Father Dominic

     Turning into spring outside.  Lots to be done in the garden and all of it sucks up time.  For the last few days I've been coming up empty as to writing material.  Had you read the last few entries in my fishing blog you'd no doubt agree.

     Truth is, story lines are always passing through my head but I don't take the time to make a note.  Yeah, I'm a confident sucker who believes those thoughts won't fail me.  They'll be there whenever I sit down to enter a few sentences.  Ever heard a keyboard laugh?

     We had some friends over the other night.  Old friends in both senses.  They bring stuff out in me.  Random, odd, sometimes weird thoughts rise to the surface like the shrimp we were boiling when they're ready to eat.  Strangely enough one of the ideas from Friday night stuck.  Out on my bike ride this morning I chipped a few of the rough corners away to make it more palatable.  I liked the concept exactly as it arose but one of my best friends found it darn close to offensive.  A little thought this morning also told me the concept wasn't remotely believable as it stood.  That's when the chipping began.  Beyond Emil, the local priest, Father Francis Dominic, their relationship, and where their tale might head, there's not, as yet, much meat on the bone.

     Seeing as how it's been a while since me and my Uncle sat down together in his fifteen foot Lund so he could spin me one of his tales, we decided it might be worthwhile to head out on Big Birch Lake in search of some early season crappies.  Of course he brought along a pack of Luckies and topped off his Zippo.  Sometimes it was necessary that Emil fire up, take a few drags and figure out where his ramble was heading before he painted himself into a corner.

     I was born a Lutheran, raised a Lutheran, went to church most every Sunday while Lena was alive.  Knew all the hymns but sang 'em only loud enough to know I was near the tune but not so loud as to throw the others off when I hit a clinker.  Also seemed like all the hymns were written in a key that never worked for me.  Always too high or too low.  Me and the hymns weren't the only things that didn't mesh in the house of God but Lena liked attending services so we dressed up and went.  Not sure why we dressed up 'cause God knew what we looked like naked and no amount of primping was going to change his view of us.  'Spose we dolled up for each other.
     Could be not fitting in was one of the reasons me and Father Dominic became friends.  Not what you'd call bosom buddies but more than just saying hi when he was out pruning his roses.  I kind of figured he was a lot like me in that he also seemed a little out of place.  Like he'd misheard his calling or felt black to be more fitting than pastels.  Whatever it was, one Sunday evening in the summer, our occasional hello and short conversation about the weather turned into an invitation inside the rectory for a short snort of brandy.  That's the kind of thing a priest has to do the asking about seeing as how he's a man of God and has appearances to keep.  Now, I'm not much of a fan of hard liquor but how many chances would I get to down a shot with a priest?  Mom and Dad would have thought I was going to hell for sure and that was one more reason to say yes.
     Seemed Father Dominic wasn't much of a drinker either but Sunday evening was his moment of celebration for having made it through the weekend.  Two low masses, a high mass, bumbling altar boys, a wedding, a funeral and worst of all, Saturday confession when he spent three hours trapped in a box listening to the woes of people incapable of doing anything worth confessing.  Nothing juicy at all.  Oh, he knew there were sinners out there.  Pretty big sinners at that.  But it's the real sins that are never confessed and after being of the cloth for better than thirty years, Father Dominic wasn't so sure he wanted to deal with such in the first place.  But I figured it might be nice as a change of pace.  Maybe challenge his ability to hand out penance.  Ten Hail Mary's, five Our fathers and ten minutes of quiet reflection just doesn't cut it for high crimes and misdemeanors.

     During that first Sunday evening we discussed the war for a minute.  Frank, seeing as how I wasn't a parishioner and didn't look like I had loose lips, he said I should call him Frank, had been a chaplain in Europe.  Even got wounded in the Battle of the Bulge.  Me, I'd been a medic in the Pacific. We'd both been there at the death of many men.  I tried to keep them on the light side of the door, Frank helped them along once they'd passed through.  In that sense we were a lot alike.  Both of us hoped the hell those men were leaving was the last they'd ever see.

     Got so my Sunday strolls preferred the the evening hours and my feet started wearing a groove in the sidewalk outside the rectory.  Should Father Dominick be in the yard he'd always invite me in.  After a while he grew to shadow my hours.  By the third visit I offered to front him a bottle but was turned down.  Frank said it was the Christian thing to do that he provide the Christian Brothers.

     The months passed.  We grew to know each other well.  Kind of became each other's confessor so to speak.  A few times our single snifter grew to two.  At first I thought it was the funerals that got him down.  I was wrong.  Not one to complain, Frank never let on what the cause was.  Being concerned, I began to pay attention to the happenings at St. Wilhelm's.  Took a few months but eventually I saw the pattern.  You see, the Ladies Guild met every other Saturday morning to get away from their hubbies for a few hours.  Meetings were in the church basement.  Late morning coffee usually turned into a pot luck lunch, confession in the afternoon and a second snifter for Father Dominic come Sunday evening.

     Like I said, if anything, I was a Lutheran.  Never been to Confession.  Didn't think I ever would.  And if I did go, there wasn't much point as my life was pretty humdrum.  Didn't do much of anything that required absolution.  Shot a squirrel out of season 'cause it'd made a home in our attic.  Doubt the Lord was concerned enough with pest control, what with having a universe to run and all, to care about one piddling rodent.  Me and Lena had our spats and I was more concerned about her forgiveness than God's.

