“Only if it deals with the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of the Church, Mother of Christ, Mother of God, my personal savior, who has brought me to Christ, Mary of the Immaculate Conception, Mary Queen of Heaven, Queen of Peace, Stella Maris, and Mother of All Sorrows. It is to her I am devoted and have already begun to pray that you will not denigrate her by suggesting she was not assumed into heaven to reside with God: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
“My word,” Shawn commented, taken aback by this man-child, whom he already found incomprehensible. “Such an amazing litany. I understand you live in a monastery.”
“That is correct. I am a novice with the Brotherhood of the Slaves of Mary.”
“Is it true you haven’t left for eight years?”
“Almost eight, at least not on my own. I did come here to the city with some of the brothers to have some medical tests a number of years ago, but this is the first time on my own.”
Shawn shook his head. “It’s hard for me to believe a young person like yourself would be willing to deny your own freedom.”
“My freedom I gladly sacrifice to the Holy Mother. Staying within the walls of the monastery gives me more time to pray for her intervention and the peace it brings.”
“Intervention for what?”
“To keep me from sin. To keep me close to Christ. To help the brothers in their mission.”
“Come on!” Sana said to Luke. “Let’s take you up to your guest room.” Luke studied Shawn’s face for a moment, then followed Sana up the stairway leading to the upper floors. They passed the second floor, where Sana said Shawn was sleeping, and the third floor, where Sana said she was sleeping, to the fourth floor. It was a room with dormer windows that faced the front of the building.
“Here’s where you will be staying,” Sana said, standing to the side, letting Luke step into the room dominated by a queen-size, four-poster bed. “Does it look like your room at the monastery?”
“Hardly,” Luke said, taking a peek into the bathroom the guest room shared with the second guest room on the floor. He then returned to the roll-on suitcase and unzipped its cover. The first thing he pulled out was a small plastic statue of the Virgin Mary, which he placed on the side table. The second thing was a small, doll-like statue of the infant Jesus, dressed in an elaborate robe and wearing a crown. With tender care he placed the doll next to the Blessed Virgin.
“What’s that?” Sana questioned.
“The Infant of Prague,” Luke explained. “It was one of my mother’s favorite possessions before she passed away.”
Next, Luke pulled out his black habit and hung it in the closet.
“Is that your usual attire?” Sana questioned.
“It is,” Luke answered, “but the cardinal thought it better that I wear more typical clothes that belong to his secretaries. Luckily, one of the men is close to my size.”
“You wear what you like,” Sana said. “We will be going out to dinner in a half-hour or so. You do have time to take a shower if you so please. I am about to do so. Otherwise, we’ll meet you downstairs in the living room.”
Shawn, Sana, and Luke arrived back at the Daughtrys’ home in a taxi just before nine- thirty p.m. The dinner at Cipriani Downtown had gone pleasantly enough until Luke had tried to turn the conversation over to his mission. Shawn, with almost as much alcohol on board as he’d had the night before, had used the opportunity to inform Luke that he was facing an impossible task, and the sooner he faced the reality, the better for them all.
When Luke persisted, Shawn had gotten angry, and then the atmosphere had steadily disintegrated to where Shawn had refused to talk to Luke, whom he persisted on calling derogatorily “boy.”
“Are you retiring for the night?” Shawn asked Sana, avoiding talking with Luke.
“I think I’ll stay up for a little while with Luke,” Sana whispered. “I don’t want to have Luke report back to James that he’s not being received hospitably.”
“Good idea,” Shawn said, reaching out to steady himself with the banister leading up the front stairs. “What time do you want to leave here in the morning to get to the OCME
DNA building?”
“How about after nine?” Sana said. “That will give me time to make breakfast for our guest so we get a good report.”
“Another good idea,” Shawn said, slurring his words. “See you in the morning.” As Shawn slowly rose and disappeared up the stairs, Sana turned toward Luke. “How about a fire in the fireplace?” she suggested.
Luke shrugged. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d experienced the pleasure of a fire. In some ways, he was nervous about enjoying himself too much after the disappointing evening, as he was depressed about his chances of overcoming Satan.
“Come on!” Sana said encouragingly. “Let’s build the fire together.” Fifteen minutes later the two were sitting on the couch, mesmerized by the crackling fire that was beginning to spread upward from the kindling into the piled logs. Sana had a glass of wine, while Luke had a Coke. It was Sana who broke the silence. “The archbishop told us you’ve not had an easy life. Do you mind sharing with me your story?”
“Not at all,” Luke said. “It is not a secret. I share it with those who will listen, as it is a tribute to the Blessed Virgin.”
“We were told you had run away from home at age eighteen to join the monastery. Can I ask why?”
“The immediate cause was my mother’s death,” Luke explained, “but the long-term cause was a very difficult childhood dominated by a godless father. In sharp contrast with my father, who was an abuser of alcohol and a wife beater, my mother was a very religious person who sincerely believed that she was at fault for my father’s behavior and not he. She believed, like Eve, that she had turned away from God by marrying my father and was a sinner to the point that she had convinced me that I was a child born in sin. She was so convinced that she told me that if I expected to salvage my eternal soul, I had to pray to the Virgin and consecrate my life to her, Christ, and the Church.”
“My goodness,” Sana voiced, feeling strong compassion about Luke’s story. Although hardly the same, she had always felt she’d suffered from her father’s premature death when she was only eight, even to the point of now wondering if one of the reasons she’d married Shawn was because when she first met him he was, to a large degree, a father figure that she’d missed. “Did focusing on the Church help?” she asked.
Luke gave a short, contemptuous laugh. “Hardly,” he said. “One of the priests clearly perceived me as a troubled child and, being troubled himself, proceeded to take advantage of me for over a year.”
“Oh, good Lord, no!” Sana said, feeling even more compassion for Luke. She was so taken aback that she had to actively suppress a strong urge to envelope him in her arms for fear of what his reaction might be. He might misinterpret her gesture as being more than empathy. He was, after all, not a child but a man. Besides, there was something rote about Luke’s delivery.
“At first I thought it was relatively normal behavior,” Luke said wistfully, “as I thought I loved the individual. But as I grew older I came to recognize it was wrong. Not knowing what to do, since the priest was one of the more popular in the parish, I worked up the courage to tell my mother.”
“Was she sympathetic?” Sana asked, with concern about where the story was headed, considering what Luke had already said about his mother.
“Absolutely the opposite. Just like with her mixed-up belief she was at fault in regard to my father’s abuse, she was totally insistent that I had seduced the priest rather than vice versa, especially when she had asked me why it had lasted for so long and I had admitted that I had liked it, at least in the beginning. It’s been only in the last few years that the brothers at the monastery have finally gotten me to understand what really happened, and that I wasn’t responsible either for the inappropriate relationship with the priest or for my mother’s suicide.”
“Oh, good Lord in heaven!” Sana said, as overwhelming compassion lessened her restraint and dissolved any questions about Luke’s story being rote, as if a memorized script. Without forethought she enveloped Luke in a sympathetic embrace, at least until she perceived his stiff resistance, at which point she quickly let go. “What a tragic story,” she added, with deep sympathy. She gazed at him with tenderness, wishing somehow to help the burden she imagined he suffered in relation to his mother, no matter what he said about the brothers helping him. She also felt distinct anger at the Church for having abused him, which suddenly gave her a better understanding of Shawn’s current mind-set.
27
