Father Figure

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  Just as I was drifting off, their day was starting again. I even heard Mrs. O’Connor’s bellows from the kitchen. Maybe they thought they’d go to Hell for missing prayers or Mass or whatever they were doing at such an ungodly hour. Yeah, I’d probably go to Hell, but Gabriel would be there before me.

  I yawned and stretched my tired body, and a thought occurred to me.

  Maybe I was wrong and 5am was a Godly hour. But why would any reasonable being require their minions to be awake before dawn? It was a mystery to me. And even though the pull of bed was strong, mysteries didn’t get solved by sleeping. Knowledge was power.

  I waited until I was absolutely certain that no one was around, grabbed a quick shower and changed into a new tank top but wore the same skirt as yesterday. Then I made my way to the church next door, pausing at the entrance in case God was going to strike me down.

  It was irrational but it irritated me that my heart beat a little faster as I walked into the cool, dim interior. A sweet-scented smoke that smelled like weed, but not so strong, drifted through the church. I smiled to myself, wondering if they rolled up behind the altar.

  I’d never been in a church before until I’d checked out this one a couple of months back, but it had been empty then and smelled of dust.

  Some old woman entered behind me and I stood aside as she dipped her fingers in water and made the sign of the cross over her chest. Okay, so that was what a font looked like—good to know.

  Then she curtsied like she was meeting a queen or something, but I couldn’t see who she was bowing to. Maybe the crucifix hanging above the altar?

  Had it been a mistake to come? I wondered what I was supposed to do. I stared around, then noticed a book on the bench in front of me. I assumed it was a Bible, but it turned out to be a hymn book. Yeah, you weren’t going to catch me singing kumbaya, or whatever the fuck they sang in here.

  Then I saw Gabriel. He was standing at the altar wearing a fancy decorated robe that covered his normal clothes. I swear his eyes swung to me at the back of the room and his mouth dropped open.

  I’d definitely surprised him. Good. The more I kept him off balance, the more control it gave me.

  Then he stood behind the small lectern thingy to make his sermon. Or was it a homily? I was a little shaky on the terminology.

  “As we learn in Matthew, ‘For John came to you to show you the way of righteousness, and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes did. And even after you saw this, you did not repent and believe him’. The most common translation of repent is to turn or return, turning away from evil and returning to God.”

  I sat up a little straighter when I heard the word ‘prostitute’. Was that for me? Was this lecture for me? What a giant ego this man had. Was he judging me? Something else to make him pay for.

  “True repentance leads a person to say, ‘I have sinned’ and then change their behavior. Repentance requires brokenness. Repentance is not asking the Lord for forgiveness with the intention of sinning again.”

  Oh, I was definitely going to break Gabriel Thorne—that was a promise.

  I was so lost in thoughts of revenge and his voice was so hypnotic, that I completely zoned out when suddenly the same old lady that I’d watched earlier tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Peace be with you.”

  “Uh, yeah. Thanks. Same to you.”

  Confused, I saw a couple of other people doing the same thing and shaking hands.

  The service seemed to go on forever, and with the dim lighting and monotonous singing, I started falling asleep, maybe even drooling a little, and then it was all over and Gabriel was standing over me.

  I sat up slowly and wiped my mouth. Yep, drool.

  “I’m surprised to see you here, Blue,” he said. “Surprised but pleased.”

  I shifted uncomfortably on the hard seat.

  “You gotta get better chairs, dude. This one is busting my ass.”

  “You seemed comfortable enough while you were snoring,” he smiled, and I couldn’t tell from his tone if he was annoyed or just yanking my chain.

  “Well, it wasn’t exactly a Foo Fighters concert,” I said, stretching my arms above my head.

  His eyes followed my chest, then snapped to my face as his cheeks reddened. I leaned forward fractionally, deepening my cleavage.

  “Like what you see, Gabriel? You wouldn’t be the first … or the hundredth.”

  His expression turned icy, and a shiver ran through me. He could look freakin’ scary for a priest. Yeah, well, he should be afraid of me … except he’d never see me coming until it was too late. Not the real me.

