“Not according to Shawn. Instead it was at that point, to the consternation of his parents, that Shawn decided he and the Church would sever relations, supposedly on a temporary basis but which has been maintained until today.”
“That is an unfortunate happening,” James agreed. “It is a pity that he didn’t have more knowledgeable priests to help him at such a crucial juncture.”
“But isn’t that one of Shawn’s points? Celibate priests are probably not the best guides for children through the stresses of puberty, just as they are probably not the best guides for young adults starting families. Having children is always much more problematic than people imagine, even in the best of circumstances.” Jack couldn’t help but think about his own current situation.
“I cannot contest that, and it is an issue I will pray upon. But now I have to concentrate on the problem at hand.”
“You mean your hope of talking Shawn out of publishing his findings?”
“Exactly.”
“Here’s my sentiment. You are fighting an awfully steep uphill battle. Unless Shawn and his wife come up with definitive proof somehow that the bones cannot be the Blessed Virgin’s, he is going to publish that they are, even if he cannot prove it. You are not going to talk him out of it. Your switching your attack from talking about his hurting the Church in general to hurting you personally was clever, but even that didn’t sway him, especially after he got you to admit you didn’t believe yourself that it was inevitable you’d be punished for his errors.”
“Unfortunately, I think you are right,” James said with resignation. “I’m the last person who should be trying to talk him out of something he truly wants to do and has convinced himself he should do as if he’s on a mission from God. When I heard that, I knew I was surely barking up the wrong tree. Thank goodness it’s not as messianic as I’d feared when I first heard it.”
“Why do you think you are the last person who should be trying to influence him?” Jack questioned. “I think you are the perfect person. He knows you, trusts you, and you have probably the most clerical credibility of anyone in this country.”
“We’re too good friends,” James explained, as he exited from the West Side Highway at 96th Street. “I know he was quite besotted, but he still feels comfortable calling me lardo, which is what he used to call me in college when he was angry, which he knows I detest, probably because it is rather accurate. But such familiarity puts me at a distinct disadvantage.”
“If not you, who?” Jack asked. “I hope you’re not thinking of me, because I haven’t been any more successful than you’ve been. In fact, I’ve been completely unsuccessful.
Especially compared with you two guys, I know nothing about the Catholic Church.”
“Where is it you live again?” James asked, after reassuring Jack he didn’t intend to saddle him with the problem of Shawn and Sana. Jack gave him the street and the number.
“So if not me, who?” Jack persisted.
“That’s the problem,” James said, approaching Jack’s home. “I haven’t the faintest idea, although I’m beginning to have an idea of the qualities I’d like the person to have.”
“Like what?”
“Persuasive, of course, but more important, absolutely and completely devoted to the Blessed Virgin. I mean a young person who has totally dedicated his or her life to the study and veneration of the Virgin Mary.”
“That’s an idea,” Jack said, suddenly sitting up. “A young attractive woman! Or we could find his old friend Elaine Smith, especially if she’d maintained her figure and had become a specialist in Mariology.”
“I know you are trying to buoy my spirits by being humorous, but I’m being serious here, my friend. I need to find immediately an incredibly persuasive zealot, tell him or her the story, and force Shawn to put up with him or her for a number of days. That is my last hope. I hadn’t thought of such a plan, because I was hoping not to have to tell anyone else the story to avoid anyone besides the four of us from knowing it. Obviously, I’ve decided it is a risk we have to take.”
James pulled over to the side of the road directly opposite the stoop on the front of Jack’s house. “Thanks for coming tonight. I really appreciate it. And thank your wife for letting you come, and tell her I’m looking forward to meeting her.” After shaking hands, Jack put his hand on the door opener, then looked back at James.
“How are you going to find this person you’ve described in time? I don’t think I’ve ever met a single person who comes close to fulfilling those narrow requirements.”
“Actually, I don’t think it will be too difficult. Christianity has never been without its share of fanatics and zealots. Luckily, the early bishops recognized these people and supported them, creating in the process the concept of monasticism, where people could go to commit themselves entirely to God, or later to the Virgin Mary. Monasticism thrived, and it still does. In my archdiocese alone there are probably a hundred or more, some of which the chancery doesn’t even know about, and some of which if we did, we would try to shut down. I’m going to start a rapid search of these institutions and find the perfect person.”
“Good luck!” Jack said, climbing down from the Range Rover’s cab and shutting the door behind him. Then he stood there in the street for a few minutes, waving and watching James’s taillights until they reached Columbus Avenue and turned left.
Heading up his front steps by twos, Jack was invigorated. He felt like he was a participant in a kind of unfolding real-life mystery-thriller, the denouement of which taxed his creativity to even imagine how it was going to play out. The only thing he sensed was that Shawn was not going to back down easily.
James felt better than he had all day, and specifically better than he had all evening. Plan B had evolved out of nowhere, and he gently chided himself for not thinking of it earlier.
As the early monks had helped stabilize the early Church, particularly after Constantine had legalized Christianity and let in the masses, the monks of today would come to the Church’s aid. Somehow James was sure of it, and sure that he would find the individual who could do it.
Consciously suppressing his urge to drive too quickly in order to get to the residence, where he intended to begin plan B that very evening, James drove down Central Park West to Columbus Circle. From there he used Central Park South to cross to the East Side and drop off his vehicle at his garage. Then he walked quickly home to the residence, deliberately trying to be noisy when he entered the front door.
It soon became obvious that he’d not been noisy enough, as neither Father Maloney nor Father Karlin appeared. Assuming they were already settled for the night in their small gabled rooms on the fourth floor, James climbed into the residence’s small elevator, which he rarely used, and was whisked up to the top floor. Climbing out of the car on the tiny upper hallway, James banged mercilessly on the two doors, calling out that he wanted to see both secretaries in his office ASAP.
With the surprising announcement made and without waiting for a response, James returned into the elevator and descended two floors. Once in his office, he turned on the lights and then settled back behind his desk to await the surprised secretaries. Never before had James disturbed them once they’d retired for the day.
Father Maloney was the first to arrive. He’d merely pulled on his plaid robe over pajamas and to James resembled a scarecrow because of his height, the thinness of his body, and the gauntness of his face. Even his cropped short red hair sticking out in spikes added to the impression, as it looked something like straw.
“Where’s Father Karlin?” James demanded, without giving any explanation for such an unprecedented late- night meeting.
“He called out to me through his closed door he’d be here as soon as he could manage . .
.” Father Maloney said. His voice trailed off, as he was hoping for an explanation of what was on the archbishop’s mind, but nothing was forthcoming.
James impatiently drummed his fingers on his desk. Just when he was about to pick up his phone and call Father Karlin’s room, the man walked into the office. In contrast to Father Maloney, he’d assumed the worst— namely, that he’d be up for hours—and had taken the time to fully dress, artificial white clerical collar and all.
“Sorry to interrupt your prayers,” James said to begin. He motioned for his two secretaries to sit. Tenting his fingers, he added, “We have what I consider to be an emergency. I’m not going to tell you exactly why, but you two have to find me immediately a person who is charismatic and persuasive and generally alluring in some manner. But most of all, he or she must be fanatically passionate and zealous about the Blessed Virgin Mary, the more the better, and totally committed to the Church with a sense of mission.”
The two priests glanced at each other, each hoping the other understood the assignment and how to proceed better than the other. As the senior secretary, Father Maloney spoke:
