to his house under the pretext that his mother was dying. “What do you think, my love? He is young and strong and holds a position in society that would suit us very well,” he asked his wife, much to the alarm of the priest who asked to what they were referring. “Nothing you need to worry about,” she had told him, urging him to follow her up to the bedroom, where her motherin-law was allegedly dying. But of course, the person waiting for the priest there was he himself, in his original larval form, eager to meet the body he would reside in during his time on Earth. The young priest scarcely had time to raise his eyebrows at the unexpected and terrifying spectacle before he felt the knife plunged to the hilt in his back. After putting his blood to good use, they buried him in the garden, and less than an hour later, once he had familiarized himself with the workings of his new body, the newborn Father Wrayburn took up his post in the church. He supplied the extraterrestrial colony with a fresh meeting place, as his father had requested, but without neglecting his duties as a priest. He was particularly proud of that, for it was not an easy job, and he resolved to convey as much to the Envoy, taking advantage of one of his pregnant silences.

“However, I confess the situation has become complicated of late,” he explained in a cautionary tone as he poured the Envoy another cup of tea. “Our biggest challenge derives from a crisis of faith: the Bible, the book of their beliefs, is becoming increasingly difficult to interpret literally due to its lack of historical rigor.”

“Is that so?” The Envoy smiled with an air of tedium as he raised his cup to his lips.

“Yes. The Bible claims the world is scarcely six thousand years old, something any geologist is able to disprove. However, it is the theory of evolution elaborated by a human named Darwin that has undermined the very heart of the Christian doctrine by secularizing the act of Creation.”

The Envoy gazed at him in silence, a supercilious smile playing over his lips. After a moment’s hesitation, the priest continued. “The theologians in our church try to appear more receptive to scientific advances, and some even demand the reinterpretation of biblical texts, but it is no good: the harm has already been done. The increasing secularization of society is a reality we must accept. Each day, new forms of leisure entice our flocks. Do you know what a bicycle is? Well, even that ridiculous object has become our adversary. On Sundays, people prefer taking a ride into the country to coming to hear my sermons.”

The Envoy placed his cup on the saucer as though it weighed a ton and tilted his head, amused at the priest’s consternation.

“You feel as strongly about it as a real priest would,” he remarked, with a look of studied surprise.

“Isn’t that what I am?” replied the other man, immediately regretting his boldness. “What I mean is . . . Well, this is the only world I know, sir. Except for the fact that my ancestors weren’t born on this planet, I could consider myself an Earthling.” His smile froze when he noticed the Envoy’s stern expression. He took a moment to choose his next words judiciously, while his palms started to sweat. When he finally spoke, it was in a tone close to reverence. “Perhaps it is hard for you to appreciate our situation, sir, but we have endured a terrible, agonizing wait that has forced us to mingle with them to the point where we have difficulty continuing to be . . . extraterrestrials.”

“Extraterrestrials . . .” The Envoy smiled.

“That is how they refer to us . . .” the priest began explaining politely.

“I am aware of that.” The Envoy’s irritated tone banished any trace of indulgence he might have previously shown, as though the idiotic vicissitudes of humans had suddenly ceased to amuse him, together with anything else the priest might have to say about them. “And I must confess the arrogance of this race never ceases to amaze me.”

At this, the Envoy’s eyes narrowed, as though he were preparing to pray. Father Wrayburn realized that he was aware of the colony beginning to gather inside the church.

“Our brothers are arriving,” he pointed out unnecessarily.

“Yes, I can sense the excited thrum of their minds, Father.”

“And with good reason,” explained the priest, who hastened to defend his brothers, despite his unease at the Envoy’s attitude. “We have been waiting too long for the Envoy to come. Since the sixteenth century in Earth time, to be precise, when our ancestors first arrived on Earth.”

“And you consider that a long time?” the Envoy inquired.