Ittura and I haven’t spoken since the band started playing. We have maintained half an hour of silence. We have not even glanced at each another. Inuit shun you when they are angry. That much I do know.

The atmosphere is musical confusion. I don’t know how much longer I can take it. Do I have to stay with Ittura? What if I just walked out of the wild side and went off on my own? What’s the worst that could happen to a priest on a sunny summer afternoon? I reach behind my chair and stand up. As I’m putting on my black jacket, Ittura’s chin juts out at me. Inuit speak with their eyes and chins. I know that he’s silently asking me, “What are you doing?”

“I’m out! I’ve had enough,” I scream over the music. “You can sit here all day if you like, Ittura, but I can’t. See you later.” Ittura makes no effort to follow me. When I glance back, I can only see his caribou hood. He doesn’t give one damn about me.

The noise of the city street is soothing in comparison to the racket of the blues bar. The cars, the people, the heat. I feel free for the first time in hours. I slide my hands into my pockets and realize that I have the money from the collection plate with me. I stroll over to the hot dog place and order one fat dog with the works. I sit at the only picnic table available.

“Hey,” says a male voice. I look across the table, smile and extend my hand.

“Hi, I’m Peter Prentice. Is it okay if I sit here?”

The boyish-looking man takes my hand in his and shakes it firmly. He is the first person that I’ve met today without Ittura. He is my second contact in the modern world. The first one had said, “Fuck you” in McDonald’s. In a strange way, this guy brings me some comfort. I feel like I’ve found some normalcy.

“Of course. I see that you’re a holy man. Catholic?” A grin emerges from behind the beard that all under-thirties wear these days.

“’Fraid so. Is that a problem? I can move.”

“Nah, not a problem for me, preacher-man. What are you doing in the city? I mean, like, where do you preach?”

“Oh, I’m just in town visiting. I live way north of here. I have a small church in a little Northern village.” I hear the vendor yell out my number. “I’ll be right back.” I go over and pay way too much for a hot dog but convince myself it’s okay because it does have the works. I begin to salivate. The smell of cooked onions must be one of the best smells in the world. I carry the hot dog back to the table cradled in my hands like a newborn. I’m so very happy.

“Hey, sweetie,” I hear as I’m sitting back down. The bearded boy is gone. There’s a woman sitting across from me instead.