The priest looked at Kabir. The boredom vanished from his young face. He saw the wound. "That is why he is a Preta in your mind," the priest said softly. "A ghost?" "Not a ghost like in the movies," the priest corrected. "In psychology, a Preta is a memory that haunts you because it is hungry. It is unsatisfied. It pulls at your clothes. It demands the attention you didn't give it when it was alive. As long as you feel guilt, your father is a Preta to you. He is a source of pain." Kabir nodded, tears prickling his eyes. That was exactly it. His father's memory wasn't a comfort; it was a haunting. "The ritual," the priest continued, "is to turn the Preta into a Pitru—an Ancestor. An ancestor doesn't haunt. An ancestor protects. An ancestor is satisfied." "How?" Kabir asked. "How can I satisfy him now? He's gone." "You don't satisfy him there," the priest pointed to the sky. "You satisfy him here." He pointed to Kabir's chest. "You offer the water of your love now. You say, 'Papa, I was late. But I am here now. Drink this attention. Drink this time. I am giving it to you now.'" Ritual as Psychodrama.