” I need to talk to you about something, T. Can you come out and talk.”

I got this call in the middle of the night. After meeting him, he said nothing. Nothing.

Weeks later, I got the call again. This time I got the whole story.

We used to have an organist in our small little family church. He was older than us at the time, we were just teens. He liked to spend time with us. He was single and he often invited us to his flat.

He liked to hug a lot. Now, us Chinese don’t really hug that much, if at all. Shaking hands is traumatic enough. But this guy liked hugging us boys, whenever we visited him. At first I thought he was just more westernised, but now I know better. And isn’t it strange that he always invited us one by one. I only realise that now.

The late night caller finally divulged to me that he was sexually molested by this organist. Oh, and that was only a year or so after the organist had committed suicide. He had brain tumour as well.

This surely counts as one skeleton in the church’s cupboard.

He probably wouldn’t have tried so hard to be a closet homosexual if he were not a Christian. Then he would have been able to live his life freely. As a result of his religion, he had to suppress his instincts and ended up preying on males younger than him, and who look up to him. He must have almost gone crazy suppressing his natural instincts.

I was never molested by him as I became rather disgusted with his never-ending attempts at intimacy, and stopped associating with him, though I felt rather guilty for doing so at that time. I thought that I was being cold-blooded and heartless. Sometimes it’s ok to loathe some people. And to think I cried at his funeral.