The Greatest Evil fk-20 Page 13

  The rector smiled. “Well, Bob, how are things going with you?”

  Bob. In Koesler’s four years in these buildings, Finn had called him “Koesler,” “Mr. Koesler,” or its Latin form-“Domne Koesler.” Never anything close to “Bob.”

  “Pretty good,” Koesler replied. “Really, very good.”

  “Much difference between St. Norbert’s and that east side urban parish?”

  “Quite a bit. Most of the people in St. Norbert’s are my age, roughly, and starting their families. Couple of years ago we built our grade school. Staffed it with Dominican nuns. It really seems to have pulled the parish together. Quite phenomenal.”

  “Really.” Finn seemed to be taking mental notes.

  Koesler had come to believe that if Father Finn were vulnerable anywhere, it was in his experience-or rather, lack of it-of life in a parish.

  In his day in the seminary in San Francisco, Finn had been invited by the Sulpician faculty to join their society. Finn had accepted the invitation. So, after ordination, off he went to prepare for a life of teaching seminarians.

  All Sulpicians were, in reality, diocesan priests, on loan as it were to the Society of St. Sulpice. Finn, for example, belonged to the archdiocese of San Francisco. Should he at any time leave the Sulps, as they were sometimes familiarized, he would revert to his San Francisco diocese.

  The point being that he never had: He’d never left the Society. Thus his parochial experience was zilch.

  Koesler reasoned that the fact that Finn was preparing young men for a life he had never experienced must be frustrating, embarrassing, and even intimidating.

  Koesler could almost see the file drawer in Finn’s head slide open for the insertion of “Parochial school: presence tends to pull parish together.”

  “And how are things here?” Koesler knew he was going to have to introduce the subject very soon. Finn was not one to shoot the breeze interminably. He really worked at his job and even now was spending time that had been allocated for something else.

  “Everything appears to be on schedule,” Finn replied. “The academic year is ending and we’re getting ready for the ordinations.”

  Every word of that statement could have been previously supplied by Koesler. It was March. Easter was just around the corner. And in a couple of more months, June would see sophomores ordained to the minor orders of porter and lector; juniors would receive the first major order of subdeacon; and of course the seniors would become priests.

  “That”-Koesler tapped tobacco into firmness and lit a cigarette-“is, mostly, what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  Finn had already inserted a cigarette into its silver holder and accepted a light from Koesler’s Zippo. Smoke streamed from his nostrils. “Can we be of any help?” Finn opened wide the door to whatever was concerning Koesler.

  “Quite frankly …” Koesler made firm eye contact. “… I’m here about Vincent Delvecchio.”

  Finn grew a bit more guarded. He was not happy with anyone who might meddle with the students given unto his care. “Delvecchio isn’t here just now. I gave him permission to go home for the day … something about his mother.”

  “I know.”

  Finn cocked an eyebrow.

  “His mother hasn’t been well for quite some time,” Koesler said.

  “I know.”

  “What was different about today,” Koesler continued, “was the diagnosis-or rather the verdict.”

  “That bad!” Not in so many words had Koesler spoken of Mrs. Delvecchio’s terminal condition. But Finn had divined the conclusion.

  Koesler nodded. “Pancreatic cancer.”

  Finn exhaled audibly. “Is there any hope? Radiation?”

  “Her doctor doesn’t hold much hope. No, change that and let’s be realistic: no hope.”

  “And the family?”

  “Holding up better than I expected.”

  “We will, of course, pray.”

  “That’s one of the things I wanted to mention.”

  “Prayer?” Finn had taken that for granted.

  “Vincent has gone a bit beyond a prayer asking for relief of suffering, resignation to God’s will, that sort of thing …” Koesler paused. “He wants a miracle. No, stronger: He expects a miracle. To happen as a result of prayer.”

  “And his mother?”

  “Well, she wouldn’t turn down a miracle. Like all the noble mothers I’ve known, she wants to be preserved so she can care for her children.”

  “She really expects a miracle?”

  “Hopes … prays; I don’t think she expects.”

  “Vincent’s brother and sister?”

  It somewhat surprised Koesler that Finn would-off the top of his head-know that Vincent had two siblings. There were so many students here. But that was Finn’s way: He knew everything he could about everyone.

  Koesler snuffed out his cigarette. “Tony agreed to pray. But as far as enlisting others … not much of a chance. It’s hard to imagine him making a plea to the faculty and students of Western Michigan to join in prayer for a miraculous healing.

  “As for Lucy …”

  “She’s just graduating high school, isn’t she?”

  If not surprised, Koesler surely was impressed with Finn’s familiarity as to his students’ families. “Yes,” he acknowledged. “She’s going to have to be the mainstay of this effort. She’ll have the day-to-day responsibility. She was supposed to enlist the special prayers of the parishioners and students at St. William’s parish. But I’ve already talked to the pastor, and it’s no dice.”

  “Surely he would not turn down a request for prayer!”

  “No, no. I’m sorry; I didn’t phrase that very well. Of course he’ll ask the parish for prayer-but not for a miracle.”

  “Hmmm … interesting,” Finn mused. “Was there a stated reason?”

