"Oh, my Lord Bishop, it's just wonderful! It's a thing of beauty!" Brother Gregor twittered, clasping his carefully-manicured hands together in front of him. "It's going to attract so much attention!"

"I'll say," growled the Bishop. "The sort of attention I can do without."

He glared at Brother Gregor. "Stop fussing about like a fool, and get Father Berthold in here. Tell him to bring the correspondence about this - this - thing with him. And tell him to hurry up, I haven't got all day to sit around waiting."

The Bishop strode into his office, boot-heels clacking on the polished tiles, and slammed the door shut.

"Oh dear," Brother Gregor said. "His Lordship sounds upset. But it's such a lovely statue! Don't you think it's a lovely statue, Z?"

Brother Zachary looked uncertain. "I suppose it is," he said. "But you know the Bishop's opinion about" - Zachary waved his hand vaguely - "you know, nudity and stuff."

Gregor sighed. "Yes, what a shame, the Bishop really doesn't appreciate art. I'd better go and get Father Berthold, and warn him he's in for The Treatment."

***

Inside his office, Bishop von dem Eberbach stubbed out the end of one cigarette and lit another. Thank goodness the Church made no restrictions on smoking; that was one pastime the clergy were able to enjoy.

The statue had been commissioned over a year ago. During his lifetime, the late Karl Staebler had been a generous benefactor to the Diocese. He'd made a lot of money in manufacturing, and he'd always been liberal in his support of Church interests. When he died at the ripe old age of 94, his family approached the Bishop about erecting a statue in the Cathedral, to honour the memory of the family patriarch.

They suggested commissioning a contemporary artist to make a statue on a religious subject. They said they'd leave the selection of the artist and the subject to the Bishop, and offered pay for the statue and make a small donation to the Diocese in addition. ‘A small donation' turned out to be several thousand marks, so Bishop von dem Eberbach felt quite well disposed toward the project.

Bishop von dem Eberbach was not interested in art himself, so the Staebler Statue project was delegated to one of his secretaries. The obliging Father Berthold didn't know much about art either, but he had a good mind for managing processes and procedures, so he immediately set up a committee and called for expressions of interest from sculptors across Europe.

Every time a letter came across his desk about the project, the Bishop passed it on to Father Berthold straight away.

"Deal with it, B," he'd snap. "I haven't got the time for frippery."

As the months passed, the Bishop declined invitations to participate in the selection of the artist, or discussions about the proposed work. Father Berthold and his committee handled it all.

Now, sitting at his desk smoking, Bishop von dem Eberbach realised that to delegate all the decision making had been a mistake.

He would never live it down.

***

Berthold knocked softly at the door and waited.

"Come," the Bishop barked. "Sit down." He fixed his secretary with an icy green stare. "Perhaps you would care to explain that perversion that is standing out there in the waiting room?"

Father Berthold's eyes widened. ‘Perversion' seemed a bit strong.

"Er - aren't you pleased with the statue, my lord?"

"No, B, I am not pleased. How can I expect good German priests to celebrate Mass in the Cathedral with a naked man in full view of the congregation? Hmmm? Tell me that." He shook another cigarette from the pack, and lit it, glaring at Berthold through a wreath of smoke.

There would be no winning this argument, Berthold realised. Pointing out that there were at least a dozen paintings or statues already in the Cathedral depicting Our Lord in a state of undress would do no good.

"My lord, you did delegate all responsibility to me and to my committee, to work on your behalf. We made the selection based on merit. We took advice. We had the Curator of Religious Art from the State Art Museum, and a Professor of Fine Art from the University on the committee. We asked the family about which religious subjects and stories the late Herr Staebler was particularly fond of." Berthold swallowed. "We did invite your input."

"So it's my fault, is it?" roared the Bishop.

Berthold flinched. "The family was invited to view the preliminary sketches," he said, piteously. "They liked them."

The Bishop smoked furiously, glaring. He stubbed out his third cigarette, and huffed in resignation.

"All right, B. What's done is done, I suppose. We'll just have to put a good face on it. Come on, let's go and take another look at the thing."

***

Brother Gregor and Brother Zachary made themselves scarce when they heard the Bishop clack-clacking down the hallway toward the waiting room with Father Berthold scurrying along behind him.

The Bishop came to a halt in front of the statue, glaring. "What did you say it's supposed to be?"

"The Archangel Michael, my lord," Berthold said.

The Archangel Michael, life size, in bronze. His wings arched above his body. He was naked, except for a pair of sandals, and he carried a deadly-looking sword. His hair tumbled in curly abundance over his shoulders and down his back.

Bishop von dem Eberbach tried to tell himself he had not noticed that the Archangel Michael appeared to be uncircumcised.

"The family approved this?"

"Yes, my lord. It's an extraordinary piece of work - a very good likeness."

"Likeness!?"

"Yes, my lord. It's a self-portrait of the artist. That is to say, the artist modelled the figure on his own appearance."

Trying hard not to spill any papers onto the floor, Berthold fished around in the manila folder he'd brought with him until he found a large black and white photograph, which he passed across to the Bishop.

The Bishop blanched. He'd thought the statue was degenerate enough-!

Admittedly, the artist - for he supposed that was who this must be - was wearing briefs, but the sight of all that bare flesh and cleanly-defined muscle was more than a man of the cloth should be asked to look at!

"What did you say his name was?"

"I didn't say, my lord. He's an English artist. His name's Dorian Red, my lord."

Disgusted, the Bishop thrust the photograph back at Berthold.

"My lord, the family is quite keen for the artist to be present when the statue is unveiled in the Cathedral. Would you like me to draft the letter of invitation?"

Without a word, Bishop von dem Eberbach turned and strode back to his office. He needed another cigarette. Several more cigarettes. Knowing that his Cathedral was henceforth going to house a statue of a naked man (life size, in bronze) was bad enough; having to meet the artist who had created this perversion, and to know that the naked Archangel was an exact replica of the artist himself-!

The door slammed shut.

Berthold supposed that must mean he'd been delegated the responsibility to issue the invitation on the Bishop's behalf.