by Tom Clancy
“That’s not quite true, Henrietta. For example, only a bishop performs confirmation.”
“But you get my point, Father.”
“Yes, and I don’t know what more I can say to convince you that what you and the ladies are doing is not real, not in accordance with church teaching.” As Steve said this, he turned to leave, convinced sadly that he was getting nowhere with the woman.
“Wait a minute, Father. Let me ask you—why don’t you bring the matter up with the bishop—you know in the diocesan seat. He’s back from Rome, you know.”
“I don’t want to do that.”
“Of course, you don’t. I’ve found out you’re not even attached to this diocese. You’re an itinerant. What do you say to that?”
“You’re right, of course. I’ve come here from Arizona. I’m not officially assigned here, but remember, this was the place where my family brought us every summer for many years. It’s like home to me. And I learned that a priest was needed here.”
“This puts you in the category of a drifter. Has the Catholic Church really come to that, Father? Priests drifting from diocese to diocese and the bishops learning about it later? Maybe I’m being a little hard on you but New Hampshire doesn’t qualify as some far-flung mission. This place is not Timbuktu. Missionaries don’t drift in and out of here hoping for a few converts from paganism.”
Steve was dismayed at the woman’s hostility. He realized sadly she was right—not about saying Mass, but right about his status. He was a drifter, a renegade priest. Not through any fault of his own, but a renegade nonetheless. He said good night and quietly closed the door behind him as he left. As he did so, he glanced back and saw Henrietta through the glass upper part of the door, arms folded, smiling as if she had just knocked down the doors of heaven.
27
There was a slight chill in the air on the lake. A soft rain had begun to fall outlining the low white buildings of Wolfeboro hazily through the mist. Steve put his arm lightly around Janet’s shoulder as they leaned on the stern rail of the Mount Washington steamer that was pulling away from the dock for a cruise on Lake Winnepesaukee. The engines below throbbed frothing up a boil of white water behind the ship. Steve glanced around nervously hoping none of his parishioners were on the ship. Happily, because of the poor weather, the ship was almost empty. Janet had come up for a weekend to visit Steve and tell him more about her research on cloning. She was determined to keep the visit platonic, although his arm around her shoulder was warm and welcome. She snuggled against him even as she kept telling herself she had come to help both of them understand his predicament, rather than for any romantic reasons. But as soon as she had laid eyes on him she saw a lost soul. She saw that he was so lonely and obviously so in love, she was ready to melt in his arms. Deeply in love with him, she wanted to give him something no one else in the world, or even in heaven could give him, but she was uncertain and conflicted. Partly, it stemmed from the fact that Steve was a priest and would likely remain a priest, but also because prior to the visit to New Hampshire she was being pressured by both her and her husband’s families to move back in with her husband. Neither of them was particularly anxious to make the move, but the thought of one last attempt at a normal Catholic married life complete with children seemed like the right thing to do, despite reservations about any real feelings for one another. It was the powerful primeval urge of the age-old Catholic Church that admonished the faithful to procreate and fill the earth. It was the sacrifice expected by the church—no matter how difficult or miserably unhappy the marriage, no matter the level of cruelty, in the absence of annulment, the marriage was pre-ordained to remain intact for the sake of children present or expected.
When Janet slowly explained the situation to Steve, he glumly shrugged his shoulders. “I understand. After all, I’m part of the Catholic Church. Sacrifice on earth is what guarantees rewards in the hereafter. It’s a question of accepting responsibility. But more than that, any children you have will bring you untold happiness even if the marriage isn’t completely satisfying.”
Steve was so miserable he could hardly believe what he was saying. “Janet, on another note, I have to leave New Hampshire soon.” Steve said this with resignation written all over his face as they stood leaning on the ship’s railing gazing at the receding shoreline. “A few of the parishioners have been asking too many questions. One even contacted the diocesan seat to inquire about me. So, it’s just a matter of time before Rhinehart and the monks from the Passion Monastery get back on my trail.”
“But where will you go?”
“Somewhere far away. New Hampshire hasn’t been far enough away. I’ve been thinking of Alaska—the Aleutian Islands in particular.”
“For how long?”
“I suppose until they locate me there, and then I’ll be off to someplace else.”
“But Steve, you can’t spend your whole life on the run. It has to stop somewhere.”
“I know. But until the hierarchy come to their senses, and I find out more about my real position with the church, I am faced with the same old two choices: resign the priesthood and ask for a dispensation of my vows, or maintain a priestly ministry in some remote corner of the world. I know this can’t go on forever. I’m living day-to-day.”
“Despite all the grief the church is giving you, you don’t sound ready to leave the priesthood.”
“I’m not. And I’ve just about made up my mind to go to the Aleutians. I’ll write and let you know where I am; that is, if you still want to keep in touch.”
“How can you say that? Of course I do.” He had spoken in such a crestfallen tone, Janet instinctively reached over and slipped her arm around his waist. She shifted sideways to be closer to him.
“Steve, about the cloning, I’ve done some research on cloning since my last visit up here. Almost everyone thinks of clones as twins. Clones are identical twins, somewhat like natural twins, only the clone’s birth is delayed by some years.”
“My brother, Jonathon, has also done some research on cloning. Maybe he feels guilty, I don’t know. He tried to explain the technology to me. He described it pretty much as you are now. But what about the church? Have you read anything about the church’s position? I haven’t seen anything concrete. Janet, dear, it’s getting chilly out here, let’s go inside.”
Seated in the ship’s lounge, Janet took a sip of her coffee and then held a piece of pastry up to his lips. “Some people seal a relationship by exchanging blood samples,” she said, trying to be lighthearted. “Let’s seal ours by sharing this piece of pastry.”
He smilingly accepted and they took alternate bites until it was gone. Then she licked his fingertips. “Steve, dear, I’m sure the church will come to accept all this after a time. The church’s first reaction to in-vitro fertilization was to condemn it as a violation of God’s laws of procreation. Conception is supposed to take place in bed not in a lab. But as you know, the hierarchy has come around. It’s still not approved of, but the people born of in-vitro fertilization are not considered Frankenstein monsters by the church. Steve, it’s just a question of time until the church resolves its attitude towards some of these advances in genetic engineering. I believe the church fathers will eventually acknowledge the validity of people procreated by the cloning process.”
Steve rested his hand on the back of Janet’s hand. “The fact that almost everyone is convinced that human cloning is immoral and, in fact, illegal, will certainly keep it from becoming widespread, and that’s all well and good,” he said, “but, Janet, there’s something new I learned about myself. Something dreadful. I found out more information on a visit to the lab where the cloning took place. The situation is worse than I could have imagined.”
“How could that be, Steve? You’re a clone. So what?” Janet twisted in the seat to look into his eyes, puzzled.
“When I visited the medical center in upper Maine, I saw some notations on a report and had a long talk with the director. I’m certai
n a copy of the report went to Rhinehart last year and based on that, he has been adamant about getting me out of the church.”
“What kind of report? I don’t understand.”
Steve looked away for a moment—too embarrassed to reveal the truth to someone he loved.
“Steve, I want to know. Trust me,” Janet said as she ran her hand lightly through the hair on the back of his head. She looked into his eyes. “I won’t think any less of you. I love you. I always will love you, no matter what.”
He bit his lip. He couldn’t return her gaze. He could only stare down into his coffee cup. His words came slowly, painfully. “That crackpot doctor who performed the cloning experiments using my brother and my mother, put something else in the ‘soup’. I don’t know what else to call it other than ‘soup’. He added animal cells to the embryo mix. The director told me it was well-intentioned; the doctor probably did it to break the genetic strain of Lou Gehrig’s disease that runs in my family and to improve the chances of the clone having a long life expectancy by using young primate cells. He supposedly had some concern that the life expectancy of a newborn clone might be no longer than the remaining life expectancy of a donor. In other words, even though I wouldn’t look as old as my older brother—since I was born twenty years after him, in a sense, I would have the same remaining life expectancy as Jonathon.”
“Steve, that’s not really true. Scientists now know that cloned animals live long after the original. But if that doctor mixed in primate cells in the process, that’s horrible. You could be labeled a ‘chimera’—a mix of human and animal. What a dirty trick!” All she could think of as she said it was the total lack of ethics, the gross immorality of some experimenters. Some of them blindly try things regardless of the consequences. Janet gently pulled Steve’s head closer to her. Leaning over, she kissed his cheek and the corner of his mouth trying to get him to turn his head towards her. But flushed with shame, he sat head down staring at the table. Her eyes flooded with tears.
She began to wonder if the worst scenario might come about. She shuddered at the thought but quickly dismissed the idea as preposterous. Steve was a human being, a man, a handsome and intelligent one at that. He had all the qualities of a good person and a good priest. Certainly there had been no ill effects so far, at least nothing she knew of. Yet, a part of her wondered whether as the years passed, as he grew older, as his immune system began to weaken, whether he might have to deal with unwanted characteristics that could come to the surface.
Steve got up and taking Janet by the hand, led her outside to the stern of the ship. They stood at the rail, staring at the trailing white foam and the gray horizon. He made an effort to snap out of his depression. He knew this was the last time they would be together for a long time, maybe forever. He knew the effect the revelation had on her. He was afraid of losing her love even though she could soon be reluctantly in the arms of another man. A man who had far more right to her and her love than he. In his desperation, he thought he might lighten things with a lame comment. “Did you know you’ve been hanging around an animal?”
“I love animals. One of my best friends is an animal, at least, in part.”
“Want me to growl for you?” he asked, trying to smile.
“Sure, tiger. Gimme a growl,” she replied, smiling through her tears.
28
Steve pushed the canoe from shore and hopped agilely into the rear, settling on the seat at the stern as he dipped the paddle into the shallow sandy water. With strong thrusts the canoe slid swiftly from the dimly lit shore into the blackness of the pond. He glanced up at the overcast moonless night sky. Although he had never before gone out on the pond at night in a canoe—dangerous because it lacked running lights, this night was different. He had to think things out. He hoped it would be alone in these dark surroundings that he could see into the depths of his soul even as he was aware that some others, including those in his church were of the opinion that he was a being not possessed of a soul. He paddled silently out in the direction of the small island that lay half-a-mile off shore. He had no plan. He wanted only to paddle for awhile, drift for awhile with the paddle across his knees and think.
