Chapter 58

Chapter 583,205 wordsCompleted

On Saturday Liudas Vasaris arrives back in Kaunas as scheduled. After delivering his visa to Indrulis, he moves into a small room assigned to him, unpacks his belongings, makes his bed and desk, and savours the feeling of being free from seminary duties for the first time.

On Sunday he does not attend Mass as a cleric but, as a layperson, goes to Įgulă to listen to the liturgy. The atmosphere strikes him as profoundly religious—something he has never experienced while serving at the altar—and reassures him that he still believes, even if he is no longer a priest.

Leaving the church, a high, close‑by voice calls his name: Petras Varnėnas, an old acquaintance expelled from the third year of the seminary and now a literature professor at the Kaunas university. Varnėnas greets him warmly, extends his hand, and the two walk down Laisvės alėja, exchanging memories, first impressions, and personal updates.

Varnėnas bluntly asks whether Vasaris is still a priest, joking that he looks “decadent.” Vasaris, dressed in a broad, rain‑soaked coat that could suit either gender, replies that the label “decadent” does not offend him and that he has no problem with it. The conversation turns to how Vasaris should be addressed; he tells Varnėnas that strangers should not call him “priest,” and for the first time he publicly renounces the clerical title.

The dialogue deepens into a philosophical debate about vocation, will, and personal conviction. Varnėnas urges Vasaris to define clearly who he ought to be now that he has returned to Lithuania, warning that postponing the decision will only make future choices harder. Vasaris acknowledges the need for a clear self‑definition but argues that mere determination is insufficient—survival requires both mind and soul, not just a single will.

Continuing their walk, the two turn onto Vienybės aikštė, enter the basement of the War Museum, sit on a solitary bench, and Varnėnas reflects on how life’s paths often tangle unexpectedly. He probes Vasaris about the motives that drove him toward, and now away from, the priesthood, asking why he still feels drawn to literature. Vasaris confesses that he has never felt a true priestly calling, that his literary aspirations and emerging ideological doubts pull him away, and that he once thought these reasons would be decisive.

Varnėnas raises the practical obstacles: Vasaris’s ties to the Catholic community, his family, and Lithuanian society at large. He tells Vasaris that to leave the priesthood he would have to sever all connections with Catholics, which Vasaris cannot do. Varnėnas then recounts how his own parents would view Vasaris’s clerical status as a tragedy if he abandoned it, describing how his mother would likely die of grief and his father would become angry. Vasaris admits he cannot bear that loss.

Frustrated, Varnėnas declares that Vasaris’s indecision displeases him and urges him to choose resolutely, regardless of societal, collegial, familial, material, or sentimental obstacles. Vasaris listens calmly, then smiles and says he expected such criticism not only from Varnėnas but from everyone. Varnėnas, taken aback, repeats his reproach; Vasaris replies that he is not a heroic figure but an ordinary man with a sensitive heart. He notes that if Varnėnas wishes, he may condemn him.

Varnėnas then shifts the conversation to a more practical matter: Vasaris’s current lodging with Indrulis, a lawyer’s assistant whom Vasaris knows from high school. He describes Indrulis as a difficult, petty, arrogant, and insincere man, now engaged to an American woman named Gražulytė—dubbed a “bright American beauty” who is also being courted by others. Vasaris jokes about the situation, dismisses Indrulis’s character, and the two agree to visit Indrulis’s flat on Ožėškienės street.

At Indrulis’s apartment, the three men sit, smoke, and chat. Varnėnas notices a bundle of Vasaris’s handwritten manuscripts on the table, calls him a writer, and asks for a sample of his poetry. Vasaris defends the old verses as “nothing new,” but Varnėnas insists Vasaris must debut in Lithuania, suggesting they organise a literary‑musical evening at Indrulis’s place, inviting Vasaris’s pianist and reading some of his drama. Indrulis protests that his flat has no spare room, yet Varnėnas convinces him to host the event there anyway.

Vasaris pulls out his drama manuscript, prepares to read a couple of scenes, and spends the evening editing, polishing, and rehearsing until late night. He imagines the American fiancée as a blonde with light‑colored hair, describing her features in vivid, idealised detail.

During the night, Professor Meškėnas calls Vasaris to inform him that the bishop wants to meet him on Thursday at a set hour. Vasaris, already reluctant, tries to postpone but eventually must attend. He decides to wear civilian clothes, hoping the bishop will not notice his lack of clerical attire, and hopes to keep the option of abandoning the habit.

On the appointed day, Vasaris arrives at the bishop’s residence, nervous and slightly trembling. The bishop greets him with “Laudetur Jesus Christus,” kisses his ring, and invites him to sit. He questions Vasaris about his time abroad, his studies, and his impressions of Paris, then turns to Vasaris’s current situation in Kaunas—his work, his literary ambitions, and, implicitly, his future in the Church. The bishop hints that Vasaris will soon be assigned a parish, will have to wear the habit, hear confessions, and preach, and subtly probes whether Vasaris intends to remain a priest.

Vasaris feels the bishop’s questions as a direct interrogation of his inner doubts; the bishop appears to have already deduced Vasaris’s hesitations. The meeting ends with the bishop offering a benediction, making the sign of the cross, and leaving. Vasaris departs feeling crushed, exposed, and trapped—his secret wish to leave the priesthood laid bare, his literary hopes hanging in the balance, and his future clouded by the bishop’s expectations.