What I said to him must have been like an incurable itch.
He frowned at me, his face creasing up like his skin was paper-thin and ready to tear. I remember his shock of white hair above a commanding brow. At the time, he was still leading the Malacca-Johor diocese.
Anyway, this was years and years ago. When I was barely a teenager, barely a boy, barely the pubescent pervert I was to become. I had, at the instigation of my Sunday school teacher, taken goodly advice to heart, and went ahead and read the Bible like it was some old, gaffy storybook. You’ve got to understand: I was goofy in that way.
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