Not far from shore, there was a sudden upheaval in the water below the boat that caused the canoe to rock violently from side to side. His first thought was that he had hit an underwater boulder until he quickly recalled there were no large rocks this far from shore. As he held the gunwales of the canoe trying to keep from turning over, a large thrust from below completely flipped the boat throwing him into the water. He had no idea what turned the boat over. He had seen moose and deer swimming across the pond. He wondered if the massive body of a struggling moose had bumped the boat. Since he was an excellent swimmer Steve was surprised but not particularly scared at finding himself in the water. It would be simple enough: if he couldn’t manage to clamber back onboard, he could stay in the water and swim behind the canoe with a frog kick and push the boat ashore. It would be slow going because the shirt, slacks and tennis shoes he was wearing would tend to drag him back as he swam.
Suddenly something grabbed one of his lower legs and held on even as he kicked the other leg hard to free himself. Were the huge hard horns of a moose entangling his pants-legs? Something large was in the water with him. He was being pulled under the surface and realized he was gulping for air but swallowing water instead. After several dunkings, he was on the verge of panic. But knowing the overturned canoe was unsinkable, he realized he would be all right as long as he could hang onto it. Clawing the water surface, he struggled for a hold on the canoe by slinging his arms over the slippery overturned hull. It was no good, because being pulled from below, and having nothing to hang onto, he slipped off. After several tries, he gave up trying to clamber onto the overturned hull, but knew he desperately needed something on the boat to grab. It was not likely that whatever was pulling him down would be able to pull both him and the boat down. Fumbling under the boat, his hand found one of the canoe crossbars. He held on with all his strength as he continued kicking and struggling to keep from being pulled under the water. Then suddenly, whatever had entangled his leg, let loose and seemed to drift away in the dark. He was free. He felt his heart pounding in his throat as he slowly pushed the canoe ashore.
Later, sitting in the sand on his dark beach, slowly regaining his composure, he was shocked that a simple canoe ride had almost ended in disaster.
*****
The day following the incident on the pond was Sunday. In the sacristy of the church before Mass Steve went through time-honored rituals—kissing each vestment as he put it on, all the while whispering his pre-Mass prayers. But he found he couldn’t put the incident of the previous night out of his mind. It was dimly possible that he had become entangled with the horns of a drowned moose or deer in the middle of the pond, but for the life of him, he couldn’t tell what it was. An accidental encounter with an animal didn’t answer the puzzle as to how his leg seemed to be held in the grip of something that was pulling him down.
On the altar, looking out towards the congregation, Steve was pleased to see that the congregation was growing larger every week. Almost all of the pews were full. There were even several standees in the rear. After the consecration and during the holy communion part of the service, glancing up, Steve saw two men standing in the rear of the church. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought the men looked familiar. They were dressed casually after the custom in the small town where people often went hunting, fishing or boating right after Mass.
But as Steve continued to give out communion, he had a strange feeling—one that made his flesh crawl. Could it be that Brothers Michael and John had found him? He shuddered at the thought that it could have been one, or both of the brothers on the pond the night before, trying to drown him. Why not? He knew the brothers were grimly determined to get him. They would stop at nothing either to capture him or kill him if necessary. And maybe they were more clever than he had thought. A drowning on
the pond could be made to look accidental. It would likely be concluded later that he had fallen into the water and lost his way swimming in the dark.
Beads of perspiration glistened on his brow as he administered communion to the faithful lined along the railing that divided the nave and the sanctuary. To each upturned face, “The body of Christ...the body of Christ...”.
He hesitated momentarily. He was shaken as he stared down at the face of Brother Michael who with half-closed eyes and tongue thrust out to receive the Host, seemed as innocent as a lamb. Could he administer communion to a man who had attempted murder? On the other hand, could he really prove it? He took a Host from the ciborium and placing it on the brother’s tongue with a hand that shook slightly, he whispered, “The body of Christ.” Next in line was Brother John, tongue out, also waiting to receive the Lord. Again, reluctantly, “The body of Christ.”
After just a few short months establishing a ministry in Wakefield, Steve realized that the game was up. Although he hated the thought of leaving his new parish and devoted parishioners, he knew that having been found by the monks, he would have a constant struggle just to stay alive much less conduct the orderly affairs of the parish. He had to get out… fast. With a smooth gesture, Steve signaled to a deacon standing nearby in the sanctuary to take the ciborium and continue giving out the Holy Eucharist. He, the priest, hovered nearby, hands folded in prayer, forcing a slight smile, and trying to look as calm and natural as possible. Since he had often done this before as a supportive gesture to a deacon, none of the congregation thought it unusual. Steve then drifted slowly to the altar where he appeared to be busying himself with wiping his chalice and tidying up the altar as the Mass would draw to a close.