or burglar-proof system?” he asked, in a seeming non-sequitur.
“The cop, uh … Sergeant Mangiapane, asked that too. In a word, no. We decided long ago that we wouldn’t be like prisoners in our own home. So, no, nothing like that at all.”
“Surely you have dead bolts on the door!”
“No.”
Koesler looked incredulous.
“The cop was surprised too. But, no, no extra security.”
“Then anybody could come in here anytime.”
“Well, hardly. We do keep the door locked.”
“Mrs. Green, if I can believe anything I’ve seen in the movies, on TV or read in the papers, it doesn’t take much to enter a place that has standard locks.”
“Moe was kind of fatalistic when it came to this ….” Margie leaned forward as if imparting a solemn observation. “He agreed with John Kennedy’s outlook: If someone wanted badly enough to get him, they’d probably do it. And that was the president of the United States talking. A president who got about as much protection as anyone could imagine. And, of course, they got Kennedy. He did say that the assassin would probably pay with his own life. And that happened too … that is, if Oswald really was the assassin.
“Anyway, that’s Moe’s opinion. He was very firm about it. No use leaving the door open or unlocked. But no use putting floor-to-ceiling locks on it.”
“But what about you?” Koesler demanded. “You live here too.”
She thought for a moment. “I’d feel better with a chain and dead bolt. But the lack of them doesn’t bother me that much. Over the years I’ve come to know when to fight Moe and when to let him have his way. If I fought him over every disagreement, we’d be at each other’s throats all the time. That wouldn’t bother him. But it would bother me. So, on the security of our home, it’s just not that important to me. If somebody wants to get in here badly enough, a lock ain’t gonna stop him.”
Almost imperceptibly, Koesler shook his head.
Margie smiled. “Don’t worry about it, Father. This is a pretty secure building. It’s fully occupied. There are people, even on this floor, who are coming and going all the time. We get to know each other, at least by sight. If something was not on the up and up, we’d know. And we’d do something about it.”
“Still …” Koesler looked at his watch. “Good grief, it’s almost time for Mass. I’ve got to be going.”
As she assisted him into his coat, she laughed. “I suppose I ought to take you up on your invitation to come to church, but …”
As if on cue, they heard the tinkle of a bell.
Margie’s eyes met Koesler’s. “The master wants me to dance attendance on him. It may be a little time before I’m free to do what I want-let alone go to church.”
As Koesler left the building, he could see the truth of what Margie had said. The muffled sounds of activity could be heard from nearly every apartment. Two people were waiting for the elevator. In the lobby, two couples were conversing. And a uniformed doorman stood at what passed for attention. Maybe the place was more secure than it seemed at first glance.
He would walk the few blocks to St. Joe’s. He needed the exercise, and he had time before the noon Mass. As he walked, hands buried in his pockets, leaning slightly into the strong gusts of wind off the river, he had much to think about. Not just what he’d learned this morning, but something that had been bouncing around on the back burner of his mind.
In this affair of the “resurrection” of Dr. Green, something was being skipped over. It was in the form of a hypothesis. Something was being overlooked. What was it? Several times during his brisk walk, it almost surfaced, only to sink again.
Chapter Nineteen
St. Joseph’s Church was crowded to the point of standing room only. At least the crowd had not spilled out onto the sidewalk, so his entry to the rectory was unimpeded.
Mary O’Connor informed him that the present congregation was just that-present. People had been coming and going all morning. Undoubtedly, the afternoon would see an additional exchange of people.
He wasn’t surprised at the size of the crowd; after all, this was the only parish in the archdiocese that was having “miracles.” But he was pleased at the reverential silence that marked this group. There would be no problem offering Mass this time anyway. He hadn’t thought of it in these terms, but today especially he was grateful to be able to offer Mass facing the people, one of the changes authorized by Vatican II. He knew all the prayers of the Mass by heart, so he was free to study the congregation as he proceeded with the liturgy.
The size of the congregation made him think of Easter and Christmas, when it was so easy to distinguish twice-a-year Catholics from regulars. Just so, now the faithful few who frequented daily Mass were present. A small number of the Sunday congregants were added. All the rest hoped either to witness a miracle or experience one.
It was easy to disregard the strangers. Easy until one looked more closely.
The elderly woman in the front pew fingering rosary beads, for instance. Not exactly the recommended manner of assisting at Mass, but her heart was in the right place. A closer look showed tears flowing freely. Was she crying out of pity for herself, or for someone else?
Since she was elderly, he projected her prayer of petition as beseeching God to remove some of her physical burdens. Late in life she couldn’t throw off illnesses and injuries with the certainty and facility that had once been hers. Also she seemed to be the type of supplicant that could pray-and mean-“not mine, but Thy will be done.”
When it was time to stand for the Gospel reading, she had obvious difficulty getting to her feet.
The brief homily Koesler based on the earlier, first reading. That was from the second book of Kings, the reading that tells the story of King David and his perhaps exhibitionist neighbor, Bathsheba.
It was a familiar if infamous tale.
David was on the roof of his palace enjoying the late evening sunset, when whom should he see bathing on the roof of a nearby building? One look was enough for David to send for Bathsheba. Although she was married, an affair with David began. Meanwhile, her husband, Uriah, was fighting a war for David.
Complications set in when Bathsheba became pregnant.
Immediately, David sent for Uriah, ostensibly for some R and R. The king tried his best to get Uriah to go home and be with his voluptuous wife. But Uriah felt that as long as his comrades were suffering deprivation on the field of battle, he should not indulge in the ease and comfort, of his home and conjugal relations.
David had a serious problem. Uriah could count. So when his wife had her child, he would know it was much longer than nine months since they had been together.
So far, David’s sin of adultery was, at least, an act of weakness. But now he plotted a deliberate and heinous crime. He instructed Uriah’s commanding officer to put him in the front lines where the battle was most intense-and there to abandon him.
Uriah was killed. Bathsheba moved in with David. And the king seemed not to realize that he had done anything wrong. It took the prophet Nathan to make David see the abomination he had committed.
At last, David’s sorrow is genuine, and his self-imposed penance is impressive.
Then comes reconciliation.
Koesler’s homily was directed at reconciliation. The word means the restoration of friendship or harmony. Two things are needed to effect this rebirth of union: One party has to be sorry. The other has to accept this sorrow, and forgive.
David was deeply and thoroughly sorry. God accepted his grief, and forgave him. David and God were reconciled.
Koesler dwelt for a time on how difficult this reconciliation is to achieve in many instances.
But as he spoke, his thoughts wondered to Dr. Moses Green. He had offended many people-five whom Koesler could name without hesitation. When these people had unburdened themselves to him, none of them had
