Chapter 3 - No, Holy Father, I don’t need it anymore, - Mark covered with his mighty hand the fragile mouth of a crystal (probably) pile.

The chaplain was offended.

- What does not mean? - the priest said. “I’m drinking you or something?” - (“Is this really a drink?” - thought the holy father) - I confess you, my lost ram !!! Where did we leave off? On this blond haired bitch? - the chaplain tried to catch a shiny little fungus escaping on a plate with a fork.

- Why is this a bitch ?! - Mark was amazed. - And who are you talking about? - Completely unconsciously, he lifted a pile, barely covered with Cahors and went nuts.

“Bitch is a bitch,” the holy father retorted, as if reading a sermon from the pulpit.

- No, that is impossible. - Mark wanted to take the last piece of sterilized anchovy, but the education did not allow and he abstained.

The chaplain was old, but he seemed to have a healthy health, an indefatigable bastard. They sat in his office, which is behind the room of sacred ceremonies. Three quarters of an hour ago, the chaplain served Sunday evening Mass, Mark approached him on his personal business and the chaplain pulled him here. Mark himself was not a believer, although he identified himself as a Catholic humanist (he believed in the All-Conquering Mind of the Earth), but he treated all religions with respect. And looking now at the satisfied priest, after drinking a stack of deliciously appetizing Olivier salad, which he was actively putting on his bowl of dishes, he thought that in vain, perhaps, he had come here at all. Mark desperately, in one gulp, overturned the burning liquid.

While he frowned and ate, the chaplain managed to pour one more.

Mark braced himself, sighed, and blurted out:

“Lars Twin and I want you to marry us.” - He took a breath and added: - And as soon as possible.

The Holy Father put down his fork, wiped his lips with a napkin and looked at Mark. There was no surprise in his glance, rather such a fatherly-experienced, from the height of past years among the stars, the condemnation: “Oh, unthinkable, always rushing youth ...”

- So. This is serious, - he said and set aside a pile. “And whose initiative is this, yours or this one ... or your chosen one?”

Mark was embarrassed.

- Well, in general ... ours. But I came to you myself: they decided - so they decided what to pull!

- That I came to me myself - I understand that, she would never have suggested this.

Mark suddenly clearly presented Lars and the chaplain in bed - and shook his head, chasing away the unpleasant vision. Larsa also spoke of the holy father without due respect. Maybe he just harassed her and she refused him, so he hates Lars? Mark recalled the notorious schedule of confessions, which Lars had somehow mentioned. He could not resist and asked:

“Did you, too, Lars ... confess?”

The priest looked at him perplexedly. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed loudly to the obscene level and reached for the carafe.

“I never do anything against anyone's will,” he said, spilling the pinkish moisture into stacks. “And if you are interested in whether I slept with your present darling ... I am a combat officer, I have to keep up the fighting spirit on the ship.” Senior officers do not need it. Besides, - he added, raising a pile, - Inter caecos regnat luscus - I usually don’t have competitors here. And I already have enough on this ship, I'm already old. I am content with little. My calling is to console those in need. - He looked into the far corner of a brightly lit, small, cozy room and lightly drummed his fingers on the table, covered with an exquisite yellow tablecloth. - Yes, to console those in need, whatever that may be. And do not impose anything on anyone. Whether my beliefs, whether my love ... On this ship, representatives of eight religious denominations, and humanly commandments of at least two of them are unacceptable for me. But I will not betray this either by a gesture or by a movement of the facial muscle, because I respect other people's beliefs.“Do not judge, and you will not be judged; Do not judge, and you will not be condemned ... ”If I did not feel that you now need a male conversation, our communication would be limited to five minutes. Prozit. - Chaplain picked up a pile.

Mark clinked, but he was in no hurry to drink.

“Do not judge, and you will not be judged ...” he repeated thoughtfully. “Why do you call Lars a“ fair-haired bitch ”?

“If she came to me,” the priest said in a measured, distinctly pronouncing word, “I would pick up the words she needed at that moment, pick up the proper intonation of the voice and the sympathetic expression of the eyes — this is my profession. Even more - my life. I would not give a hint of my attitude to her - although, probably, she is well aware of this ... I suppose. - Chaplain sighed and gave a piercing look to Mark, asked directly. - Why do you need all this, young man? Then you this marriage?

Mark instead of the answer drank alcohol diluted with Cahors and reached for the last piece of anchovy. The chaplain stared at him without stopping, and Mark realized that there was no way out of the answer.

- I love her. - Mark came across the priest's ironically-surprised look and said: - I am sure I love. Is it possible without love? And since I ... - Mark was embarrassed, but then he thought that in the end the priest was in front of him, and there should be no secrets from him that he confessed: “I got hold of her, which means I must get married.”

The chaplain once again laughed rudely, offensively and indecently.

“She told you so?”

“They taught me all my life,” Mark answered firmly and adamantly.

- Does she want this?

- Yes. She herself admitted that she was tired to live restlessly and wants a family.

The chaplain came out heavily from the table, folded his arms behind his back and walked around the room. He came to a small bronze crucifix hanging in a corner, stood in front of him and thought for a long time about something.

Mark waited patiently, without breaking the ringing silence that reigned in this room, radiating kindness, such a homely and unusual for the ascetic situation of "Lowoule."

Finally, the chaplain spoke, leaning on the countertop of an antique, perhaps from the Earth itself, exported, a desk. He spoke slowly and penetratingly, as if trying with every word to reach the innermost corners of the listener's soul:

“I've been at Loughful since day one.” From the day he was put into space. All eighty years that have contained so many events that Moses himself did not have to share for his stormy legendary life. I am the only one on the ship who does not take turns on vacation - for “Lowful” is all that I have, this is my life. Twice the ship over the years has been on preventive maintenance, and twice I went to a bio-update. When the “Lowful” will stand on the eternal parking, I will go to die on Earth, I have saved enough money for this. But while he is racing among the stars, I will be here. And I always knew what was going on on the ship - for me there are no secrets on the “Lofful”. And I am always with the crew when performing dangerous tasks, when it is necessary to leave the safe walls of a starship. Someday, young man, we will choose an evening with you, and I will tell you a lot of funny and instructive stories. I remember everything. And I could tell you a lot about your darling - Lars Twin, who for sixteen years on the “L'Oful”, is her ninth annual watch. But I hardly have the right to say anything about her, except good. And to be honest, good things about her, although I could also say, I beg your pardon, I do not want to. I will just tell a story that has no direct connection to the case.

The chaplain sighed, looked around the room, as if assessing his pompous moralizing by