Welding with Children by Tim Gautreaux

for what the priest thought would be a new push through his errors, but when he began speaking again, it was to ask a question.
    â€œSure enough, you think there’s a hell?”
    Father Ledet knew he had to be careful. Sometimes saving a soul was like catching a dragonfly. You couldn’t blunder up to it and trap it with a swipe of the hand. “There’s a lot of talk of it in the Bible,” he said.
    â€œIt’s for punishment?”
    â€œThat’s what it’s for.”
    â€œBut what good would the punishment do?”
    The priest sat down. The room did a quarter turn to the left and then stopped. “I don’t think hell is about rehabilitation. It’s about what someone might deserve.” He put his hand over his eyes and squeezed them for a moment. “But you shouldn’t worry about that, Clyde, because you’re getting the forgiveness you need.”
    Mr. Arceneaux looked at the ceiling, the corners of his flaccid mouth turning down. “I don’t know. There’s one thing I ain’t told you yet.”
    â€œWell, it’s now or never.” The priest was instantly sorry for saying this, and Clyde gave him a questioning look before glancing down at his purple feet.
    â€œI can’t hold just one thing back? I’d hate like hell to tell anybody this.”
    â€œClyde, it’s God listening, not me.”
    â€œCan I just think it to God? I mean, I told you the other stuff. Even about the midget woman.”
    â€œIf it’s a serious sin, you’ve got to tell me about it. You can generalize a bit.”
    â€œThis is some of that punishment we were talkin’ about earlier. It’s what I deserve.”
    â€œLet’s have it.”
    â€œI stole Nelson Lodrigue’s car.”
    Something clicked in the priest’s brain. He remembered this himself. Nelson Lodrigue owned an old Toronado, which he parked next to the ditch in front of his house. The car had a huge eight-cylinder engine and no muffler, and every morning at six sharp Nelson would crank the thing up and race the engine, waking most of his neighbors and all the dogs for blocks around. He did this for over a year, to keep the battery charged, he’d said. When it disappeared, Nelson put a big ad in the paper offering a fifty-dollar reward for information, but no one came forward. The men in the Knights of Columbus talked of it for weeks.
    â€œThat was about ten years ago, wasn’t it? And isn’t Nelson a friend of yours?” Nelson was another Sunday-morning lingerer on the church steps.
    Mr. Arceneaux swallowed hard several times and waited a moment, storing up air. “Father, honest to God, I ain’t never stole nothin’ before. My daddy told me thievin’ is the worst thing a man can do. I hated to take Nelson’s hot rod, but I was fixin’ to have a nervous breakdown from lack of sleep.”
    The priest nodded. “It’s good to get these things off your chest. Is there anything else?”
    Mr. Arceneaux shook his head. “I think we hit the high points. Man, I’m ashamed of that last one.”
    The priest gave him absolution and a small penance.
    Clyde tried to smile, his dark tongue tasting the air. “‘Ten Hail Marys? That’s a bargain, Father.”
    â€œIf you want to do more, you could call Nelson and tell him what you did.”
    The old man thought for just a second. “I’ll stick with them little prayers for now.” Father Ledet got out his missal and read aloud over Mr. Arceneaux until his words were interrupted by a gentle snoring.
    *   *   *
    Vic sat in the lobby, waiting for the priest to come down. It had been twenty minutes, and he knew the priest’s blood-alcohol level was ready to peak. He took off his uniform hat and began twirling it in front of him. He wondered what good it would do to charge the priest with drunken driving. Priests had to drink wine