  “I’d encourage you to dress more appropriately in Our Father’s House,” he sneered, staring down at my bare legs and flip-flops.

  I gazed up at him, a sly smile tugging my lips upwards.

  “Does God care what I wear or is it just you?”

  “Service is finished,” he said abruptly, then turned on his heel and disappeared.

  I added ‘hypocrite’ to his list of sins. But he’d also given me my next piece of ammo.

  I rubbed my eyes, reddening them, then walked back to the rectory.

  Mrs. O’Connor had beaten me back and was in the kitchen making breakfast. She paused from mixing batter when she saw me.

  “You look pashed, child. What’s the matter?”

  I shrugged and tried to look as pathetic as possible.

  “Come on now, spit it out!”

  I glanced up at her through my hair.

  “Father Gabriel was mean to me,” I whispered.

  She tsked loudly.

  “You must be mistaken. That man doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.” She paused, obviously remembering that SEALs were the Navy’s trained assassins. “Ah well, that’s to say, I can’t imagine he’d say a harsh word to you.”

  “Well, he did. He told me I dressed like a wh— dressed wrong for church. He hates my clothes, but it’s all I have. He was so mean! It’s not like I can go shopping in La Jolla. I just wanted to go to Mass and this is all I’ve got to wear.” I screwed up my eyes and gave a little sob. “He made me feel like I wasn’t good enough to talk to God.”

  She swelled with indignation, her round face turning purple with anger.

  “We’ll just see about that!” she snorted, dusting her floury hands on her apron. “You poor love. I’ll be having a word wit’ that man, priest or not!”

  And she marched out of the room.

  I leaned back with a smile on my face, then grabbed a handful of blueberries from the bowl in front of me and squirted some maple syrup from a bottle into my mouth.

  As Gabriel walked into the hallway with the other priests, Mrs. O’Connor went on the attack.

  “You should be ashamed of y’self, ya great eejit! Making a cailín like that cry! What’s it to God what she wears when we’re born naked into this world? ‘Naked I came from my mother’s womb, And naked I shall return there.’ Job 1:21. You of all people should know better. Shame on you, Father!”

  I smiled to myself as I grabbed another handful of blueberries, letting the juice turn my fingers as blue as my name.

  Divide and rule.

  Chapter Nine

  Gabriel

  Naked.

  Naked.

  I would die to see Blue naked. But that definitely wasn’t the point that Mrs. O’Connor was trying to make.

  I had shamed Blue.

  Even worse, I had shamed her not for what she had worn, but for my own lustful thoughts. I’d blamed her for my own failure. My own temptation. I was Adam. She was Eve.

  And we were both doomed.

  But seeing her bare thighs had driven me insane with lust. They were perfect and all I wanted to do was bury my head in between them and lick her until she screamed my name.

  I blinked rapidly, forcing the image of Blue’s no doubt pretty, pink, tight little pussy out of my head. Way out of my head. Because God-willing, I would never see it.

  But the Devil
had a hold of me and wasn’t finished yet.

  “Well, Father Gabriel. Don’t just stand there like a rock. Apologize to the child.”

  I wished Mrs. O’Cee wouldn’t call her a child—it made it so much fucking worse. I glared at our housekeeper. She was right. But I couldn’t let Blue think that she controlled me, that she had already gotten under my skin.

  “No, I’m not going to apologize. Of course, she knows that you should dress respectfully in the House of the Lord. Everyone knows that. Inviting temptation is a sin. If she didn’t have the proper clothes, she could’ve asked me or you. I mean, we have an attached thrift store.”

  “How was I supposed to know that?” Blue said in a sulky voice.

  Fair point, but I wouldn’t be admitting that either.

  I turned to Blue and forced myself to hold my gaze steady. I would not look at her ripe breasts or imagine licking her nipples as they hardened, and definitely not think about how she would ride me until she came over my cock.

  I closed my eyes again. Man, what was wrong with me?

  Control. Right.

