On the Third Day (17 page)

            Father Prescott didn’t answer.

            “They loved him from the moment he stepped in front of them.  I introduced him, moved aside, and I might as well have ceased to exist.  He smiled and started talking.  By the time the Mass had ended and he stood by the door, shaking their hands and hearing their voices for the first time, he was part of their lives.  I should envy that – but I don’t.”

            Father Prescott raised an eyebrow, but he still held his silence.

            The Bishop fell silent for a moment.  He reached down, opened the lower drawer of his desk and pulled out two tumblers and the decanter of Scotch.  He poured two fingers into one and glanced up at Father Prescott, who nodded gently.  The Bishop poured the second drink, slid the decanter back into its place in the drawer, and wrapped long, slender fingers around the glittering crystal.

            “I used to believe that when the Mass was celebrated, everyone present felt the same thing.  When I was very young I closed my eyes and drowned in that experience, wishing the world away with all the strength of a young mind and heart.  Those were the purest moments of pleasure I’ve ever experienced.”

            Father Prescott took a sip of scotch and listened.

            “Arrogantly, I thought when I became a Priest – when it was my voice they heard pouring those beautiful words into the world, that they would stand, close their eyes, and share those moments with me.  I wanted to bring the sensation that was so important to me to others, but I didn’t understand that it wasn’t something that could simply be given.  It has to be accepted.  It has to be desired.  There was so much more to the calling, and I was so ill-equipped to help with the problems that plagued their lives.”

            Father Prescott waited a moment, and then spoke.

            “Have you seen paintings, Tony, where Christ is kneeling in prayer, and the light – the wonder of his communion with God – shines out from him like the rays of a sun?”

            Bishop Michaels nodded, though his eyes stared over Donovan’s shoulder and off into some unseen distance.

            “I used to think,” Father Prescott said, “that the rays moved only one way.  When you’re a child, that’s how you learn to draw such a thing.  Sometimes they even have arrow tips on the ends to make sure whoever sees them knows the direction.

            “Mass is like that for me.  There is a sharing with God, and a sharing with the world.  The two in harmony is a blessed sensation, a moment of clarity that supercedes the physical and provides those small flashes of perfection upon which we build faith.”

            “I have never seen it that way – never felt it the way you describe it,” Bishop Michaels said.  His voice was deep and sad, wistful.  “I’ve always suspected that others knew something I did not.  When I celebrate the mass, I am cut off from everything but God.  There is a flow of energy, just as you describe, but it is a closed loop.  It has always felt that way.

            “Now I wonder what I’ve missed, but I don’t wonder enough to seek it out.  Is it pride, do you think?”

            He glanced up at Donovan, who shook his head and took a slow sip of scotch.

            “I don’t think so,” Donovan said.  “Not completely.  I think there’s a lot of fear mixed in.  When you open yourself to God, you know what you’re getting.  When you open yourself up to the world it’s an entirely different thing.  The calling is different for each of us.”

            Bishop Michaels nodded, satisfied.

            “I’ll be there this year, of course,” the Bishop said thoughtfully.  “God knows I’d like to attend Mass here in the city and try to ignore this, but I can’t.  I have to see for myself.”

            Donovan nodded.  “I would never have asked you to accept my judgment on such a thing blindly.  I’m sure that Father Thomas will welcome your presence as well.”

            The Bishop chuckled at this and downed the last of his scotch.  “I’m not as sure of that as you appear to be,” he said. 

            “Well, no matter how Father Thomas feels,” Donovan said, “I will be glad of your presence.  I will value your insight when it is over.  I am not infallible – my curse is much more subtle.”

            He hesitated, smiled, then added, “I have an open mind, and I dream of miracles.”

            Bishop Michaels met Father Prescott’s gaze for a long moment.  “I have never said this to any other man in all the years of my life,” he said.  “I hope never to be in a position where I have to say it again; but I will say it now, to you Donovan.  I hope that your dreams do not come true.   Not this time.”

            Donovan nodded.  “I understand your feelings, Tony, even if I don’t share them.  I’ll see you Sunday, then, at Mass.”

            Bishop Michaels sat back and turned away again, staring out at the stars.  He nodded.

            Father Prescott hesitated, then asked his final question.  “Have you heard from that man, Clearwater?  Is there any word of whether he actually has a copy of the video, or whether he intends to use it if he does?”

            The Bishop shook his head. 

            “He calls here once or twice a week.  About half the time he threatens my secretary with all the horrible publicity he’s going to bring down on our heads.  The other half he’s our friend, hoping I’ll come on his show and shed some light on what happened – open our doors to the world and let them know the truth.  I doubt that truth is a word he’s really familiar with, but I also doubt he’s much of a threat, at least not if it ends here.  If something happens this year it will be a lot harder to keep things quiet.  Probably impossible.”

            “All we can do is pray, and try to keep him from interrupting the Mass,” Donovan replied with a heavy sigh.  “I wish I knew how he knew about that video.”

            “He may not,” the Bishop said, shrugging.  “I made no secret of the camera I carried in last year, they may have just seen it and drawn their own conclusions.”

            Father Prescott nodded.  “I hope that’s it.  Father Thomas has enough riding on his shoulders.  We all do.”

            Father Prescott rose, and the door clicked shut behind him.  Bishop Michaels stared out into the heavens.  It was a long time before he turned away.

~ Seventeen ~

            Early evening gave way to darkness, and though the moon rose slowly to wash the Cathedral in her silver light, long shadows stretched from every stationary object and lent an air of mystery.  Standing on a balcony outside the rectory, staring out over the ocean, Father Thomas needed nothing less than he needed more mystery.  A few feet further down the wall, content with the silence, Father Prescott leaned on the balcony, lost in his own thoughts.

            It was the day before Easter Mass, possibly the last absolutely solitary, silent moment either man would have for some time to come.  The magic of it was lost on neither of them.  Finally, Father Thomas turned and broke the silence.

            “So, the Bishop agrees with you, then?  We should go ahead as if it were any Easter Mass?”

            Father Prescott nodded.  “There is no other course open to us.  Not really.  We might avoid something if you don’t perform the Mass, but who is to say that what we avoid won’t come back to you another day, or another year?  We have an opportunity to observe, and we should accept that blessing.”

            “And Bishop Michaels?” Father Thomas asked.  “He will be there, as well, I suppose.  Will he bring his camera again?”

            Father Prescott shook his head.  “No camera, but yes – he will be there.  How could he not be?”

            Father Thomas turned back to watch the waves with a sigh.

            “I’m not sure I have the strength for this, Donovan.  I’m not sure I can go through with it all again, not knowing what will happen.”

            “We very seldom know what will happen, regardless of our actions, and our faith,” Father Prescott replied.  “You must pray, Quentin.  That’s the strongest advice I can give you, and the most useful.  I will pray, as well, and I will be close by every second, watching.”

            Quentin laughed softly.  “I Hope the Bishop doesn’t feel the need to be close by, as well.  I’m not convinced, for one thing, that he won’t run me through with a wooden stake if it gets out of hand.”

            Father Prescott didn’t laugh, but his smile was warm.

            “There is only one source of strength we can turn to in such times,” He said.  “You will be fine, Quentin.”

            Father Thomas stared a last moment at the ocean, then turned abruptly, as if he’d either found what he’d been looking for, or given up on it.

            “I’m sure you’re right, Donovan,” he said.  “For now, though, I think I’m all talked out.  I’m tired, and tomorrow will be a long, trying day, no matter what happens.  I think I’d better spend an hour or so alone, preparing, and then get some rest if I can manage it.”

            Father Prescott nodded in understanding.  He clapped a hand on Father Thomas’ shoulder and gripped gently.  Without a word, he released that grip, turned, and made his way through the glass doors into the rectory.  He hesitated for a second on the threshold and turned back, but Father Thomas was staring out over the ocean again, and Donovan left in silence.

