“He was a tortured soul. Now he is with God. Now his body and soul are at peace.”
There was an awkward silence between us for a moment.
“What if the tortured soul did not want peace?” I said. “What if he wanted to live on and remain broken? What if he wanted to continue to curse at tourists, eat from garbage cans, make a nuisance of himself, and live in filth? Living that way was his choice.”
“I don’t understand what you are getting at, Mr. Buonfiglio.”
“I’m not so sure I understand either, Pastor Wood.”
I stood up and using the hand of my good arm, pulled a green manchineel apple out of my pocket. One of my stops on the way to the church, and why I was late, was Tyson Bay. I wanted to collect a few of the apples under the manchineel tree where Filthy Man died.
Pastor Wood looked at
