[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
was this? A man holding the baby against his shoulder. Both were
facing the same way, caught in profile, with the baby s little head nes-
tled under the man s chin. They were both unaware of the camera.
The baby s hair was almost as dark as the man s, which was shot
through with silver on the sides. The man was Brennan Burke.
That brought back memories that were as embarrassing as they
40
were agonizing. Memories of me in a tense, drunken moment fol-
lowing the announcement that my wife was pregnant by another
man, me striking out at Burke, punching him in the eye. Up till then,
I had never struck another human being in my life, except in self-
defence. But those days and weeks after the announcement, which
brought to a screeching halt my efforts to reconcile with Maura, were
times of drinking, brooding, and recrimination. I was ninety-five per-
cent certain the father of her child was her sometime paramour,
Giacomo. So why had I lashed out at Burke? Well, it hardly mattered
now. Except that whenever I looked at him I could see the damage to
his left eye. I hoped he didn t think of it every time he saw himself in
the shaving mirror. The eyelid turned down a bit at the outer corner.
It gave him a certain tortured-artist look, which I suspected would not
be unattractive to women if he were looking for a woman but
I would go to my grave before I d be fool enough to say so.
I shook myself out of it and returned to the present, and the reason
for my visit: a social evening for the Schola Cantorum Sancta
Bernadetta, in the wake of the brutal murder of its most illustrious
guest. As it turned out, it wasn t difficult to talk Maura into hosting the
party. She had heard enough from me and Brennan about the cast of
characters to be convinced they warranted a close examination. What
cinched the deal was that I would come over beforehand and fill the
freezer with party snacks, so no cooking would be required on her part.
Tom had already promised to take Normie to a movie that night, so
they would miss the festivities, but otherwise it all clicked into place.
I stopped in at the rectory to finalize the plan with Brennan. When
I got to his room he was on the telephone, and he waved me inside.
What? he said to the person on the phone. I don t know now, Bill.
It s not often I m called upon to supply the women for a party. Things
didn t lighten up that much after Vatican ii. I ll see what I can do.
What was that about? I asked when he had hung up.
Billy Logan, here from Cleveland in the U.S. Have you met him?
I don t think so.
A former colleague. We taught together at Sacred Heart Seminary
in upstate New York. I began teaching there in 1979.
Logan s the priest who left to get married?
Right. He has been laicized, as they say.
41
An ex-priest.
Thou art a priest forever; the sacrament of Holy Orders imprints
an indelible spiritual character on the soul. But, informally speaking,
you re right. He left the priesthood a couple of years after I met him.
He and his wife are here, staying in the house of a friend in the sub-
urbs somewhere. So. Did you approach MacNeil about having the
party at her place?
Systems are go-all-go. What were you saying on the phone about
women?
Logan thought it would be nice if the schola people got to meet
a few locals while they re here. I guess it didn t escape his notice that
the students of the schola are predominantly male. That must be why
he stressed women, to even things up. Not a bad idea. I ll pass the
word around to some of the women at the church.
MacNeil and I could invite a few of the people we know.
So that Saturday night, the last day of November, I was answering the
door of my old house as if I were still in residence. I admitted
Brennan, who was in his clerical suit and collar. He arrived bearing
several bottles of wine. Maura joined me in relieving him of the
burden.
Sacramental wine, I presume, Father?
All of nature is a sacrament, Professor MacNeil, and the vineyards
of Tuscany are particularly rich in God s grace.
Not in civvies tonight?
Had to meet a troubled parishioner and didn t have time to
change.
We ll have that collar off you before the night is done. Excuse me.
I have to go down and get the finger food out of the freezer. I forgot
to thaw it out.
She headed down to the basement. Her baby chose that moment to
start whimpering and, within seconds, he was crying as if his little heart
had been broken. After a few minutes of this, and a glance in my direc-
tion, Brennan went to the corner of the dining room where Dominic
lay in his crib, reached in, and picked up the squalling baby. The child s
42
dark hair was damp and his face red from crying. I could almost feel
his frustration: an early lesson in nobody understands me.
I wanted to go to him myself. It s hard not to fall in love with a
baby, especially if you ve been through the baby stage as a parent your-
self. But the circumstances of his birth were, to put it mildly, a sore
point. The pregnancy wasn t planned; that much I knew. But that did
not make it any less painful for me. My wife now had three children,
the last of whom was just as precious to her as my own. Try as I might,
I could not see myself getting past this. Not that little Dominic was
to blame, obviously. He was a sweet baby, and I often felt the urge to
pick him up, play with him, get to know him. But so far, I had not
been able to make the move.
Now, in Brennan s arms, the infant ceased his wailing. He gave a
little gurgle of contentment, then fell peacefully asleep. Brennan
placed him gently in his crib, and tucked a blanket around him.
The doorbell rang, and I found Father Sferrazza-Melchiorre on the
doorstep, garbed, as always, in a soutane with a cape. He looked like
a sinister figure from another time, making his entrance on the oper-
atic stage. Two young boys struggled in his wake, burdened with
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]