* * *

            The altar in the Cathedral was imposing enough by day.  At night, the huge crucified figure leaned out from the wall ominously.  It seemed to be pressing itself free of the plaster and stucco.  Shadows obscured the point where wall ended and art began, strengthening the illusion, and the shadow of the great cross spread across the pews and stretched to the furthest corners of the building.

            Moonlight filtered in through stained glass, but it was muted, and all the colors drained to gray.   On the carpet at the base of the cross, Father Thomas knelt.  His head was bent low, and his hands rested on his knees.  His lips moved in silent prayer, and his shoulders shook slightly.  From a distance it might have looked as though Christ were tearing himself from the wall to fall and crush his supplicant, but if Father Thomas felt that weight, it didn’t show.

            Soft, shuffling steps broke the silence, which had been complete.  They moved very slowly, and after a moment heavy, labored breathing joined the footsteps.  Father Thomas shook himself and raised his head slowly.  He didn’t rise, but he did turn, curious to see who else might be in the Cathedral at such a late hour.  The doors were always unlocked, and it wasn’t unheard of that they would have to chase a passing vagrant out who’d wandered in to nap in a pew, or look for food.

            The heavy form of Gladys Multinerry shuffled from the shadows.  She held a candle on a silver dish with a ring for her finger.  The flickering light danced over her features and blended them with the eerily lit walls, a reddish wash against the gray backdrop.  Father Thomas squinted at her, recognized her, and smiled.

            Gladys’s features were a mask of concern.

            “It’s very late, Father.  Shouldn’t you be resting, tomorrow being what it is?”

            Father Thomas didn’t answer immediately.  He turned his gaze back to the altar, whispered a few more words under his breath, and crossed himself.  Then, with a quick, very low bow, he pressed his hands into the carpet and rose.  He turned to face Gladys with a warm smile.

            “I could say the same to you Gladys.  What brings you so far from home so late at night?  Still looking out for me after all this time, I suppose?”

            “The Lord knows someone has to, Father,” Gladys replied.  “It’s a certain thing you won’t look after yourself.”

            Father Thomas laughed.  He stepped closer and put his arm around her shoulder, standing beside her and gazing up at the crucified figure of Christ above them.

            “You may be right,” he said.  “I am tired, and I’ll be retiring for the night in just a few moments.  I just wanted a few moments alone here, some time to sort it all out in my head – and to think.”

            Gladys snorted.  This caused her prodigious body to shake and sent flickers of candlelight dancing over the walls. 

            “If you ask me,” she said, “you spend a sight more time thinking than is healthy, and not near enough time believing in yourself – and in God.”

            Thomas shook his head ruefully.  “You are probably right again,” he said.  He chuckled and gave her a quick hug.  “I can’t help but worry, though.  It isn’t like other days – not even like other Sundays.  I can’t just ignore what happened to me last year, and the year before, and I can’t help wondering if I’m right to give it the chance to repeat itself.”

            “We’ll all be there for you, Father,” Gladys said.  “We always have been.  Whatever comes, we’ll face it together.”

            Father Thomas patted her on the shoulder again, and smiled.  “I know you will, Gladys.  If it weren’t for you and the rest of the parish I‘d have slunk off and hidden under a stone the first time something happened.

            “Now,” he added, “you’d better get on home.  Your son will be worried, and I have to go and try to get some rest.”

            He turned toward the back of the church and the hallway leading to the rectory.  Gladys clutched her candle so tightly her hand shook.  She watched his retreating back grow dim and finally fall to shadow.

            She called after him.

            “You do as I say, Father, and get some sleep.  What will come will come, and no amount of thinking about or fussing over it will change a thing.”

            Father Thomas called back over his shoulder.

            “I’ll try, Gladys.  I will surely try.  I’ll see you in the morning.”

            When Father Thomas was out of sight, Gladys stepped closer to the altar.  It wasn’t easy for her.  Her knees were old and tired, and her bulk made the thought of rising again when she was through almost more than she could bear, but she knelt where he had knelt, gazed up at the statue of Christ, and then lowered her head.