Everyday Ghosts (3 page)

The next day the man came into the church just as Father Gabriel was beginning to speak. He wore overalls and soiled white sneakers, one of them unlaced. He sauntered in front of the altar, facing the assembly, and put his finger to his lips, making a long, quiet shushing noise. “What is this?” roared Father Gabriel. “Who in blazes are you?”

The man did not turn to look at him. “I am the saint with no name,” he said, “but you can call me Amos. I have come very far, from the other edge of the land. It is the eighth day of the ninth month of the tenth year, and I bring you news of the world. But not the one you can see. I bring you news of the
real
world.”

“Why do you all just sit there?” Father Gabriel thumped on the altar. “Somebody do something!”

“I do not set my face against you,” the stranger went on. “The revealed Word is not easy to hear but it will save us all. Follow me.” He walked slowly to the door and went out.

“Did he mean we were supposed to go after him?” Brother Walter asked meekly.

“Shut your gob, you simpleton,” howled Father Gabriel. “Who let this madman in? Do you think we can have crazy people coming in and out, on top of everything else? I will get to the bottom of this if it's the last thing I do.”

“I found him sleeping in the bakery this morning,” said Brother James. “He
told me he was hungry. I gave him food. We deal in charity here, Father.”

“Don't talk to me about charity. The man is a loon. I can't help it if everything's gone to hell in a handbasket, but I'll be damned if we will give refuge to a maniac. I am calling in the authorities.”

“Do you think that's wise, Father?”

“I will be the judge of what is wise, Brother James.”

Two police officers arrived half an hour later. “What took you so long?” Father Gabriel demanded. One of the officers was a tall man with a single thick eyebrow cutting across his forehead from side to side. The other was a small woman with oversized pants that flared out at her hips. Her cap was perched at an angle on her bunched-up hair. Both looked uneasy.

“You didn't say it was an emergency,” said the man. “I got the papers right here. It don't say anything about an emergency.”

“Of course it's an emergency,” snapped Father Gabriel. “We have had an intruder. If the place were burning to
the ground would you need to be told it was urgent?”

The officer blinked at his notebook. “I don't see nothing here about a fire,” he said. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves. First things first. I am Officer Stingo and this here is Officer Lund.” Officer Lund put her hand on top of her cap to hold it in place as she nodded. “We're here to check into your complaint. Now, you say there was an intruder?”

“Yes, yes.”

“And what exactly was it that this intruder done?”

Father Gabriel closed his eyes and let out a long breath. “Intruded,” he said.

“Was this alleged intruder of the male or female gender?”

“It was a man—a crazy man who came
out of nowhere and walked right in here without so much as a by-your-leave.”

Officer Stingo scratched his cheek with his pen and then scrawled something down on his pad. “Men don't come out of nowhere, sir,” he said. “That's one thing you can be sure of. Now, you're telling me this alleged male intruder was uninvited?”

Officer Lund was slowly circling the foyer, inspecting the location, her hand on her cap as she looked up at the rafters or down at the hardwood floor. Father Gabriel watched her with narrow eyes. “Yes, the intruder was uninvited,” he said. “You could say that is the essence of what made him an intruder.”

“And how exactly would you describe this alleged male intruder, sir?”

“I already told you. He was crazy. What the devil is she doing?” Officer Lund was crouched down, poking at the floor.

“Loose plank, sir,” she said. “Someone might trip.”

“I'll see to it promptly,” said Father Gabriel, but his sarcasm seemed to be lost on them.

“Is there anything under this floor, sir?”

“Yes. The ground.”

“You shouldn't take these things lightly, sir. Some of these intruders are sly ones. You never know where they might be hiding out. Now, I believe you were about to describe him.”

Brother James stepped forward from the group that stood watching from the
hall. He was holding his rosary. It dangled before him from his clasped hands. The silver crucifix glinted. “He had a glow,” said Brother James. “He had a heavenly glow. It was like he was lit from within. His skin was the purest of the pure, like . . . alabaster.”

Officer Stingo nodded. “Male Caucasian,” he said, jotting it down.

“And his eyes,” added Brother John, his voice thick and trembling. “His eyes blazed. They pierced right through you but bathed you in their warmth.”

“Color?” asked Officer Stingo.

“They had no earthly color,” said Brother John. “They were not of this world.”

Uncertain what to record in response to this, Officer Stingo tapped the pen
against the pad and squinted. Brother Walter screamed, hopped, flailed his arms, and ran off down the hall.

“Who was that?” asked Officer Stingo. “Seems suspicious.”

“Never mind about him,” said Father Gabriel. “I want to know what has gotten into everybody. You all talk about this stranger as if he were some sort of a prophet.”

“He said he was a saint,” said Brother James, drawing his clasped hands to his chin, “and I believed him.”

Father Gabriel gasped. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

“Where is this saint now, sir?” asked Officer Stingo.

“He's not a saint, damn it all—and by this time he could be in the next county
for all I know, even if he was going by ox-cart!”

Officer Lund approached Brother Dominic, staring into his face. “Don't I know you from someplace?” she asked.

Brother Dominic batted his eyes. “I used to be in pictures,” he said.

“It
is
you.” Officer Lund clapped her hand to her heart. “Morty McGrew, Boy Genius! I've loved you since I was a kid. Will you sign my field book?”

“Oh, for the love of God,” cried Father Gabriel.

Officer Stingo placed his pen to his pad, poised to write. “Could you describe this ox-cart, sir?” he asked.

The officers searched the abbey and the grounds with Father Gabriel following them, waving his arms and shouting
instructions that they ignored. They covered the yard and searched the barn. “Loose planks back here too, sir,” said Officer Lund, tapping at the wall behind the trough. “Oh, get on with it, get on with it!” said Father Gabriel. They looked inside cabinets and under pews, into teapots and holy vessels. They opened the door of every cell and searched under every bed. No sign of an intruder was found.

But he was still there somewhere, Pete was sure of it. At first it was only a feeling. Then there were signs. The next day, after he washed the kitchen floor and was starting on the refectory, he heard a clanging sound behind him. He hurried back to the kitchen and found footprints tracking across the wet floor,
leading out the rear door. The footprints were shaped like two half moons with curlicue patterns of circles and lines. At night he heard a stirring outside his cell. At first he thought it might be Brother Dominic, but there was no knock, and then he caught a whiff of smoke. He hurried to the door and peered into the hall. It was empty. But it was the strange kind of emptiness left behind in the split second after someone had just been there.

That was a kind of emptiness Pete knew. All his life he had been aware of it. If his faith was true, it meant there was a hidden presence in everything. As a boy he thought if he looked hard enough, he would be able to see it. As he grew, he knew this was wrong. Faith meant not needing to see. The presence was there
but escaped ordinary senses. Then Pete lived in a constant state of almost seeing. Every place was like a room where a bright light had just gone off. Always, Pete felt he could almost see what was left of that light, which still burned elsewhere. It made everything he looked at seem fleeting, like passing birds glimpsed from the corner of the eye. He scanned the world's surface and thought it was like staring into a big blank sky filled with beautiful clouds that were too high, or too deep, or too far away to be evident. To believe they were there all the same was the only way he knew to find that the world was not empty.

The footprints he had seen in the kitchen, thought Pete, were exactly the kind a sneaker would leave.

Everything appeared to return to normal, for what that was worth. If anything, things got better. The brothers were all in high spirits. Even Brother James and Brother Matthew greeted Pete with good cheer as they passed. At choir, everyone sang in clear and faithful voices. Days went by in which Brother Walter had no run-ins with the ants. Brother John's twisted hands straightened out a little, and Brother Frederic's sayings tended a bit more toward the New Testament. All the while, there were odd comings and goings, and Pete had no idea what it all meant.

