Father Sweet

by J. J. Martin

  So, here we are, I thought. It’s now or it won’t be at all.

  I drank a slug of tequila. “I told you that I would give you the truth about Dad,” I said. “I need to also tell you about me.”

  Over the next twenty minutes, I told Jamie about Dad’s career at Indian Affairs, and as an Indian Agent, shipping thousands of children to schools around Canada where they were systematically abused by nuns and priests. Children died. Lives were destroyed. I told him about the deaths and broken families and ruined communities orchestrated by men like our father, who convinced us he was above reproach, who, along with Father Gast, posed as a saintly, ethical, perfect man and destroyed everything he touched.

  Then I told him how betrayed I felt when our father and mother gave me to our parish priest like a toy to play with in the forest.

  “You remember when they sent me on that camping trip with the priest?” I asked.

  “Oh no,” he said. I wondered if I could say more. Maybe this was the limit of what he could absorb. Maybe if I told him the rest things would change between us. I clammed up.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Keep going.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. I’m ready for anything.”

  It was a relief to hear, but made it no easier to continue. “So, it … he … you know. Probably what you suspect.”

  “A pervert.”

  “Yes.”

  “Keep going,” said Jamie. “I’m right here.”

  “So, I made a deal with him,” I said. “He said something that terrified me. He said he would go after you, so we were out at this riverside, and he had a camera. I made a deal, and it was so he would leave you alone. I didn’t know what was going on … but I did it to protect you.”

  “Oh, man,” said Jamie. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  “In a way, I’m glad because it kept him from you.”

  We let the quiet sit between us.

  “You’ve been carrying this since we were kids,” he said at last. “It’s been killing you. I want to say I wish you’d told me earlier. But I don’t want to say that because I’m worried it would make you feel guilty. I’m glad you finally told me, and it took the time it did. Everything I can think of saying to you makes me worry you’ll feel guilty. You should not have any guilt. Goddamnit. I only wish you didn’t feel like you had to deal with this alone.”

  “I’m just glad it worked.”

  The line was silent. I made use of the time to cry a little. Maybe Jamie was doing the same.

  This was exhausting. After a few minutes, I had a few deep breaths and could speak. “You there?”

  It was quiet.

  “Say something,” I said.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I don’t expect you to thank me or anything.”

  “Well, of course, thank you for telling me.”

  “No, I mean. You know … about the deal. To keep you out of it.”

  “Thank you?” His tone had an edge. “Why would I thank you?”

  “I don’t know. I just. I don’t know.”

  “There’s nothing to thank you for. Think about how fucked up that is. The abuse was out of your control. He created this situation. He manipulated you into thinking you were making some sort of sacrifice and saving me. You were a kid! It’s completely his fault. And worse, it’s still working — you feel like you made a deal with him, but you didn’t get anything.”

  “I guess.”

  “If you think you did this to save me, it’s just him deflecting more guilt onto me and responsibility onto you than either of us deserves. This is totally on him.”

  “I’d hate to think I did it without it having some sort of good coming out of it. And the good is that he didn’t turn to you next.”

  “There’s nothing good coming out of it. And it wasn’t your choice. He manipulated you because that’s what he did to get his way. He used everything at his disposal to make it seem like you had a choice. You had no choice.”

  “There are pictures. He had a camera. Those pictures are probably still being passed around.”

  “Did you hear what I said? He sacrificed you for his jollies. There’s no justifying that after the fact. You didn’t make a sacrifice for me. You were a kid. You had no choice.”

  I heard him blow his nose.

  Finally, I told him about Melody. I said that she — without knowing much about me — seemed to understand me better than I did myself. I felt like I could be a better person when I was with her. And, I said, Melody believed in what I was doing.

  So, what was it I was doing? What was this that was my way of “unblocking” myself? I explained to my brother I was trying to retrieve a boy who had been gifted to Father Sweet by his parents, and to give that boy a shot at life. A life unfettered by the grasping desires of unholy men.

  At the end of our call, which ended after midnight my time, Jamie told me that it was worth my staying there as long as it took. He told me that somehow, he always knew, even though he said he didn’t know. I promised him I would try to get back home in time for the surgery.

  “Jamie, you there?”

  “Yah. I’m just thinking … I finally … after what you told me … I think I finally know you. I just hope that when I wake up — after the operation — I recognize you.”

  I swallowed hard. “I love you,” I whispered.

