A Naked Singularity: A Novel (66 page)

“ . . .”

“Strange kind of sin lying though. Let’s say a lie is a declaration the declarant knows is not true, why is the creation of one a sin exactly? What the hell, heck, is so sinful about telling a lie? Take my earlier lie as an example. So I said something that didn’t accurately reflect truth, whatever that is. So what? How exactly is morality implicated? So these words that were uttered didn’t happen to correspond with truth. Big deal. Is truth so paramount that a violation of it in any form is a
sin
? If that’s the case then what is it about truth that makes this so? If it’s a sin because God says so then why is God so hung up on truth? Is truth so important because without it, and without reliance on basic conformance with it, human interaction becomes hopelessly complicated and unsatisfying? Well that seems a concern more apt to contract law or social utilitarianism than to the lofty realm of morality. On the subject of the lofty, does God always expound the truth in its purest form? If so, and there’s never artifice or ambiguity of any kind involved, then we need only look around to see what God thinks of us and it isn’t good. Or maybe truth itself is God or a major aspect of God and therefore a violation of truth is the equivalent of a direct slap to God’s face? Frankly I find those kind of anthropomorphic views of God to be the most annoying kind of bullshit, I mean bullcrap, and basically highly silly and arbitrary. And that’s how I view your proscription against lying. I can’t get too worked up about it is what I’m saying. Especially when, as here, it’s clear no one was hurt by the declaration. And while I can certainly mentally concoct a situation where a lie would be grossly wrong I can also easily envision the opposite. The result is that the whole thing ends up seeming almost pedantic and superstitious you know?”

“ . . .”

“Which I guess brings me to the heart of the matter namely this. You could argue that when I do finally get around to it and recount my sins, that the telling itself will be a form of lying. You see the problem is I’m not really a true believer, I don’t think. I don’t truly believe in the things you’re offering me right now. Don’t believe they truly and accurately represent the world we live in. Not that I’ve given it an overwhelming amount of thought either. But I also didn’t give it much thought earlier in my far younger life when I did believe in all you expound. That didn’t seem like much of a conscious decision either. My environment back then just seemed to actively gravitate me towards those beliefs just as I now find myself pulled towards the opposite belief. The belief that there is no God et cetera and that this is all just a somewhat unhappy accident that lends itself to people seeking solace in things like a belief in God. But I can’t stress enough what a gradual undramatic process this has been. It’s not like I
did
have a strong belief in God until the day my best buddy had his balls blown off in Korea and died in my arms and I decided that such a thing would never occur in a world ruled by God, it’s nothing like that. It’s also not a case where I’m making a conscious decision that I’m going to attempt to define myself by this belief or non-belief. It’s more like a continual weakening that turns into a disappearance.”

“I understand.”

“Thing is I don’t think my disbelief has ever quite risen to the level of certainty of my previous belief, I know it hasn’t. I may not believe that God exists but I also recognize I could be wrong. I know this because I have previously been wrong about other things that I was far more certain about. I also recognize that this is not the kind of area where an error is impossible or even unlikely. What that means is that if I
am
wrong and everything that you, Father Mulcahey, believe accurately represents the state of the universe then engaging in this process in a state of disbelief could be just the kind of slap in the face we spoke of earlier. At best it seems to be a kind of cynical attempt to cover all my bases in the absence of true contrition. On the other hand, since I recognize that your worldview might be correct shouldn’t I attempt to remedy my failings and redeem myself in conformance with that possibility? In other words it’s the lack of certainty that gives me pause. If I knew with certainty that this was all just a pleasant fiction, which if you were honest you would admit is at least a possibility as I have done with the converse, then there’d be no reason to be here at all. Anything would be permissible. Certainly there wouldn’t be any reason to worry about something as silly as whether or not your words conformed with amorphous truth and we could dispense with a lot of the ill feelings we experience in this and similar areas. Quality of life would improve dramatically for everyone. No guilt, conscience, or restrictions. Which of course raises the possibility that my desire for such an existence influences my lack of belief in those things that would make such an existence impossible. See what I’m driving at?”

