“How’s your chocolate lime?”

“Good,” said Israel, letting the taste fill his mouth.

“You ever try chocolate and champagne?” asked the Reverend Roberts.

“No, I don’t think I have.”

“Oh, you must try it. The next time you’re having chocolate and champagne.”

“Hmm.” Israel laughed.

“You let the chocolate-what would you call it?-the chocolate slime stick to the roof of your mouth, and then you drink champagne, and it washes it all away, cleansing your palate. Most extraordinary sensation. Wonderful.” He lit a flame under the coffeepot. “There we are, then. Coffee’s brewing.”

He sat himself down next to Israel on the other stool.

“So. It’s always nice to see you, Israel. But I guess you didn’t come here to drink coffee and eat my chocolate limes?” he said.

“No,” said Israel.

“Is it Pearce?”

“I suppose,” said Israel.

There was a long silence.

“Can I ask you a question?” asked Israel.

“Fire away,” said the Reverend Roberts.

“What does the Bible say about suicide?” asked Israel eventually.

“Mmmm,” said the Reverend Roberts. “The Bible…” He weighed his words very carefully. “The Bible, Israel, is silent on a lot of things that we would like it to be clear about.”

“If Pearce did commit suicide-”

“Pearce?”

“Yes.”

“Oh!” boomed the Reverend Roberts. “Pearce! I was worried for a moment you were talking about yourself there! Thank goodness!”

“Ah, right. Sorry.”

“That’s OK! I’m delighted! I mean, not delighted about the whole situation.”

“No.”

“Obviously. But I don’t think there’s any suggestion of suicide is there? It was an accident, is what I heard.”

“But Mr. Devine was saying that he thought-”

“You shouldn’t listen to everything Mr. Devine says, Israel. You surely know that by now.”

“He’s always quoting the Bible.”

“Never a good sign,” said the Reverend Roberts.

“But if he had…” Israel found it hard to say the word “suicide.” “If he’d…done it himself, would he still get a proper burial?”

“Well, that’s a hypothetical question.”

“No,” said Israel. “It’s not.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s just…Well, he mentioned to me-”

“Who mentioned to you?”

“Pearce, just before he died. He mentioned Leonard Bast.”

“Howards End?” said the Reverend Roberts.

“Do you know it?”

“I saw the film. Merchant Ivory. Excellent.”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t see the connection, though, sorry.”

“Leonard Bast. He…died when the bookshelves came down on him.”

“I see.”

“And when I saw him, Pearce was scared of…dying, and demented, and he mentioned Leonard Bast…so…”

“So?”

“I think he probably pulled the bookshelves down onto himself.”

“I see.” The Reverend Roberts considered the facts. “That does seem highly unlikely, Israel, if you don’t mind me saying so. And even if he had, then-”

“But what does the Bible say about suicide?”

“The Bible doesn’t really say anything about suicide, Israel.”

“But what do you think?” asked Israel.

“About suicide?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” said the Reverend Roberts. “I know some Christians, who are good folk, find it hard to imagine that suicide could not be a sin. And that therefore…But personally…I can see that sometimes suicide might seem like the only option.”

“Like for Samson,” said Israel.

“And Delilah?” said the Reverend Roberts.

“Him,” said Israel.

“He didn’t commit suicide, I’m afraid, Israel.”

“Didn’t he pull down the pillars on himself?”

“To gain vengeance against the Philistines,” said the Reverend Roberts. “Samson was a kind of suicide bomber, if you like.”

“What?”

“You need to read your Old Testament, Israel. And not just your Old Testament, judging by your contribution to the Biblical Fish and Chip Night.”

“Hmm,” said Israel.

They sat again in silence. The sound of coffee.

“You’re going to miss Pearce,” said the Reverend Roberts.

“Yes,” agreed Israel. “He was one of the only people here I could talk to.”

“You’re talking to me,” said the Reverend Roberts.

“Yes, but that’s not the same,” said Israel.

The Reverend Roberts laughed.

“No offense,” said Israel.

“No, none taken,” said the Reverend Roberts. “I know what you mean.”

“Pearce was…I don’t know. He reminded me of my father.”

“I see.”

“My father died when I was thirteen.”

The Reverend Roberts nodded.

“I felt I really lost my…I don’t know. Ever since then I just feel…I’m getting nowhere.”

“And where would you like to be getting?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere.”

The coffee was bubbling. “Shall I be mother?” said the Reverend Roberts.

“Do you get lonely here?” said Israel, as the Reverend Roberts fetched some small espresso cups.

“Of course, Israel. Doesn’t everyone feel lonely sometimes?”

“Yes. But I mean, really, really…”

“If you’re asking do I ever feel despair, then yes, I do.” The Reverend started to pour the thick black coffee into the cups. “I don’t know, but I suppose, perhaps a little like you, I’m alone here in Ireland. And sometimes it can be a very lonely job. People look up to you. They expect you to have the answer. Here. Coffee.” He handed Israel a cup. “The sermons. Every week you have to write something that will mean something to them. Three thousand words a week.”

“That’s a lot.”

“It is. And it’s rare you’re going to be inspired.”

“God.”

“Exactly. So sometimes one does feel a little…low. But again, I think it’s common. It’s not unique.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Milk?”

“No, thanks.”

“Sugar.”

“No. It’s OK.”

“I do think,” continued the Reverend Roberts, “that the state of being for Christians, and maybe for Jews as well, is a state of being banished, or exiled, ‘flung,’ if you like. That’s certainly something we find in Scripture. So I always try to remember that when I have…low moods. I try not to be surprised.”

“And when people die?”

“People are dying all the time, Israel.”

“And doesn’t it make you despair?”

The Reverend Roberts drank down the remainder of his coffee and poured another cup. He sighed.

“Last month I had to conduct the funeral of a soldier.”

“Oh dear.”

“He was from Carnlough. Second Para. He was killed by a suicide bomber in Afghanistan.”

“Oh god, yes. I read about that in the paper.”

“Yes.”

“That must have been difficult,” said Israel.

“Yes. It was. The family…Funerals certainly make you think about what you’re doing and why you’re doing it.”

“Does it strengthen your faith in God?”

“Not at all,” said the Reverend Roberts, laughing bitterly. “A God who could let this world be as it is. A soldier. Someone whose job it is to…And who is then himself killed? Monstrous. And then…a couple of years ago-before your time here-I did a joint funeral for a mother and her two young children, killed in a crash on the M2.”

“Oh god. That’s awful.”

“She was driving home from visiting her own sick mother. Drunk driver crossed the central median.”

“God.”

“And last year, Johnny Fowler-you remember him?”

“No.”

“Kicked to death in a pub car park.”

“Oh god.”

“I probably shouldn’t be telling you about these, Israel.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“So, of course, that sort of thing makes you doubt. The mother and her children killed in the car crash? The other driver got a two-thousand-pound fine.”

“That’s crazy.”

“It certainly makes you question the existence of a benevolent God.”

“I’ll bet,” said Israel.

“Yes,” said the Reverend Roberts, meditatively.

“So what’s the…point of being a minister?”

“Well…I think all we can really do is help one another as best we can to get through, isn’t it? So. I am sorry about Pearce, Israel. But I don’t have any answers, I’m afraid.”