by Inmon, Shawn
“Oh, crap. How much is my allowance?”
“Don’t act dumb with me, Nicky. Your allowance is fifty cents per week. If I take the whole thirty dollars out of your allowance, you won’t have any gum or candy for a year, which is what you probably deserve. But, here’s what we’re going to do: no allowance for you from now until Christmas, plus you’re going to put an extra hour in on chores, helping your mother every Saturday before you go play with your friends. Understand?”
“Yes, Dad. I’m sorry. It all just happened really fast.”
“That’s the way it is with life, Nicky. It all happens fast.”
AFTER THE EXCITEMENT of the dinner hour, things settled down at the Davidner residence. No one but Sam felt like finishing dinner, so Laura gathered the leftovers into Tupperware for Joe’s lunch the next day. Joe got Connie tucked into bed and everyone settled into the living room—Sam on the floor in front of the television, Joe in his chair, and Laura and Dominick on the sofa.
Laura patted the cushion beside her. “Come here, Nicky, sit next to me.”
The Scolding, Part Two? No fair. Dad already gave me my talking to.
Dominick scooted over and Laura pulled him close. She stroked his curly hair. “Nicky, Nicky. You’ve always been my gentle boy. What’s going on with you?”
You’d never believe me if I told you, Mom.
“Two fights in two days with much bigger boys and you come out unscathed. It’s so unlike you.”
Dominick didn’t answer, but just buried his face against his mother’s side.
“After church on Sunday, I’ve arranged for Father Wilkins to come by the house and talk to us.”
“Us?”
“Well, your father, me, and you.”
“But mostly me.”
“Us,” Laura said firmly.
Chapter Seven
Sunday was the one day each week that the Davidners were all up and around at the same time. No laying slugabed on the Sabbath. The family didn’t overdress for church, but the kids were bathed, their hair was as combed as it ever could be, and the five of them were in the car headed to Mass by 7:30. It was a constant question of whether to get out of bed early to make the 8:00 AM mass and have the rest of the day for chores and the Raiders, or to get a bit more sleep and go to the 10 AM mass.
Joe and Laura sat up front in the Plymouth with Connie between them and the two boys in the back. When he climbed in, Dominick automatically pulled the seatbelt out, which had been stuffed deep into the crack at the back of the seat, and clicked it into place. Sam just looked at him and shook his head, as if to say, my brother the weirdo.
“You won’t think I’m odd if Dad rear ends somebody and you go head first out the windshield and into the back of a semi.”
“I might be dead, but I’ll still think you’re a weirdo.”
“Fair point.”
It was another warm morning, and the sun shone against the brick exterior of St. Augustine. Inside, the church was cool, with that slightly damp, but not unpleasant, smell that seemed to exist only in churches. Everyone, even Connie, dipped their fingers into the Holy Water and made the sign of the cross before genuflecting at the edge of the pew and taking a seat three quarters of the way toward the back of the church. Once in the pew, Laura lowered the kneeler and the whole family kneeled for a moment of silent prayer and reflection.
Dominick clasped his hands in front of him, lowered his head, and prayed fervently. God, I am so confused. I have always done my best to follow You and Your Word. Now, I feel so lost. Everything I once thought I knew, seems false. Please help me find some clarity, some understanding. What lesson am I supposed to learn? I am your servant. I only need to know how to serve. Please let me hear Your Voice.
The church bell rang above their head, calling people in to worship, and Dominick felt his throat tighten and tears leak through his closed eyes.
Those bells get me every time.
He felt his mother’s warm hand on his back and when he turned his head, he saw she was smiling at him gently.
Dominick looked around. Tall ceilings, graceful arched stained glass windows, paintings of the Stations of the Cross hung between them. At the front, the altar stood tall, draped in white cloth with a purple sash. A seven-foot-tall Christ hung on the cross on the wall behind. To the right of the altar was a statue of a blue robed Mary, Mother of God, arm outstretched, offering peace to the congregation.