  “Just go to the donation bin and pick out a suitable outfit. One that covers your chest and your thighs. There are young men in the church and we wouldn’t want them distracted.”

  I was such a fucking hypocrite and she knew it. I took a deep breath, waiting for her to call me out in front of Mrs. O’Cee, but she didn’t. Her startling green eyes flashed fury but then turned almost doe-like. She bit her lower lip, maybe to keep from mouthing off at me, and then stormed off.

  Good. I didn’t need to see any more of her. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. I needed to find her a place to stay that wasn’t under my roof. And fast.

  Mrs. O’Connor’s eyes bulged. She had never heard me talk like this to a girl. Or anyone else for that matter.

  “Father Gabriel, I never thought the day would come, but you’re nothing but a great steaming eejit! And if it weren’t for my gimpy arm, I’d clatter you meself! The child did not deserve that tongue-lashing, and you should be ashamed of yourself, you great blatherin’ bully! You can be fixing your own supper tonight, so it is!”

  And our elderly housekeeper marched back to her kitchen as fast as she could limp.

  But I didn’t care. Blue knew what she was doing. She was tempting me.

  Why? Was she really that attracted to me? There were plenty of men she could get in San Diego. Marines, SEALs, and bros combed the streets of Pacific Beach nightly looking for a good time. Why was she lusting after some old priest?

  Was it the forbidden thing? Notch on her belt?

  Clearly, God was testing me. God had sent Blue to test my resolve.

  And I was failing.

  No, I would never quit. I wouldn’t ring that bell. I wouldn’t give in to temptation.

  Not even for a girl as delicious as Blue.

  The phone rang just after 2am—I’d only been asleep less than an hour. I turned over on my side and forced myself to close my eyes. Each of us at the rectory did two or three nights a week when we took turns to tend to the spiritual needs of all our combined flocks after hours, and I knew it was Neil’s turn to take the night shift, so I didn’t pay much attention.

  But a couple of minutes later, he was tapping on my door.

  “Father Gabriel, I’m sorry to wake you.”

  “’S’okay. What’s up?”

  He stood awkwardly in the doorway, trying not to stare at my bare chest.

  I knew which way Neil’s inclinations leaned, but the guy had never made a move on me, never made a single comment, never tried to touch me or anything else. Obviously, he knew it wouldn’t be reciprocated, but I admired the stoical way he approached his celibacy—he fought it every day. I could definitely understand that. And learn from it.

  “One of my parishioners, Joan Ramirez, called. She says it’s her father’s time. He specifically asked for you to perform the Sacrament of the Sick.”

  “Yeah? Why’s that? You’re Joan’s priest, not me.”

  And performing what most people named the Last Rites was a deeply personal act by a priest.

  Neil sighed. “Yes, that’s true, but her father is not one of my parishioners. Truth be told, he hasn’t set foot inside a church for 50 years, or so Joan tells me.” He paused. “Her father was at My Lai shortly after it happened.”

  “Shit.” I blew out a long breath. “Okay, give me the address and I’ll be on my way.”

  My Lai was the worst atrocity to come out of the Vietnam War. More than 500 men, women and children were slaughtered by US Army servicemen. It was probably the event that turned the tide of the nation’s opinion on the war, and it was a stain on our history. Any man who’d been caught up in that, even after the event, would have a heavy conscience.

  Before I left my room, I knelt beside my bed and stared up at the crucifix on the wall.

  “Lord Jesus, give me the strength to bring comfort and peace to one of your flock tonight. Help me find the words that will ease his passing unto Glory. Amen.”

  Then I rose from my knees, collected my car keys and ran quietly down the stairs. Neil already had his coat on.

  “You’re coming with me?”

  “Yes, you’ll need the help. Joan has a large family—they’ll all need comforting tonight.”

  We drove through the darkness, and as Neil gave me the directions, I searched for my center, for my calm in the sea of emotion that was sure to hit us as soon as we arrived.

  I wasn’t surprised to see the Ramirez’ house lit up like a Christmas tree while its neighbors were in darkness.