Father Gabriel took to his room. Hours of prayer went on as usual, though
with few in attendance. Pete went into the church for the afternoon mass to find no one there but Brother Louis, who was kneeling at a front pew. Pete had not seen him since that day on the hill. He looked up at the ceiling when he heard Pete come in. Pete knew there was no point in asking him where everybody was. Even if he were not under a vow of silence, Brother Louis would not waste his breath on Pete.

Brother Louis drew himself up and slowly walked with his head bowed to where Pete stood in the back. His footsteps on the hard floor echoed. He stood beside Pete without looking at him.

“I don't have anything against you,” said Pete, “as long as you leave Neb alone.”

Brother Louis kept his head bowed. His eyes were steely and calm. His breathing was heavy, and his nostrils flared. He stood stock-still for a long moment. Then he raised his arm and swept it to his side. It caught Pete by the shoulder and knocked him down. He hit the hard edge of a pew and then fell to the ground. Without turning to look down at Pete, Brother Louis stalked out.

By the light of a candle, Pete was looking in a mirror at the bruises on his side that night when Brother Dominic knocked. “What happened to you?” Brother Dominic asked when he saw the bruises. “I've got some makeup for that if you want it. A solid foundation and then a little light cover work, brushed in just right. You'd be amazed.”

“We have to talk,” said Pete.

“I've been thinking the same thing.” Brother Dominic sat on the bed and put his hands on his knees. “I've been thinking about what you asked me and there's something I need to tell you. I'm not really, you know, gay.”

“That isn't what I had in mind.”

“You don't understand,” Brother Dominic went on. “You have no idea what it was like. No one does. Just a kid, thrown into the spotlight, living in the fast lane. It was all too much. It's a whole other world. There's no gay or straight there, it's all just, like, anything goes. Believe me, I could tell you stories. Do you see what I'm saying? Everything's different in Hollywood.”

“We're not in Hollywood,” said Pete. “But that's not what I'm talking about. That's all over. I want to know if you have seen him. You know what I mean.”

Brother Dominic closed his mouth and took a breath, his face turned down in the flickering light. He nodded. “He came to me alone,” he said. “I was working in the sacristy. You know how I hate
to use that awful polish that smells like vinegar? Well, suddenly the smell turned sweet and a light came on, and everything was changed, and he was there. He said he was the saint with no name but I should call him Amos. He told me we are at a great crossroads and he has come to lead us. Then he told me to meet him that night in the woods.”

“And you did.”

“Everyone was there. He'd come to each of us alone, one by one, the very same way, to tell us where and when to meet him. He said there were three crimes and there would be a fourth and the fourth would be in fire. He said if we followed the road we were on then our pastures would languish. I didn't really get that part. Then he said there
would be no rain for a long time. That seemed like a no-brainer because it never rains around here anyway, but whatever. But then he said something that really grabbed me. He said, ‘Do not go with the ones that sell the just man for silver.' And I was like:
yes
. It was like he was talking about me! They never cared about me, all those money-men, all they cared about was the bottom line. It was always just Morty McGrew this and Morty McGrew that—never about me as a
person
. One of the papers said it was because my agent dumped me but that was the real reason I got out of the business.”

Pete sat next to Brother Dominic and put a hand on his shoulder. “This is hopeless,” he said. “It's all so hopeless.”

Brother Dominic looked at him, his eyes reflecting the candle's flame. “He'll come to you, too,” he said. “Then you'll see.

Pete found himself waiting again. Now he knew what he was waiting for, but he did not know what he would do when it came.

He knocked on Father Gabriel's door. “Go away!” came a shout from within.

“It's me, Father.”

“I don't care if it's the Second Coming. I have a toothache. Go away.”

It was in the barn that the stranger came to him.

Pete was watching Neb drink and singing to her. He held the bucket for her and stroked her neck as she lapped at the water with her big pink tongue. She seemed thirstier than usual, and Pete thought there was a sad look in
her eyes before he began to sing. When he brushed her, he saw what was wrong. Across her haunches were many long red gashes. Dried blood streaked down her legs. Someone had whipped her.