One time, very drunk, as drunk as the two of you have ever been together, the old priest said: “I send this one out to live in the world. This is the one you see. You like this one. But you wouldn’t like the other one.”
“How do you know?”
“Trust me, you wouldn’t.”
“Just give me a peek.”
I m afraid I can’t do that. He can’t be trusted. No, I’m afraid it’s absolutely out of the question. He’s locked up safe and sound as The Man in the Iron Mask. Ha ha.”
You went home, thinking of the real old priest bound and tossed into a dungeon, the iron mask locked securely to conceal his face, the brutal, ignorant guards to glimpse only his wry mouth and sea-glass eyes. Of course the question then becomes which old priest is out in the world and which one locked away? It occurred to you then and has crossed your mind a few times since that the old priest is an arch fiend, an imposter who walks the earth while the true old priest—well, it’s too horrible to think of.
Years later it occurs to you that you have done much the same thing with the old priest, or rather with the simulacrum of the old priest. He imprisoned the real old priest while you imprisoned the fake one. He’s in a book you wrote called The Old Priest. He’s in there, drinking Tanqueray martinis and telling his charming anecdotes. He’s locked up, safe and sound.