On the Third Day (14 page)

            This priest, Father Thomas, was different, but there was still something wrong about what Norman was watching.  Baptists swayed in their pews and sang and clapped their hands.  Norman had even seen movies where they shook snakes around in the air and rolled on the floor, babbling nonsense in foreign languages.  These were things he’d read about and seen, but never experienced, because in the Diocese of San Valencez, in the Cathedral of San Marcos by the sea, Christians were quiet and respectful.  They were thinking about their confessions, trying to decide how much to reveal, and how much to hold back, how much hotter the flames of hell would be if Father Thomas didn’t know they’d slept with their secretary or run over their neighbor’s dog and said nothing.  They were thinking about jobs and families, Sunday dinner and in a few isolated cases, like that of Norman’s mother, they prepared themselves to accept communion.

            They didn’t dance or sing, but here it was on his computer screen.  He watched as the scene unfolded. He adjusted the sound twice on the speakers of his computer sound system to keep the volume of the sound from carrying beyond his door. The priest had found some way to amplify his voice without an obvious microphone…or?

            Norman watched carefully.  He saw his mother near the front.  She stood and was actually trying to get out to the aisle, despite the fact that they were in the middle of the service.  No one seemed bothered by it, but neither did they make it easy for her.  Then she was free, standing alone in the center aisle of the cathedral.   She raised her arm, pointed at the priest, and screamed.

           Norman reached out quickly and lowered the volume on his speakers again.  The scream had been too loud.  His brow was coated in sweat.  He was hunched over so tightly that the tension made his stomach hurt.   The priest was bleeding now.  His arms were raised, like he was on a cross or something, but he was still speaking, and his voice was still too loud.

            It reminded Norman of scenes in some horror movies he’d seen. He remembered them all, of course, names, actors, actresses and plots.  Even as he watched the strange tableau unwind on his computer monitor his mind sorted them out, pulled out legends and rituals, trying to explain what he was seeing.  He didn’t doubt that it was real.  He had known his mother all his life, and she could no more have acted this scene than she could pole-vault. 

            He hadn’t seen anything in the news about it, though.  He remembered that she had seemed shaken the previous Easter, but had never questioned her about it.  It was right after that she stayed in the rectory for a while.  All Norman recalled of that time was peanut butter and jelly, and anger.  He blamed the church for his dirty laundry, bad food, and a fight with his mother that lasted nearly two months.  He remembered that, too.  Now he wished he’d asked what had happened.

            The mass neared completion.  There was a lot of blood, more than there should have been.  Even in the movies, where reality was a far-away notion that was largely ignored, they would not have tried to make people believe one body could hold so much.

            A knock sounded on his door, and Norman spun quickly.  The door swung slowly open.

            “Norman?”

            His mother’s voice was cautious.  She always knocked before she entered – right before.  She’d walked in on him one day and found him with his pants around his knees and a very naked girl on the computer screen.  Another thing he remembered was her face at that moment.  Disbelief was too mild a word, and shock didn’t cover it.  Norman was sure that she had relived the moment herself in nightmares.  He’d be willing to bet his mother had agonized over it, not told the Father at confession, and then felt the guilt build, day after day, as she tried to convince herself it was a normal, natural thing, and that she was not the one who had done it, and that it didn’t need to be confessed, all the time believing she would miss her trip to the pearly gates because she’d forgotten to knock on her son’s door.

            Norman reached for the mouse, scrambled it into position, and managed to click another icon.  He didn’t know what he’d clicked, and didn’t care.  If the program would open quickly enough it would hide the screen.  That was all that mattered.

            His mother stepped up behind him, and Norman spun quickly to face her.  He couldn’t tell what she might have seen.  She stood, staring over his shoulder in disbelief, and his face went white.

            “What is it mother?” He asked.  He forced the sudden, irrational fear that always accompanied her “catching him” at something aside and frowned.  “You know I like you to knock AND wait for me to answer before you come in.”