  “Uh-huh. Father Walsh feared that their faith would be harmed or weakened if and when the miracle was not granted.”

  “So Father Walsh is convinced there will be no miracle.”

  “He’s been around.” It was Koesler’s best evaluation of the situation. Probably Walsh had asked for his share of miracles that hadn’t been granted. To the point where he believed that a miracle was an extremely rare event-and doubted that he would see one personally.

  As it happened, the same line of thought occurred to Father Finn. One more parochial experience for the mental file cabinet. What might have been a smile played about Father Finn’s lips. “Well, then, since this petition for a miraculous cure seems to have originated with Mr. Delvecchio, and since he has tried to enlist his brother and sister to start such a crusade in their schools and parish, may I assume a similar proposal will be made to this institution?”

  “That is one of the reasons I’m here.”

  “You are going to make the plea?”

  “No, not really. My purpose is to prepare you for Vinnie’s request.” He figured he might get away with this straight-from-the-shoulder presentation because he was no longer a student but a graduate. Finn was a priest, but no more so than Koesler. And vice versa. Clerically, they were on the same level now: equals.

  The rector set his already firm jaw. “I’m afraid we’ll have to disappoint Mr. Delvecchio.” The statement was emotionless, a simple declaration of fact. While the rector might feel himself on shaky ground when it came to practical hands-on parochial experience, he was more than sure of himself when seminary training was the issue.

  “It’s just a prayer,” Koesler stated.

  “Oh, we will pray. Not for a. miracle, but that God’s holy will be done.”

  “Then you agree with Father Walsh that if there is no miracle, the faith of the seminarians will be shaken?”

  Finn hesitated only a few seconds. Had Koesler been a student, he would have received no explanation. But since Finn was discussing this matter with a fellow priest, he would amplify his statement. “My thinking has something-but very little-to do with Father’s Walsh’s
reason. But I must admit this is the best of times for a future priest to learn that he cannot-cannot-rely in any way on miraculous intervention.

  “As a priest, he will have to deal many times over with people who have nothing left to turn to but a miracle. The seminarian learns that God does not multiply miracles. Now-before ordination-is the time to learn this. And if it must be learned in the school of hard knocks, all the better. It will save him from supporting the plea for God to change the course of nature.”

  He paused, then continued, with emphasis. “But I am much more concerned with the impact such a singular campaign would have on the student body. We, in these final four years of the theologate, are a community. We cannot permit a student or group of students to fragment this community.

  “Do you remember, Bob, when, after you were here a short while, your class wanted to continue your custom from the minor seminary of reciting the Rosary together as a group each Saturday evening?”

  At first Koesler recalled the request only vaguely, and that only because Finn had brought it up. Then, memory jogged, he recollected clearly the custom, the request, and the rector’s rejection. “Now that, you mention it, I do remember: You refused our request. But I’ll bet you never heard the rest of the story.”

  “Oh?”

  “Patrick McNiff was the one who acted as spokesman for our class. When you turned him down, he came to the rest of us and announced, ‘The old man hates the Blessed Mother.’”

  Finn did not find this humorous. “That of course is not true. I gave my reason, and it had nothing to do with rosary devotion. I did not want any one of our four classes to set itself apart from the rest of the student body. And for the same reason: I do not think it wise to set a precedent in singling out one student’s petition from the rest. Soon we could be dealing with petitions for miraculous cures from all parts of the prayer hall. I think Father Walsh was wise in not involving his parishioners in a cause that is more or less doomed to frustration. That, as well as not allowing a divisive element in this community, will prompt me to refuse Mr. Delvecchio’s request-if and when he presents it.”

  Koesler could recognize a blind alley when he was trapped in one. “Well …” He thought better than to light another cigarette with this visit obviously concluding. “… there is one more request that Vinnie will make, I’m pretty sure.”

  Finn waited without comment.

  “Any chance,” Koesler said, “that Vincent can be granted extra time at home with his mother?” Koesler sailed on through a possible but premature reply from Finn. “I know that these will be the last couple of months before ordination and they’re important. But we both know that Vincent is close to being a genius. He can absorb these courses with no sweat. And it would be such a great comfort to his mother. I would wager that, to a man, everyone-students and faculty-would not begrudge him extra time at home.”

  No response. Finn was loath to set any sort of precedent. He well knew how students could and usually did take advantage of exceptions to the rule. But what Koesler said carried a lot of truth. Probably no one-at least very few among either faculty or students-would object to a modest latitude in home visitation for Delvecchio. And how many students would have a terminally ill parent … especially as ordination approached?

  “I think we might be able to reach some sort of accommodation in this matter,” Finn said finally. “If Mr. Delvecchio wants to talk to me about it, we’ll … talk.”

  The meeting was concluded. Finn would not steer his visitor to the door, but Koesler sensed that this impromptu chat had disrupted the rector’s schedule. With a handshake, they parted.

  Koesler slid into his black Chevy, rolled down the window, and lit a cigarette.