When Mass started, Dominick’s swell of emotions drained away. The priest stood with his back to the congregation and conducted the service in Latin.
What the heck? I don’t remember this. How many of us speak Latin, anyway? How are we supposed to keep up? How do we share in this and experience the sacred? It’s all ceremony and no connection with the congregation.
Inevitably, Connie began to fidget impatiently, and Laura searched through her purse to find something to entertain her, finally settling on a compact mirror, followed in short order by a roll of butterscotch LifeSavers.
Soon enough, Joe and Laura had gone to the front for Communion, and shortly thereafter, the service was over. The tall doors of the church were thrown open and warm summer sunlight poured in. The Davidners emerged, blinking, into that sunlight, the troubles of the previous day forgotten for the moment.
Once home, everyone took off their church clothes and hung them back up for the following Sunday. Sam threw on a t-shirt, ball cap and jeans, and was out the door in a flash. Dominick did his best to follow his brother’s lead, but he was collared by his mother before he could get to the front door.
“No running off, Nicky. Father will be here soon, and I don’t want to have to hunt all over the neighborhood for you.”
FATHER WILKINS ARRIVED just in time for lunch, which was a bean soup that Laura had made with a hambone from earlier in the week. Like magic, Sam reappeared just as the table was being set.
Nature’s great mysteries—the swallows returning to Capistrano and Sam returning when food hits the table.
Father Wilkins said the blessing, then the adults chatted about the weather, the upcoming bake sale, and the health of a number of parishioners. The priest had changed out of his robes, of course, but his black pants and shirt and backward priest’s collar still conveyed the message of who was the moral authority in the room. He was a short, stout man with white hair and a stern visage that transformed when he smiled, which he did often.
This is all just stalling. The main event is coming up: Priest vs. Boy. Who will win?
When the soup bowls were empty, Laura suggested they move into the living room for coffee.
Soon, Sam had once again disappeared, Connie was playing as quietly as she ever did, and the adults had their beverages. Joe had traded his normal after-lunch beer for coffee as well. Joe and Laura lit cigarettes and Father Wilkins fished about for his pipe and tobacco.
I wonder if priests think the world is a better place, since everyone is on their best behavior around them, or if they know we’re all just sinners that put a temporary hold on it in their presence?
“So, Dominick, your mother tells me you’ve been having a little difficulty this week.”
“Father, why do you say the mass in Latin? Wouldn’t it be better in English, so we could understand everything that’s being said?”
Father Wilkins sat back in his chair a bit, eyebrows raised. He smiled indulgently. “Well, son, that is the way Peter said the first Mass, so it is the way we have done it for a very long time. There are changes afoot in the Church, but most of those changes have not reached us here in Emeryville yet, so we still do things the way we’ve always done them. Now—“
“When I die, will I go to Heaven?”
“Nicky, it’s not polite to interrupt people when they are speaking, especially Father,” Laura said.
“No, no, it’s all right, Laura. It’s only natural to have questions like this. Answering them is my job. Dominick, we all have an assurance of Heaven if we are faithful to God and keep his
Commandments.”
Dominick nodded. “I was pretty sure that’s what you would say, but it didn’t happen for me.”
“I’m sorry?” Father Wilkins said, certain he had misheard.
“I died, and when I opened my eyes, I was back here, not in Heaven. I’m just trying to figure out why that happened. I’ve been asking God, but haven’t heard anything back yet. At first, I thought maybe this is Purgatory, but now I don’t think so. I think I’m just having to live my life over again, and I’m trying to figure out what I’m doing here, what I’m supposed to be accomplishing.”
This rush of words quieted the room, so the only sound was Connie singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to her stuffed bear.
The adults exchanged glances. Father Wilkins took the lead. “Dominick, are you saying you had a dream like this?”