            She snapped her gaze away from his computer screen and met his eyes.  She very carefully didn’t look back at the screen.

            “I need you to take me back by the church this evening,” she said, her voice stiff.  “I want to drop off a casserole for Father Thomas.”

            Norman blinked at her.  He desperately wanted to spin and look at the screen, to see what horrible gory panorama was sprawled across his screen, but since she wasn’t saying anything about it, he couldn’t.  He had to pretend he knew exactly what was there, and wished to God that he did.  What icon had he hit? 

            “Jesus, mother, we were just there.” 

            “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” she replied automatically.  “It won’t take long. “

            Norman shrugged his best “Whatever” shrug and nodded.

            “Let me know when you need to go.”

            Gladys Multinerry nodded to her son and turned quickly, carefully avoiding any angle that would bring her eyes in contact with the filth she’d seen on her son’s computer screen.  She muttered under her breath, and Norman suspected it was “Our Fathers,” or “Hail Mary’s” in his behalf.  He held his tongue, and a moment later he heard the solid click as his door swung closed.

            He whipped around and stared at the screen. 

            What met his gaze stunned him.  The screen was covered in playing cards, laid out in a line for Solitaire.  The problem was, smiling, absolutely naked women covered the backs of each card that lay face down.  Norman stared a moment longer, and then burst into laughter that turned very quickly to near hysteria.

            What would he have done if his mother had caught him looking at the DVD of the Easter Mass?  There was only one way he could have come by the recording, and there was no doubt in his mind that she would have taken the DVD, and probably Norman himself, if he didn’t want to be cast out alone in the street, directly back to the source.  He took a quick breath, checked his watch, and then set to work.  Even if she cooked using the Microwave, which she never did, his mother could not bet ready to go back to the church for at least another hour.

            Using software he’d downloaded for making illegal copies of rented DVD’s, Norman copied the video file on the DVD to his computer.  There was no protection on it.  He could burn his own copy later, if he wanted.  The software would also allow him to break it up into segments.  He didn’t know yet what he’d do with it all, but now that he had his own copy, he knew he had to find a way to get this original back into Father Thomas’ office.

            Maybe it was time to show his mother he could still be that polite, helpful little boy she’d always dreamed of.  Then he noticed the solitaire icon again, and grinned.  Maybe some other day would actually be better.

            Once he had the file copied, he slid the DVD back into its envelope and sealed it with a piece of scotch tape.  It wouldn’t’ fool anyone on close examination, but if it had been on Father Thomas’ desk for a while and he hadn’t opened it, maybe he never would.  Norman carefully wiped the plastic seal on his shirt to remove any fingerprints he might have left and slid the disc back into his jacket pocket.

            He turned off his computer, already working out explanations for the naked women and the cards – e-mailed from a friend as a joke, something he had forgotten about, opened to see what it was at just the wrong moment.  It didn’t matter what he said, she wasn’t going to believe it, and he didn’t expect her to.  She’d expect him to try though, and so he had to be ready.

            When they got to the church he’d find a way to get that DVD back into the rectory, and he’d set to work finding something he could use the information for.  The Catholic Church had a lot of money; maybe they’d pay to get it back.  Maybe he could blackmail Father Thomas, or better yet get the guy canned.  Then his mother wouldn’t have any reason to spend all her time and talents anywhere but at home, and on him.   The possibilities were literally endless, and for the first time in days, Norman Multinerry’s face lit with an actual smile.

~ Fourteen ~

            Father Thomas heard footsteps approaching, and he smiled.  He laid the book he’d been reading face down on his desk, and waited.  One of those approaching was Gladys Multinerry.  He would have known her labored steps anywhere, and though he’d seen her earlier in the day, she always brought a smile to his lips.

            The aroma of a freshly baked casserole preceded her, and Quentin’s smile broadened.  He hadn’t eaten.  He normally held off as long as possible making his dinner, because several of the ladies of the church, Gladys in particular, made a habit of showing up with fresh cooking, or baking, at odd hours.  He never wanted to disappoint them by already having taken his dinner.