  I parked as near as I could, and Neil led us to the door, but it opened before he had to knock.

  A middle-aged woman was standing with an expression of utter devastation on her face.

  “Oh, Father Neil! Thank you so much for coming!”

  “Of course, Joan. This is Father Gabriel Thorne. You said your father has been asking for him.”

  She grasped my hands tightly, tears gathering in her eyes.

  “Thank you, Father. God bless you for coming. I can’t say that enough. Dad is … he has a difficult relationship with the Church. I thank God that he’s asked to see you because the doctor says … well, we know there’s nothing more the doctors can do. I’ll take you right in.”

  She bustled through the house, spouting off a bunch of names for the people sitting there that I’d never remember, but I stopped her at the bedroom door.

  “I think it would be better if I went in alone if that’s okay.”

  “Oh, sure! Whatever you think, Father. Dad’s name is Oscar, but he’s always been known as Ozzie.” She nodded at another woman who was sitting with the sick man, and they left together.

  When she’d gone, I looked around me. An elderly man lay in a narrow bed, his breathing harsh and labored. His skin was waxy and I could see the blue veins pulsing in his fragile body.

  I made the sign of the Cross.

  “Hello, Ozzie. I’m Father Gabriel Thorne. Your daughter, Joan, said you’d asked to see me?”

  The old man’s eyelids flickered, but he didn’t speak. I held his frail, bird-like hand between mine, giving what comfort I could.

  “Joan said you’d like me to perform the Sacrament of the Sick. If you can, squeeze my hand.”

  I waited, and just when I thought he was too far gone, I felt the gentlest pressure on my hand.

  “Thank you, Ozzie. Do you want me to hear your confession?”

  Again, that gentle squeeze of the hand. I prayed to God that this old soldier would find the words that seemed to lie so heavily on his heart.

  He moved his lips soundlessly, then opened his eyes. He licked his lips several times and I thought he might be thirsty, so I helped him up and lifted a glass of water to his mouth. He drank some, but more spilled down the white whiskers on his chin and over his chest.

  “Darn it, sorry,” I winced.

  He gave a thin smile, seeming a little stronger now.

  �
�You served.”

  I had to bend closer to hear his gasped words.

  “Yes, ten years.”

  “Then you know,” he gasped. “You know.”

  I nodded, looking into his pained eyes and holding his hand gently. “Yes, I know.”

  “Forgive me, Father. I ain’t been to church in fifty years. Couldn’t. Didn’t want to.”

  “God is merciful and kind. He understands. What is it you want to confess, Ozzie?”

  “Did Joanie tell you? Did she tell you I served in ‘Nam? At My Lai?”

  “I was told you were there after it happened.”

  His eyes closed and two tears trickled down his sunken cheeks.

  “So many dead. I’d never seen nothin’ like that. Babies shot, bayoneted when they ran out of bullets. Blood soakin’ the dirt. I never … never...”

  And his voice quavered and broke, tears running freely now. I plucked a tissue from the table beside his bed, wiped his tears and then his eyes.

  “Thank you, Father. I have to tell you … have to…” He took a rattling breath. “There was a little girl … maybe three years old … I thought she was a doll at first, a toy. But then she turned her head and tried to sit up … she’d had her face shot off, but she was still alive. She was trying to talk but blood kept bubbling out of her mouth … or where her mouth used to be. She was dying, I could see that, and there was nothin’ I could do. You hear me? Nothin’. The medics were going crazy tryin’ to help all of the injured. And all I had was a Band-Aid. What good was a goddamn Band-Aid? So, I shot her, like I’d shoot a dog that was sufferin’. I shot her and her little body fell back in the dirt. She didn’t make a sound, Father. Not a sound. And I thought I done it for the best, but that’s haunted me for 51 years. And I hated God. I been hatin’ on him a long time for letting that happen to babies. I turned my back on him and refused to have anything to do with the church. But now I’m dyin’ and I’m afraid to go without tellin’ someone what I done. Can God forgive me, Father?”