The Dead

“Amen,” said Max.

“Isn’t that Mr. MacAleer?” Gary asked. “What’s he doing on TV?”

“Bought the local cable outfit,” Max said. “Mom told me last time I was up. He’s been making money hand over fist, but he’s also catching flak from his buddies in the Christian Businessmen’s Roundtable. Been running too many hot movies, etc. So he comes on between flicks sometimes, explaining why bringing Shannon Tweed to the viewing public is really very upright and biblical.” Max laughed. “The poor old Song of Songs. The sex peddlers always trot it out. I mean, if they’re going to do that, they should at least show babes with teeth like ewes pregnant with twins.”

“I always hated that line,” Linda said.

“How about those does feeding among the lilies…”

“Where’s mom?” Gary asked.

“Bedroom. Asleep.”

“How’s she been?”

“Not too bad. Today at least.”

“She take care of the arrangements?”

“Before I got here.”

“Mr. Van Nuys push her around?”

“Tried to sell her all the bells and whistles. Didn’t work. Mom’s pretty tough.”

“Is there going to be a viewing?” Linda asked. “I hate viewings.”

Gary felt his throat tighten. After that dream, he wasn’t particularly up for a viewing either.

“Two, Wednesday,” Max answered. “The funeral’s Thursday morning.”

“Uncle Buddy going to make it?”

“Absolutely.”

Gary winced.

“You don’t seem too delighted,” Max observed.

“You’re looking forward to seeing him?”

“I’d rather have a root canal. You can always count on old Uncle Buddy to do something stupid. As a matter of fact, I know exactly what it’s going to be.”

“What?” Gary asked.

“You know those flowers Dad hated? The ones that look like they’re sticking their tongues out?”

“Anthuriums,” Gary said, nodding, suddenly remembering that detail of his dream very clearly.

“He’s going to send a bunch of those.”

“Have I ever met Uncle Buddy?” Linda asked.

“You’d know if you had,” Max said.

“I can’t wait.”

“Just don’t let him feel you up,” Gary said.

“He’s that kind of uncle?”

“He’s all kinds,” Max put in. “All of them really unpleasant.”

Off to the side, Mr. MacAleer droned from the television:

“Then there’s the story of Susannah and the Elders…”

“I remember it well,” Max said. “The ivory globes of her breasts gleaming with a fine mist of sweat, Susannah strode lithely into the water, looking just like Shannon Tweed-”

“Shut your brother up, Gary,” Linda said.

“Shut up,” Gary said.

“Ah, don’t listen to her,” Max said. “She loves it.”

There was a rap at the screen door. They turned.

“Excuse me, “ said the man outside, an elderly priest wearing a short-sleeved black shirt. His hair was an unnatural lustrous black, sculpted in what must have been a very expensive piece of barbering.

“I’m Father Ted,” he said. “Father Ted Maracek? I’m here to see Mrs. Holland.”

“Come on in,” Max said, in a tone that Gary thought something less than welcoming.

Father Ted entered. A large crucifix hung from his neck on multicolored beads; as the priest drew closer, Gary noticed that the figure languishing on it was a black woman in a dashiki. Father Ted squinted at Gary and the others.

Needs glasses, Gary thought. Probably thinks they’d make him look too old. It seemed a fair enough deduction, considering the dye job and the ludicrous trendiness of the crucifix. Gary didn’t care much for priests under any circumstances, but he liked the trendy ones least. There was something so bogus about them.

“Have we met?” Father Ted asked him.

Gary hadn’t seen him before; he never went to mass on his visits home, not even to please Mom. But Mom had mentioned the priest several times, once with a remarkable bitterness which she hadn’t been willing to explain.

Gary introduced himself.

“Your mother’s spoken of you,” Father Ted said. “Very proudly.”

I wonder if she mentioned that I think the Catholic Church is a crock of medieval horseshit? Gary thought. But immediately it occurred to him that there was something very un-medieval about Father Ted.

“My wife, Linda,” Gary said.

The priest exchanged pleasantries with her, then turned to Max. Gary eyed his brother. There was a subtly contemptuous look on Max’s face-Gary wondered if Father Ted noticed.

“I’ve heard a half-dozen of your sermons,” Max said. “They really stuck with me.”

Father Ted beamed, apparently oblivious to Max’s expression.

“Mom also wrote me about you,” Max went on.

“I’m flattered,” Father Ted said, and looked at Max sidelong. “Aren’t you the one who teaches history at that school in Maryland?”

“Military history,” Max said, almost as if he hoped that particular detail would make the priest like him less.

“Ah,” Father Ted said, shifting his gaze from him. “I hadn’t realized I’d made such an impression on your mother.”

“Actually, what concerned her was the impression you made on my father,” Max went on. “You were his confessor, weren’t you?”

“I had that honor.”

Max smiled coldly. “You’re the son of a bitch who told him it was okay to cheat on my Mom, aren’t you?”

Father Ted’s whole face went slack.

“Max!” came a voice from across the room. Celia Holland stood there, a graying middle-aged woman on the thin side, looking absolutely appalled.

“Actually, I… I…” the priest sputtered.

“What, Father?” Max asked, undaunted by his mother’s disapproval.

“I was only trying to persuade him to forgive himself.”

“Oh?”

“He thought God didn’t love him anymore, so I was attempting to show how a lack of self-acceptance is the greatest sin of all.”

“I’m okay, you’re okay?” Max asked. “On this rests the whole Law and the Prophets?”

“I can see your mind is closed, young man,” Father Ted huffed.

“I’d like to apologize for my son,” Celia broke in, before Max could say anything else.

“Mrs. Holland,” Father Ted said, “what exactly did you tell Max about me?”

“Well…” she began uncomfortably, “I did write him about what you told my husband. That is, Max Senior’s version.”

“Which was?”

“That, among other things, you thought no sin of the flesh could be considered mortal.”