Requiem for Moses (9 page)

“I think,” Koesler said, “that I will have a talk with Father Reichert. He’s very, very mistaken about a hysterectomy blocking your right to the sacrament of matrimony.”

Koesler noted a shadow of doubt clouding Claire’s relief.

“You probably find it difficult,” he said, “to understand how priests can disagree. Sometimes Catholics believe, or are led to believe, that priests come out on some sort of assembly line: You’ve been taught something by one priest, you’ve been taught by them all.

“But that’s not the case. Priests differ a lot, especially since the Second Vatican Council.

“Father Reichert, for instance, is a good man. But he has some peculiar notions. When he and I were young priests, we were taught—and we taught in turn—that there was a ‘primary purpose’ to marriage: the procreation and education of children. That’s been changed a bit to where there’s no longer a ‘primary purpose’; the love that promotes growth between a married couple is equally as important as having children and bringing them up in the faith.

“Besides, even back when we were young priests, an operation that would affect the fertility of either spouse would not have any bearing on the couple’s right to the sacrament of matrimony. Lots of people who, for one reason or another, can’t have children get married very validly. Physical causes that make bearing children impossible have nothing to do with the will and desire for children.

“Take my word for it: There is nothing in what you’ve told me to prevent you from having a Catholic wedding. Got that?”

Koesler’s explanation was rewarded by the open, relieved smiles of Claire and Stan.

“You’ve made me feel a whole lot better, Father,” Stan said. “I gotta admit that when Father Reichert told us we couldn’t get married because of Claire’s operation, I was pretty angry … not at anyone in particular, just at the situation. But when we found out about the abortion, something inside me just about exploded. I gotta confess, I really was close to doing something … violent.

“And I still feel that way. Lucky thing the doc is dead … lucky thing for me, anyway.”

Chapter Six

They parted with the couple promising to stay in touch, and Koesler assuring them that Father Reichert would no longer be a problem.

But, Koesler wondered, what did Stan mean by, “Lucky thing the doc is dead … lucky thing for me, anyway.”

That’s what Stan had said.

It could only mean that if Green were not dead, Stan would still feel like killing him for what he’d done to Claire. Then Stan would have to suffer the consequences of murder. But the job was done: The doctor was dead—and it would cost Stan nothing.

Was it a mere stroke of luck that the doctor had died?

Of those who had spoken to Koesler this evening, each and every one seemed to have a very credible, pressing bone to chew with Green.

Cameron was about to lose his establishment, the nearest and dearest thing in his life. The restaurant-bar was his dream. A dream he had turned into reality. Green was about to squeeze Cameron out of the business. But, then, in almost a deus ex machina, the doctor dies. How convenient!
What a coincidence.

Claire and Stan were willing to live with the consequences of a criminal operation even though it threatened their desired Catholic wedding. That was due to a literalist, idiot priest. When they’d learned the operation was by no means necessary, that the surgery was, in fact, an abortion, to Stan, at least, the deed called for vengeance. From his own lips, Stan had been ready to murder. Conveniently, the doctor had died. The coincidences were piling up. Coincidences weren’t supposed to do that.

Koesler interrupted his own thought process by checking to see if Margie Green was finally accessible. The line of well-wishers seemed as long as ever.

What could all those people who knew Green be saying that could possibly comfort the widow—“Thank God the bastard is dead”? That had to be the antithesis of what people say in situations such as this. But what else could they say?

From all Koesler had heard this evening, that sentiment seemed fitting.

And what could
he
say when, inevitably, it would be time for the eulogy?

Koesler stood, looking toward the widow, lost in unfocused thought, when he became aware that someone was tugging gently on his coat sleeve. He looked down at a very attractive but obviously troubled young woman. He had never before seen her, not in person or in a photo, and yet he was all but certain who she was. “Judith Green?”

Her expression changed to one of mock exasperation. “Cameron, isn’t it? He pointed me out to you, right? I saw you talking to him.”

“Not really. Your name did come up in conversation—but, no, he didn’t identify you to me.”

