She crinkled her eyes, that had dried up with age.

"I'm so glad you've returned."

"I'm not staying long, Mama."

She rose and crossed the room, serene even with her elephant's skin. She poured milk into a glass and when she returned she placed it directly into his lap with motherly insistence.

"We kept your room the way it was."

He was startled.

"All this time?"

"Yes. Would you like to see it?"

"No."

There was a pause. He looked at the cross on the mantle piece. It was big and thick, and cast a white-gold glimmer all around. As he looked at it he felt the urge of old to touch it.

"It must be twenty years since you left us."

The old woman hesitated before continuing. He looked at her skin, which was so pale that she seemed to be diffusing into the white wall behind her, but not at her eyes.

"I know we should have told you before we did. But there was no protocol for us to follow. All we knew is that we loved you ... things were different then."

"Love wasn't different. Love was never different."

"We didn't tell you what you were because we didn't want to hurt you."

"You let me think I was an abomination for years!"

"But times have changed. The pastor says that homosexuality is like heroin addiction, and that we should love the sinner ..."

He had memories of small rooms, bent in endless prayer, and the dark smell of sweat. As he heard her speak he realised he would never see her again after that day.

"I'm going to go. Goodbye, mama."

Her eyes instantly filled with tears.

"Are you sure you don't want to wait until your father gets back?"

"Yes."

"I love you very much."

"I love you too."

"We both forgive you."

He left the room.