            Two sets of footsteps echoed in the rectory hallway, and Father Thomas sat up straighter.  He didn’t know who else might be visiting.  It could just be Harry Seymour, finishing up late and walking Gladys back for the company, but somehow Quentin didn’t think so.  The steps were uneven, as if whoever it was hurried, then waited for Gladys, and then rushed ahead again.

            In moments the question was answered.  Norman Multinerry, his hair actually combed for a change, poked his head around the corner of the doorway and peered inside.  Father Thomas met the young man’s gaze and watched Norman’s face redden.

            “Hello, Norman,” Father Thomas said.

            Norman stepped fully into the doorway and turned back to watch his mother’s slower progress down the hall.  He held a casserole dish in his hands, gripped tightly as if he was afraid he’d drop it.  The young man appeared very uncomfortable, and was obviously in a hurry.  It was a full minute before he spun back, realizing that Father Thomas had spoken to him, and that he’d yet to answer.

            “Uh…hi Father.  I just brought Mother back to give you this.”

            Norman thrust the casserole out between the two of them like a shield and stepped into the rectory.  Father Thomas rose, reaching to take the dish, but Norman, as if avoiding even that much contact, slipped it onto the corner of the desk and precariously balanced it on a stack of file folders.

            “Thank…”

            The dish tipped, and Father Thomas lunged.  He managed to catch it by the handles on either side, ignoring the small avalanche of folders, files, and papers that dropped to the floor. 

            Gladys stepped into the doorway, surveyed the scene before her, and snorted.  Both men glanced up at her.  Norman, white faced and shaking, stepped back away from the desk.  Father Thomas carefully drew the casserole closer and placed it safely on a flat, empty section of his desk.

            “I knew I should have carried it myself,” Gladys observed.  “I may not get where I’m going so fast these days, but I’ve yet to spill a casserole on the Good Father’s desk, or in his lap.”

            “I didn’t spill it,” Norman said, his face reddening.

            Father Thomas stepped around the desk and cut in, keeping his voice as soothing as possible.

            “No harm done.  You didn’t think I’d let one of your casseroles take a dive on me, did you Gladys?”

            He winked at her, and it was Gladys’ turn to blush.

            Norman looked flustered and out of place.  Father Thomas leaned down to pick up the papers and files he’d dislodged from the desktop, and Norman, realizing it would be expected of him, knelt quickly beside him.

            “Let me help you, Father,” he said.

            Quentin waved him away.

            “I’ll get it, Norman.   If I kept this place more orderly, it never would have happened.  This will give me an excuse to put things away where they belong instead of just stacking them back on the pile.”

            Norman hesitated, then levered himself back to his feet.  He moved toward the door, obviously ready to head back the way he’d come and escape.  Gladys was in no such hurry, but it was clear that she was confused by Norman’s so-far helpful attitude.  There was something else in her expression.

            Father Thomas wondered what was bothering her.  He wished, just for a moment, that Norman had proven a bit less helpful.  Gladys wasn’t likely to talk about things that really bothered her with her son in the room, and Quentin couldn’t see any polite way to separate the two.  He noticed that Gladys tossed several glances her son’s way, trying not to be noticeable, and failing.

            “I appreciate the thoughtfulness,” Quentin said, tapping the stack of file folders into some semblance of neatness.

            Before he could rise, he noticed something sticking out from the beneath the corner of his desk.  He leaned down and grabbed it, then froze, just for a second, before rising.  It was the sealed DVD he’d received from Rome.  He stared at it for a moment, and then carefully tucked it into the middle of the pile of folders.  He’d forgotten it was on his desk, and as the sight of it triggered unwanted memories, he found himself suddenly agreeing with Norman Multinerry.  It was time for the two of them to go, well meaning or no.

            Norman was staring at the stack of folders, and Quentin gave the young man a quizzical glance.  Norman looked away quickly, fidgeted, and shuffled another step closer to the door.