“I don’t know whether to be pleased or angry. I’m sure he had nothing good to say about me. I can’t be one of his favorite people. But … you could pick me out of this crowd just on what he said about me?”

“Not quite. I could hardly single you out from anyone here. But I must admit I kind of half expected you to come and talk to me. So it wasn’t that extraordinary a guess.”

“Let me assure you, Father, I had no intention of speaking to you until I saw Jake bending your ear. I don’t know exactly what he told you, but I can be damn sure I wouldn’t be happy with it.” Ignoring the priest’s wincing expression, she continued. “Don’t get me wrong: I don’t blame the poor schlemiel. He certainly got the short end of the stick with me. But there’s another side to this story—and more than that. I want you to know
my
side. For some reason I want you to know. It must be my Catholic upbringing coming back like a hiccup.”

Strange way to refer to all those years of Catholic schooling.
Koesler considered her more carefully.

She wore a coat seemingly several sizes too large. He would have to take on faith the opinion of an expert—Jake Cameron—that she possessed a faultless figure.

Her short dark hair fell in bangs above an oval face, giving her a pixieish appearance. This was intensified by thin eyebrows arched as in surprise, a small, pouty mouth, and high cheekbones.

Her expression … where had he seen that expression—and recently?

Of course: her mother. There was a lot of her mother in Judith Green. Though she possessed possibly the most determined expression he had ever seen, oddly, something about the eyes indicated hurting. Despite all that determination, this young woman did not always get her way.

All in all, a very interesting face.

Judith Green. Nothing particularly ethnic in either the name or the face. Technically, of course, she was not Jewish, since her mother was not. Which did not address the contention that had she lived in Nazi-occupied Europe, she would surely have been included in a pogrom beginning with humiliation, leading to a gas chamber, and ending in a furnace.

Koesler found it impossible to quibble with that analysis.

She sighed. “I suppose Jake told you about everything, beginning with my audition for Virago?”

Koesler nodded. He had already heard more than he wanted to know about her short-lived liaison with Jake Cameron. But she obviously wanted to tell him about it. It just might do her some good to get it off her chest.

“That was his fault right off the bat,” she said. “Delusions of grandeur on his part. Whatever gave him the idea that as talented a dancer as I was would perform in his bump-and-grind shop? Good God, I gave him the full shot just to try to discourage him. I kind of hoped he would put two and two together and figure out I was some kind of setup. But the better I danced, the more the dummy just blindly went along with the scam.”

“You mean you didn’t want to get that job?” This was not the perspective he had gotten from Cameron.

According to Jake, right from the start, Judith “Young” had tried—successfully—to delude him into a stupid plot that would end in entrapment. According to Jake, this was a plot hatched by Moe Green in which his daughter had played the central role—and most willingly.

Koesler was now hearing another side of the story.

“I’ll try to be brief as possible, but you need some background.…

“It started when I was fourteen—no, make that ten. There wasn’t much going on heterosexually in a parochial school in the fifth grade. Well …” She adverted to the fact that Koesler’s history included a lot of parochial fifth grades. “…you would know about that sort of thing better than I.”

Indeed. Koesler recalled seeing
Do Black Patent Leather Shoes Really Reflect Up?
a hilarious takeoff on the interplay between parochial school children, their priests, and, mostly, their nuns, in the ’50s. That era was marked by nuns with rulers measuring hemlines, the distance between dancers, and the depth of decolletage. The evening Koesler saw the play, a woman in the audience was pounding her fists on the back of the seat in front of her and chanting, between howls of laughter, “That’s the way it was! That’s the way it was!”

“Anyway,” Judith went on, “the few times we had socials where we could invite boys, I always had to invite my cousin Morris. Daddy insisted on it. He and Mother disagreed on this—like they did about almost everything.

“I was caught in the middle—as usual. Daddy won their battles most of the time—or, at least he thought he did. Mother always got something out of the war. Watching them—well, it was like meetings between labor and management debating a constant grievance.

“But while mother was salvaging her booty and Dad was walking away relishing his contested victories, I was stuck with Morris. Summer vacation was the worst. That’s when there were lots of parties where Morris and I could get thrown together.

“It’s hard to say what was the worst aspect of Morris—there were so many. I guess the thing that bugged me most was Morris always trying to feel me up. Fortunately, at that age, I was a little bigger and a lot stronger than him. So, every time he tried it, I beat the sh—I beat him up.”

So far, thought Koesler, with the possible exception of parental warfare, the childish relationship of two kids was not all that unusual.

Almost as if she were reading his mind, Judith said, “You’re probably thinking that this sort of family feud was not unusual. But it took on another dimension when I got to high school. I don’t know whether you know it or not, but I attended Catholic school right through to college.

“Even in a Catholic high school, dating could get serious.

“Well, we had a class—I think it was called ethics. It was mostly about sex, and how that was dirty so you were supposed to save it for the one you love.”

Koesler had heard that line many times before. He always found it mildly humorous. In the present context, it was not difficult keeping a straight face.

“It was in that ethics class,” Judith said, “that I discovered something that just might get Daddy out of my hair and Morris away from my chest. It was the first Catholic teaching I ever found helpful.”

THE PAST

It’s called steady dating, Daddy ….”

Judith had cornered her father in his study after the evening meal. It was one of those rare nights when he had dinner with the family instead of arriving home long after his children had been packed off to sleep.

“Steady dating,” Moe repeated absently, as he studied the real estate market in the daily paper.

“Our ethics prof spelled it all out: It’s wrong. It’s an occasion of sin. We aren’t supposed to do it.”

“Then don’t do it.” Green wished she would go away. He barely heard what she was saying. This was the reason he so seldom spent quality time with his family. He hated his family. He related to his family only insofar as the individual members could serve his purposes. But, then, that was how he related to everyone.

“I can’t
not
do it,” Judith whined. “You’re making me do it.”

“Do what?”

“Date steady. Steady date.”

“I’m
making you do that!? I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Don’t you have homework to do?”

“I did it. When Mother said you’d be home for dinner, I didn’t believe her. But just in case you did come home, I got my homework done early. So, now I got to talk to you. Daddy! I’m talking to you.”

“I’m painfully aware of that. Why don’t you go play? Play with David. What are brothers and sisters for?”

“David is a schlemiel! Besides, this is important. I talked to my ethics teacher and he says you are putting me in the near occasion of mortal sin.”

“Then don’t do that.”

“What?”

“What your teacher told you not to do.”

“Daddy! It’s not my fault.”

“Good. It’s somebody else’s fault.”

“Yours!”

“That’s nice.”

“Daddy, you’re making me go out with Morris. All the time!”

“Morris!” Green crushed the paper between his hands. “Morris! What about Morris?”

Morris played a long-range part in one of Green’s schemes. Judith’s mention of the name captured his attention.

“You’re making me go out with Morris all the time. I have to dance with him at all the sock hops. When we have vacations, it’s always Morris, Morris, Morris!”

“Morris is a good kid. What’s the matter with you? He’s your cousin, for God’s sake.”

“That’s another thing: He’s my cousin!”

“He shouldn’t be your cousin? It’s good he’s your cousin. Keeps it all in the family.” He looked up as Margie entered the room and stood by the fireplace.

“We’re supposed to date lots of boys. We’re supposed to—um—play the field. If we don’t get enough experience from a lot of different people, we won’t develop a mature personality.”

“Your personality is fine.”

“And”—Judith continued to talk through her father’s comment—“if we only date one fellow we will be committing serious sins. Because steady dating is like an engagement. Engagements naturally lead to marriage. And steady dating leads to sins. Sins of the flesh!”

Moe chuckled. “Morris still feeling you up?”

“Not much. Last time he tried that I decked him!”

“See? That’s my girl.” Moe was grinning. “You won’t commit any sins … except maybe murder.”

“You should take her seriously, Moe,” Margie said.