“ . . .”

“Well, let me start. It was a small thing. I guess the idea was you would push the little red button at the top and that would set into furious motion these little wheels or whatever. The whole thing was probably two by three inches at most. Looking back I guess it was some kind of miniature slot machine although that was not a comparison I could have made back then. I was just a little squirt there at our Lady of Perpetual Remorse or whatever and severely limited in what I knew of the world outside. I did know that I liked that little thing when my man Marlon showed it to me. He showed it to me in the bathroom and I got to try it out a couple times. I liked everything about it for whatever reason. Well everything except the fact that it belonged to Marlon and not me.

Anyway don’t ask me why but I thought it was just about the coolest thing in the world at the time. Of course once I had it in my grubby mitts it didn’t seem like such a big deal at all. The worst part is I think I had to stand there mute like the little prick I was as he told me he had lost it. As I recall I lost it myself later that day and felt a profound sense of loss. What a mangy twerp. I feel nothing but disgust when I look back at that. That place is full of all kinds of things like that for me. Like there was this dopey kid there that everybody ragged on including peripherally me. Poor sap. I once told this other kid to put a carton of milk on his chair just before he sat on it and he did. Do you see the immensely weasely aspect of this? I didn’t put the milk there myself where I would be sticking my neck out and risking getting in trouble. I gave some other kid the idea and watched him get in trouble while not ratting me out. God, what a dick! I think of that all the time. I think of this kid, barely old enough to watch cable, sitting on that carton of milk and what that must have felt like, physically and mentally. They made us wear these hideous polyester pants then and this would have been lunchtime so I’m sure he was wet the rest of that day. More than once that day he probably wondered what he had done to merit the constant abuse he endured. I think of that kid. I think of being at a party years later where these lowly vermin were fucking with this girl who had passed out from too much drinking, drinking she probably did to get over some kind of social anxiety because she wasn’t the type of girl who could just drop into any party and expect to receive favorable attention. What I think about is how I just stood there doing and saying nothing like some damn wooden pole. How instead of mentally telling myself the countless, sickening ways they were wrong, I instead chose to rationalize and diminish the actions of these worthless fucks. Whatever. I don’t like remembering those things but every once in a while you know? I fantasize about living those moments again, avoiding those acts I regret and taking stands I should have. Can you offer me that? Can you arrange for me to
travel back in time
as they say in sci-fi? That would be something useful you could give me instead of whatever you have planned for me at the end of this. What do you anticipate that’s going to be by the way?”

“ . . .”

“Well, whatever. Maybe you’ll rule that I have to recite seven penitential psalms once a week for the next three years, I don’t know. Of course someone could question the legitimacy of your role in all of this. I mean what do you have to do with anything? You didn’t sit on that carton of milk. Forget it, I know what you’re going to say. Go ahead say it.”

“ . . .”

“Besides that stuff was a long time ago and I’m sure I covered it in a previous session. After all it’s been a long time but this isn’t the first time I’ve been in here either. Here’s something I know I haven’t covered. I stole some money. Well stole is probably too strong a word. I took some money that wasn’t mine but also really didn’t rightfully belong to the people I took it from, which makes it probably a technical violation at most and likely not that big of a deal. Although it was a lot of money I should add.”

“How much?”

“Well, a lot. Like ten million dollars or so.”

“How much?”

“Exactly. But don’t jump to any conclusions, I plan to use the money to do a lot of good whereas if I hadn’t taken the dough it would have been used for entirely nefarious purposes. Overall, society will benefit. That’s the only reason I’m going to do it. I know that sounds like a rationalization but you have to realize that the people we took the money from are pretty bad characters and I’m essentially a good person. My real problem is . . .”

“Yes?”

“Well what if someone got hurt? I mean really hurt. What if someone died? Isn’t that as bad as it gets?”

“Are you telling me someone died?”

