The class divides within the chapel were as obvious as the boundaries within the city.
Main and High Streets and the railway were as insurmountable as castle walls, while the river drowned the dreams of all who dared sleep and muse upon the journey between the industrial nightmare of the East and the townhouses and electric-lit avenues of the West.
Within the chapel, rows of empty pews served to separate each from the other in ordained lines; washed from unwashed, haves from have-nots, saved from dammed.
"Rich men ride camel through the gates of heaven," Marya whispered to me in the hushed silence after communion. "While I search for a needle to darn my last pair of socks.
Translated by J.P. Carter from Memento Mori, by Manya Arina © 1971.