CONFESSION

The day arrived as quickly as the last, and Mr. Smith, an advertising agency employee, made his way to the church with a touch of nervousness. The year was 2122, and instead of rain, something like hybrid nickel fuel was falling from the sky. Smith unfolded his lead-and-metal umbrella and entered the building with a sigh.

Silence reigned inside, despite the several hundred people in the hall. Everyone knelt, heads bowed, counting their earnings. There were mothers with children, fathers, single men, the elderly, and the disabled. Everyone waited their turn, every now and then glancing at the large LCD screen.

"Mrs. Johnson, please go to confession booth number 23."

The young woman stood and, fear in her eyes, went inside.

Smith watched her carefully. He wondered how many sins he had committed since his last confession. He counted twenty-three, about five fewer than he had over two months ago. He still struggled with his behavior, but the battle wasn't easy. Besides, he had a strange feeling that sinning excited him, that it was like a drug, and he was an addict trying to fight back.

He was in the middle of examining his conscience when a voice came from the microphone.

"Mr. Smith, please go to confession box number 45..."

Smith felt a cold sweat break out on him. He reluctantly stood up and entered the confession box.

The interior felt strange, surrounded by electronics everywhere, the smell of smoke and electricity. A small bed stood opposite Smith, and above it hung an LCD monitor. The whole thing evoked an internal, innate, human unease, a sort of fear of enclosed spaces. A pleasant female voice spoke through the microphone.

"Please lie down, Mr. Smith."

Smith already knew the entire confession sequence by heart. He walked over to the bed and lay down.

"We will now begin scanning your soul. A CCD lamp will pass over your chest, and the result will be recorded on an e-card. This will take about three minutes. Please remain still during this time.

Smith froze. A moment later, he felt the warmth of a passing lamp and heard the faint printout of an electronic computer. A sexy, female voice spoke again.

"Thank you for your patience. The fee for sins is $3,500."

Smith stiffened. Now he felt a wave of heat flood his body. Fear robbed him of speech. Speechless, he stared at the printout.

"How much?"

"$3,500, that's 25 sins of $140 each. You now have zero sins on your account.

" "But a month ago, I only paid $900..."

The polite, female voice replied patiently.

"Pursuant to the resolution of July 23, 2122, the price of sin cleansing services is increased by the statutory 300%. This is due to the increasing number of sins among people."

"But I don't have that much money!" Mr. Smith shouted in despair. "I only brought $1,000! Damn it, my wife will beat me!

" "First sin on your new account. A curse costs $140."

Smith calmed down. He got out of bed and wiped his sweaty forehead with his hand.

"Damn it... can't you absolve yourself with a loan?"

"Yes, Mr. Smith. Will you pay your $1,000?

" "Of course, but do I have any choice? I'll pay the rest in three months. How much interest will it be?"

The computer briefly began to calculate and analyze the data. "

That'll be $2,983 in total. Thank you for coming, Mr. Smith. Have a nice day."

The man left and walked briskly home. He wasn't afraid of debt, or even of huge increases.

He was most afraid of his wife.

She was a deeply religious person. Her bills for sins totaled less than $200-300. She believed that purity of soul meant more than just small bills, but above all, a clear and peaceful conscience. She cared about her image and fought for her husband's image.

But it wasn't that simple.

First, they sold the car. With the money, they paid off Smith's sins for six months. Then came the Photon video recorder and a Sony LCD screen worth over $1,000. And then, when they had almost nothing left, his wife said, "Enough of this."

So today he had something to worry about.

She opened the door and fixed her husband with an uncertain gaze.

"How much?"

He just smiled.

"Listen, honey..."

"I asked how much this time? Should I pack?"

He lowered his eyes and looked at the ground.

"$3,500... you know, that argument with the boss was very heated... but the boss could afford it..."

And at that moment, he saw before him a woman who reminded him of the devil. Not his wife, a sensitive, religious, and loving woman, but a nervous and world-weary woman. She exploded with uncontrollable anger.

"Listen, asshole, I've had enough of all this! We've already sold everything, and you're still sinning! You promised me something, don't you remember?! The kids are starving, the house is falling apart, and you just say, with a smile on your face, '$3,500!

'" "But it's not what you think..." he tried to save himself, even though he knew he'd lost this time.

"What? Smith, I'm leaving! I don't give a damn!"

She entered the apartment. Smith quickly followed her.

"Honey, don't swear like that, or you won't pay me back...

" "I don't care, do you understand? You ruined my life, you piece of shit! I'll swear until I die of hunger and lack of money! Smith, do you understand? I'd rather live with an alcoholic than with you! He wouldn't cost me that much!"

She picked up her suitcases and walked out to the front of the house. She stopped and, a little calmer, added,

"You're a damn rattler, Smith! Goodbye forever!"

He didn't stop her. He knew he would. He turned his head away and cried.