     Over the weeks the thought arose that it might not be a bad idea to pay Father Dominic a Saturday visit, perhaps a couple.  Just maybe the same Saturday as the Guild ladies.  'Course I didn't want to be a nuisance and take up the ladies' valuable 'fessing time, so I figured to sneak in near the end of the afternoon, wait till the coast was clear, well after the last lady had exited the box.

     This was a delicate situation and I had to watch my step.  Razor's edge kind of thing.  Frank took his sacraments seriously even if the one I intended to trespass on usually involved matters that weren't all that serious.  Figured I'd give it a try one time to see how matters floated.  Might perk up his day.  Might end a friendship.  Yeah, even though I went with the questionable best of intentions, I was sweatin' bullets.

     First off, I had to have me a sin to confess.  Maybe more than one.  Second, it had to be serious and at the same time obviously pure fiction.  Third, it had to be entertaining.  And last, it shouldn't be my ticket to Hades should it turn out the Catholics were the one, true religion liked they claimed.  So, on the last Saturday in September, through ankle deep scarlet beneath the red maples outside the door, I entered the deafening quiet and decades old reek of frankincense that was St. Wilhelm's.

     Wasn't walking through those doors empty minded.  No siree, I'd been working up a sin of significance.  Multiple sins even.  Entertaining, juicy, just what Frank needed.  Maybe even put a smile on his face that depravity still walked the face of this earth and made life a misery for humanity.  Hardly worth being a man of God if there's no one to save.  And it was up to me to give the man meaning.  Put some starch in his collar.  Drew a few stares from the couple of bitties still in line as I searched out a quiet corner to reflect and hone my sins.

     Didn't turn out like I thought it would.  Not that that's unusual.  The unexpected's to be expected.  Adds spice to the pie.  And sometimes throws the monkey wrench.  Didn't stop me from becoming the sole soul in line when the last of the Guild ladies had passed through the curtain.

     Hadn't expected my reaction to the moment.  Thought I'd be a little on edge, fearing I'd blow my lines, but I'd done hair brained things in the past and they'd worked out just fine.  Catch people off guard and they don't notice the bumps in the road, just smooth 'em out on their own as the two of you ride along.

     Verna gave me quite a look when she came out.  Not sure if she was shocked, mad, or was just overcome by having the weight of her sins lifted by Father Dominic.  Mostly the look said the phone lines in Parkers Prairie were gonna get one serious workout over the next few hours.  Maybe even give the ladies something to confess next month.

     Never been in a confessional before.  Felt like a cross between a Peter Lorre movie and the fog I passed through when I was shot in the Philippines.  Can't say I recommend it.  But I was there and had something to get off my chest.  Went something like this:


     Afternoon Frank.
     That you Emil?
     Yah. It's me.
     Would have expected Judas looking for change for a shekel before you.  So what brings you here on this fine afternoon?
     Well, when I walked through the front door of St. Willie's a half hour ago, it was with the intention that I save your soul from the misery you were going through today.  Seems to me you do more penance than you dispense.  
     Let's just say I see but don't see.  Be careful where you go with this.  You're treading on holy ground that's now and then hard to tell from quicksand.
     Yah, I kinda figured that.  You see, I had this little voice in the back of my head tellin' me I might be goin' too far.  
     So what exactly was this you've come here to confess?
     In twenty five words or less it woulda been me who started the Chicago fire.  Maybe having an affair with both Mrs. O'Leary and her cow (stifled laughter on the other side of the screen).  Spent more than a few minutes on it.  Yah, she was a real humdinger but that all went out the stained glass window, the one with St. Wilhelm wagging his finger at some guy with a crown, when I sat down in one of the pews.
     Go on.
     Well, while sitting there running through my lines, I got the feeling someone was peeking over my shoulder.  Wasn't sure who it was at first.  Couldn't really see him but at the same time could out of the middle eye in the back of my head.  Dream-like you know.  Whoever he was, he was gettin' on in years, thin gray hair, a little rounding to his shoulders, glasses, wrinkled like a prune.  Anyhow, after a few seconds, I came to feel he was Archie, my sister Mary's boy.  Odd, 'cause he's only eleven.  He was trying to tell me something but it wasn't him who was really behind the prodding.
     There, behind Archie, whispering in his ear, was me, only I was really old.  Like one of those guys with the unpronounceable names from the Old Testament.  And both of them whispering, one to the other, I should curb my thoughts.  Play it straight with you.  So that's what I'm doing.  Be honest with you, it's not much fun.  So, what I 'spose I'm here to say is that I probably shouldn't be here.
     I appreciate that Emil.  And would like to hear the story you made up but there's a price, call it a penance.  Come Sunday evening, if you just happen to be strolling by the rectory, I wouldn't complain if you'd discretely smuggle in a bottle of cognac.  Haven't had any since my days in the war.  While we sip, you can tell me about your indiscretions in Chicago.  Or elsewhere for that matter.


     So that's it Archie.  Kind of a non-story if you ask me.  Kind of like St. Wilhelm who didn't do much more than say no to a king.  Must have had an in with the Pope.  But that's way the world goes round.  Earth shaking happens once in a blue moon, if then.  Take it from me, that's a good thing.