“Yes, someone did, I think. What’s the situation in that case? You know what, forget it, it’s not relevant. What I really want to talk about is a little tricky. This was a couple of years ago. I don’t want to talk about that either actually. Isn’t there some kind of general dispensation you can give. God, I hate this!” As I said that I kind of slapped my hand down on the ledge in front of me. At first nothing happened. Then there was a loud cracking noise and it felt as if the entire booth was collapsing on us. Mulcahey booked out of there in nanoseconds. I stayed seated, curious to see what would happen next. The booth didn’t collapse but the dividing wall did crack and fall forward into the space the priest had just vacated. I got out.

“Look what you’ve done,” he said pointing.

I looked at what I had done then back at him. “Look what you’ve done,” he repeated.

I looked down at what I had done and saw that it was bad.

“Look what you’ve done.”

“I can pay,” I said.

“Look what you’ve done.”

“I can pay for it. I’ll leave you a blank check and as long as you wait a week or so you can make it out for whatever you need. I can also just probably fix it myself.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Well here’s my card. I can pay if you change your mind, but right now I have to go,” I began a near-sprint out of there.

“Wait son!” he was running after me flapping some paper up and down.

“I really have to go,” I said.

“I just need you to sign this release.”

“Release?”

“Yes, a release is a—”

“I know what one is, release for what?”

“It’s standard, it just says you agree to appear on the program described therein.”

“
Clerical Confessions
? What is this?”

“Yes, that’s the program. You see there was a hidden camera in the booth. They recorded everything we said and if the producers think it’s interesting enough they may decide to use it. On the program. It’s going to be a new show on HBO.”

“You want me to agree to put what I just said on Television.”

“No it’s not TV, it’s HBO.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think—”

“No you don’t understand. This is a legitimate program on HBO called
Clerical Confessions
. You can see it’s on the up and up. You see the letterhead on the form? I’m assured the program itself is going to be quite tasteful yet compelling.”

“Are you a real priest?”

“Yes, absolutely son. It’s designed as an educational tool.”

“No, sorry. Sorry, no. I have to go.”

“But the release, no one has refused.”

“I’m sorry I just don’t want to be on Television.”

“It’s not TV, it’s HBO!”

Outside I slowed from sprint to jog then brisk walk. I ended up walking the whole way home. Miles in the dark cold. Many times I thought of diving underground into the tubes but I never did. I didn’t think of that nutty priest either.

Instead I thought how there is no height you can reach that ensures you won’t then fall. To fight Sugar Ray Leonard in Las Vegas on November 30, 1979, Wilfred Benitez was guaranteed 1.2 million to Leonard’s even million. It would be the only time the magnetic Leonard would make less than his opponent in the ring and was evidence of Benitez’s higher standing, at the time, in the boxing community. The greatness of the undefeated two-time champion Benitez was already beyond dispute so the most intriguing element of the fight was the expected verdict on Leonard’s worth. Although at twenty-three he was two years older than Benitez, Leonard had less ring experience, particularly at the championship level where this would be his first such fight. Leonard’s talent was evident. He had tremendous hand speed and, while probably not quite as difficult to hit as Benitez, he was no defensive slouch. The question was whether
inside
he was a real fighter or just a flashy media creation in a sport that missed the sensational presence of Muhammad Ali.

Of course while the general public understandably viewed the upcoming fight through Leonard’s eyes, the fight was no less critical for Benitez. If he could become the first man to defeat the biggest star in the sport he would at least partially ascend towards his celebrity, money, et cetera. The fight was a crucial challenge.

Benitez responded to the challenge by becoming San Juan’s foremost discotheque inspector and not beginning rigorous training until he arrived in Vegas on November nineteenth, eleven days before the fight. Eleven days. Eleven days to prepare for something you’ve spent the sum of your twenty-one years preparing for. The first two days were occupied just adjusting to the shock of the physical torture that is boxing activity. The next nine days were insufficient and troubling. During sparring sessions those days Benitez’s nose was broken, which means a sparring partner hit him hard enough and cleanly enough to do that. That was not a good sign. Goyo was upset and worried, predicting his son would lose to Leonard.