3 february 1990
Until heading off to study for the priesthood, Tettnang was the only home I ever knew. Father had been installed as the priest in a church outside of town after a period of review following his return from Hörselberg. He was permitted to raise me, at least partly so his superiors wouldn't have to deal with any complications someone else would face with my nature.
The Church was too occupied with the war and the difficulties surrounding a divided Germany to pay much mind to a quiet, out-of-the-way priest, and aside from occasional checks to ensure he hadn't fallen into sin again and that I wasn't causing problems we were left largely to ourselves. By the time things calmed down, he was established and old and there was little need to change things. When he died on Wednesday morning, we knew the service would be at the church to which he had devoted over forty of his years.
None of my peers here had seen me since I left for school, and we were never very open about my nature, so there was a great deal of confusion over why I still looked like I was in my twenties. While there was some brief talk about me handling the service, or even of me being installed as the next priest here, I knew the questions raised by my appearance were ultimately going to prevent either. I didn't mind. This type of work hadn't been part of my usual practice for seven years. Aside from that, I was officially on sabbatical and not working, and with Eastern Germany opening again I had somewhere important to visit.
The service this morning was beautiful, and attendance was encouraging. After an uncomfortable supper with friends, I climbed into my rented car and pulled up to the church. I stared at it for a long while with the radio off, just remembering. I don't know if I'll see Tettnang or this building again, so I took it all in, one last time, before wiping my eyes and driving north.
Evidence compiled for use during the trial of Father Benedict de Monte.