  As he drove away from the seminary, he assessed what, if anything, he had accomplished. It was mid-afternoon, yet it seemed as if he’d been up and about for more than a day. He’d gotten nowhere with Father Walsh. Koesler knew that the pastor’s decision on a parishwide prayer crusade for a medical miracle was written in stone. No matter how Lucy might plead the case, there would be no change in the course Walsh had set. And, in his heart, Koesler didn’t believe that Lucy was 100 percent in agreement with Vincent’s plan of prayer.

  Further, Father Finn would disappoint Vinnie in not. committing the student body to a radical form of prayer. On the other hand, Koesler felt confident that Finn would cut Vinnie some slack on the matter of home visits. Koesler figured that was one round he’d won. The young man would have to be satisfied with that.

  Next, Koesler would see how his present pastor felt about the miracle prayers. Actually, he anticipated a charitable veto. After all, the sick person had no remote connection with St. Norbert’s parish.

  Funny, this morning, when an enthusiastic Vincent had proposed this program, Koesler had caught the fire and was confident they could pull it together. Now, he felt like a deflated balloon. Things did not look as hopeful as earlier they had.

  15

  Tony Delvecchio had two things going against him.

  One: As a WMU student, he did not represent one of the “biggies.” Though Western was not a small college by anyone’s standards, neither was it Michigan, Notre Dame, Florida, or Texas. The professionals would take this into account.

  Two: He didn’t have the height the pros preferred in a quarterback. Granted Eddie LeBaron at only five feet seven in his heyday had managed to reach his receivers with consistency; still the defensive linemen were getting bigger by the year. Nowadays Tony would nearly have to stand on tiptoe to see the pass patterns his receivers ran. Other young men had made it without topping six feet. Still it was definitely a consideration.

  Of course, there was the possibility that he might be shifted to another position-cornerback, say, or safety. That was an additional consideration.

  The problem with these options was that lots of eager young graduates automatically qualified. There were plenty of big quarterbacks. There were even more young athletes who had played in the defensive backfield from high school through college. Their talent didn’t have to be enhanced; they were the proper size and speed with plenty of invaluable experience at their positions.

  In his favor, Tony was extremely strong and fast. He could meet almost any physical demand made of him. And, a not inconsiderable bonus, he was highly intelligent.

  Surely he was smart enough to know that, as qualified as he might be, there was no certainty that he would be taken on by any pro team, let alone enjoy a reasonably long pro career.

  And, should football fail him …? What if the hitherto unthinkable did happen?

  He would teach. All along, he had favored math. There was something so satisfying about the product of math-absolute answers.

  And so, among the courses he carried were trigonometry, calculus II, and statistics. To these he gave minimal attention. He was relatively unconcerned about finals. Had he really applied himself, he would now be flirting with something between 3.4 and 3.8. As it was, he would pass with enough to spare.

  At this moment, his mind was launched on a stream-of-consciousness voyage.

  “You’re, not here,” Beth Larson, his steady, said. “Where are you?”

  “What?” Tony returned to the present.

  “Well, there’s hope. You haven’t heard a word I’ve said for the past fifteen minutes. I was beginning to think I’d never get you back.”

  “Uhmm.”

  “We were going to study together tonight … remember?”

  “I guess I got distracted.”

  The two seniors were in Beth’s apartment in Kalamazoo. Final examinations loomed.

  “I was wondering which team might take me. And what they might pay.”

  “You’re getting ahead of yourself, aren’t you, sweetie? First come the exams.”

  “Not for me. The exams come second. Football comes first.”

  Beth, legs folded beneath her, was seated on the couch, surrounded by books. “I’m well aware of your plans, Tony. First comes
the pro game. Then a long career as a sports announcer. And I know we’ve talked about this, so pardon me if I’m repeating myself, but tell me again why you can’t just skip the playing days and go right to the announcer’s booth without passing Go or going to Jail?”

  “Yes, we’ve talked about it, Beth. It’s the coming thing. I know it. Sports announcers and commentators used to be hired for their voice. Guys like Red Barber and Van Patrick have sports voices. But put Van Patrick on the field in uniform. Let him try to return a kickoff and watch him have a heart attack.

  “No, the coming thing is to get players-guys who’ve been in the trenches. But-and here’s the rub-they’ll want guys who are articulate. And, believe me, honey, there ain’t too many players can measure up.

  “And that”-he rose from his chair and joined her on the couch-“is how come I’ve got to make it as a player before I can move to the safety of the booth.” He kissed her forehead lightly.

  Beth’s figure was dazzling, though some might argue she was a tad slender. No one would engage Tony in such an argument. In Tony’s eyes, Beth was no less than perfect, mind, body, and countenance. Her lively eyes were set off by cheekbones that were the envy of less fortunate females; abundant light brown hair framed a classic profile. At five feet eight, she was tall for a young woman. But not too tall for Tony.

  “Why all this concern about my playing career?”

  “Because people get hurt playing that game.”

  “Not everybody.”

  “It’s a violent contact sport.”

  “As someone said, dancing is a contact sport; football is a collision sport.”

  “Just what I mean. I don’t want to spend our golden years helping you out of a chair or into a bed.”

  “Honey, you will never have to help me into a bed. You get in and that’s all the motivation I’ll need.”