Dominick let the mask of being a young boy slip away, “There’s nothing, really, in any of our theology that would explain this, is there, Father? Catholics don’t believe in reincarnation, and that’s not exactly what this is, anyway, is it? This is more like I just got dropped back into my life at some random point to do it all over again.” Dominick took a deep breath in, held it for a long moment, then let it hiss out. “This is getting us nowhere. I didn’t really think you had some secret answers, but I had to check. Okay, then. So, what did you want to ask me, Father?”
Dominick was quickly pushed outside to play. Whatever conversation the priest and parents had planned evaporated when Dominick revealed exactly what his situation was.
Probably not the best idea, but it felt like I had been keeping a secret, ever since I got here. If you can’t tell your parents and your priest the truth, who can you tell?
He walked along the side of the house and saw Sam’s old bicycle leaning against the fence. Much of the red paint was missing—rusted or just scraped away from many falls—but when Dominick pulled it loose from the grass that was growing around it, everything still seemed to function. He pushed it out through the front gate and tried to jump up. It was a struggle, because it was too tall for him. Eventually, he managed, though, and a moment later, he was pumping the pedals, and whizzing through his old neighborhood, leaving all his troubles far behind.
Chapter Eight
Carrie feathered her pyxis to a stop and looked at the scene in front of her. Dominick Davidner sat on a wooden pew in a church, surrounded by his family. At the front of the church, a priest was chanting a prayer.
A wave of nostalgia swept over Carrie and she let herself be carried along with it. She thought of the tiny church in Middle Falls that she had attended with her mother and father. The same church she had spent nights with Thomas Weaver. The same church she had been murdered in.
I miss those times when I thought I knew what waited after death. I was completely wrong, but I felt like I knew anyway, and in a way, that was as good as knowing. Now, the more I learn, the more I know, the dumber I feel.
She turned to the woman who sat at the desk next to her. “Maruna? Do you ever wish you were still back on Earth, and didn’t know all this?”
Maruna, who appeared to be about the same age as Carrie, turned in her seat. Her long black hair was pulled up into a careless fall, her skin was fair, and perfect. She shook her head. “Why would I? It’s better to know some small amount with certainty, than embrace a false idea.”
“Yes, but I was certain then, too. I proselytized. I tried to live my life as an example to others.”
“Mmm-hmmm,” Maruna said, and returned to her own pyxis.
“It can be so lonely here, sometimes.”
Maruna was not listening.
Chapter Nine
Dominick rode until his legs ached and hunger overcame him.
A bowl of bean soup only goes so far.
I guess I’ve done it now. I have no idea what’s next. Was the Catholic Church doing exorcisms in 1968, or did they wait until The Exorcist came out? No idea. I wish there was a way I could just get away and not burden my parents like this. They’ve got enough on their plates just making ends meet. They don’t need to worry about having an insane child, too. For all I know that’s what I am—insane. I mean, crazy people don’t know they’re crazy, do they?
It was almost dinnertime when Dominick pushed Sam’s bicycle back into the yard. The kitchen window was open, and he could hear his mother singing softly to herself—an old song he didn’t recognize.
What am I walking into here? The Pope Patrol, ready to gather me up and haul me away? Or, worse, a strong talking-to from Mom and Dad.
Dominick pushed into the living room and found Connie sitting on Joe’s lap, fast asleep.
She only has two speeds. A hundred miles an hour, or out cold.
Joe put a finger to his lips, and Dominick nodded acknowledgement.
In the kitchen, his mother was just taking a roast out of the oven, a rare treat for a family that survived on hamburger in all its variations. She signaled Dominick to come into the kitchen.
She took him in her arms and held him tight. Before she let him go, she laid a hand against his forehead.
Now I know I’ve messed things up. I’ve given Sam a bloody nose, broken Billy’s arm, and completely freaked out Father Wilkins, but everyone’s still good to me. They must be ready to ship me off to the loony bin. I wonder if Dad’s union insurance will cover a long stay in the straightjacket hotel.
A few minutes later, they gathered around the dining room table. They all held hands and Joe said grace.
There wasn’t any conversation. No one, not even Sam, seemed to know what to say with a child at the table that might have wandered off the path of sanity. Finally, Dominick said, “Hey, Dad? What are you going to do with that old Dodge out in the garage?”
Joe lit up, happy to be on more familiar ground. “I’ll get to it soon enough. It could be a fine machine, just needs a bit of attention.”
“Do we need a lot of parts to get it up and running?”
Joe thought for a minute, chewing his roast slowly. “No, not really. I’d need to get a couple of tires patched, and I’ve drained all the fluids out of her. I’d probably need to rebuild the carburetor, but that’s not too much work. Why?”
“I was thinking it would be fun to help you.”
Joe stared at his youngest son levelly. Dominick could almost read his thoughts: He’s never showed an interest in cars before. Why now? Is this more of whatever’s wrong with him?
“Sure, Nicky. I was always hoping you boys would be interested in working on it with me. How about you, Sam? Want to help, too?”
Sam shrugged.
Joe leaned over toward Dominick. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll take the tires that need patching to work with me tomorrow, and I’ll stop on the way home and get them done. We can jack it up and put them on tomorrow night after dinner. We can take a look at what else needs to be done, too. Maybe we can all take a Sunday drive in it after church this weekend.”
“That would be great, Dad.”
Everyone tucked into their Sunday dinner, pleased to have something to think about other than what was wrong with Dominick.
JOE WAS AS GOOD AS his word. He brought two patched tires home on Monday night and he and Dominick pumped them full of air. They soon discovered that the two tires Joe thought were fine also needed a patch or two, though, which put them off another night.
After getting all four tires on, Joe took the carburetor apart and laid it on his cluttered workbench. He pulled a carburetor rebuild kit down from the top shelf and blew half an inch of dust off it.
“Had this sitting here for years now. Guess I was just waiting for you to give me a push, Nicky. I think I’m getting fat and lazy.” He patted his midsection, where there wasn’t an ounce of fat, then took another chaw of Copenhagen out of the tin he always carried in his back pocket.
It’s that stuff that’s going to kill you, Dad, not getting fat and lazy. How can I tell you without worrying you more?
“Dad,” Dominick s
aid. “You know that stuff’s bad for you, right?”
“What, snus?”
“Yeah, it causes cancer too, just like smoking cigarettes.”
“Ah, Nicky, they haven’t proved that yet. I think it’s just a scare tactic.”
Dominick shook his head vehemently.
“No, Dad, it’s not. It’s real. I love you. I don’t want you to die.”
Joe turned toward the workbench. “That’s sweet, Nicky. I don’t want to die, either, and leave your mother with all the bills. I’ll think about it, okay?”
Dominick watched his father take the carburetor apart and carefully clean each part with a special cleaner, then set them out to dry.
I worked for three years as a mechanic, but there’s something so satisfying about watching someone else who knows what they are doing work on a car.
“We’re getting there, boyo.”
They spent a pleasant evening listening to Johnny Cash, Charlie Pride and Hank Williams on the tiny radio and working on the car.
LATE SATURDAY AFTERNOON, Joe put a gallon of gas and a few quarts of oil into the car and rolled it out of the garage. It took a few attempts and some cussing under Joe’s breath, but eventually, the old Dodge rattled to life. Laura, Connie, Sam, and Dominick stood to the side and applauded.
“Well, it might not be ready for a cross country road trip, but I think it’ll make it out of the city limits. We’ll take her for a spin tomorrow.”
Everyone else went into the house, but Dominick stayed behind, got a bucket and a sponge and did his best to give it a wash. Even standing on the door frame, he couldn’t reach the middle of the roof, and the middle of the hood evaded him until he climbed up on it, but when he was done, it looked better than it had before he started.
It’s been an odd week. Everyone’s acting like I never said anything to Father Wilkins. I guess that’s how families get through things like this. Pretend like it never happened and hope it doesn’t happen again. What else are you going to do?