  “Me, too.”

  28

  I awoke at noon in my clothes. An empty bottle of tequila lay on the floor. I had been dreaming about digging with a pickaxe out of a culvert, under the silent, watchful gaze of the Green’s Creek Hobo.

  My head was pounding, but the dizziness was worse still.

  There was a knock at the door. It occurred to me that I had heard it in my sleep. Someone had been knocking.

  I lunged to the bathroom and threw up into the toilet. Judging by the mess, I had thrown up the night before, as well.

  I wiped my face with a towel and staggered to the door. A figure darkened the doorway, backlit by sunlight. I didn’t recognize him at first. It was Danny.

  “You look terrible.” Danny was clean-shaven, with a new haircut, and was wearing the black cassock of the priests in Gast’s compound. He was back in the Roman collar.

  “What happened?” I said, gesturing at his outfit and shading my eyes. “What the fuck?”

  “Here,” said Danny, handing me an envelope.

  I took it and rubbed my forehead in confusion.

  “It’s details of when, where, and how Father Sweet will cross the border,” Danny said, “and where they are now. He will bring Antony here. They are picking up a package for Gast on Thursday afternoon. It’s all in there. They’ll cross at Tecate because it’s a minor border facility and the least likely to arouse suspicion. Gast’s expecting him Thursday evening. He doesn’t know I’m telling you.”

  “How — how did you …?”

  “You’ve got what you need now.”

  “But what — why are you dressed like that? How did you get this?”

  “Thursday is the day they cross the border. You must confront Father Sweet before then.”

  “Thursday my brother’s having surgery. No, no, no. Melody can do it with the police.”

  Danny frowned. “I guess. But I thought you wanted to see Antony personally. You’ve got to get him before they come to Mexico. Isn’t that what you want?”

  “Of course. But my brother is having brain surgery. Risky surgery.”

  “Let me in,” Danny said, shaking his head. “I’ve done what you wanted. I held up my part of the bargain.”

  He entered.

  “But I can’t do it Thursday. I need to go back. This is no help.”

  “Father Sweet will be in Mexico by then. And you won’t be able to do a thing. But suit yourself.”

  I squinted at him. “And what about you? What’s all this?” I asked, gesturing at his getup.

  He took a breath. “I’m staying here.”

  At fi
rst I thought he meant the motel room, then I realized he meant Mexico. His black cassock and refined appearance meant that he was going to stay here and hide with Gast.

  “Don’t do it,” I said. “Bad choice.”

  “I need some sorting time for myself. I want to stay here.”

  I suggested he speak with Padre first. Someone to advise him.

  Danny frowned. “Padre is not your friend,” he said. “You think he’s your friend?”

  “I don’t have friends,” I said, steadying myself on the door frame.

  Danny sat down and I lay on the bed in the fetal position.

  “He’s not my friend,” said Danny. “He wants things from us, that’s all. He wanted me and you to deliver Sweet to the authorities. After that I’m to return to the diocese, and then off I go to the Servants of the Paraclete.”

  “He wants justice for you-know-who,” I suggested.

  “Not the way you think. Sweet is outside the Catholic Church. They excommunicated him, and now they can say he’s just one bad apple. He’s the perfect, high-profile example for the Vatican. The Church doesn’t want to say there’s a problem with priests. They can say this isn’t a priest problem. It’s a Father Sweet problem.”

  “He wants my dad’s boxes. The ones with all the details of your buddy Gast and the residential schools.”

  Danny nodded solemnly. “If you really want justice, don’t give Padre those boxes. Just advice from a friend. Those boxes will wind up at the diocese and no one will ever see them again. He’s an agent for the establishment, man.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  His face twisted into a mask of exasperation. “I know you don’t buy it, but I take my vocation seriously. What matters is between me and God.”

  For the first time, I regarded him and he didn’t revolt me. “Don’t stay here, Danny. Look at these guys! Pull yourself together. I’ll fly you home after Antonio is safe.”

  “Look,” he said quietly. “I want you to know I appreciate that you’ve been paying for everything. Thank you. I mean that. I’m a bit of a refugee and that’s why I’m going to stay here. The Church is falling apart back home. I need to figure things out, and Gast has a good, disciplined compound here.”

  The light went on for me. “That’s why it was important I take you here. You always planned to come here,” I said.

  He didn’t reply.

  “I am a fucking sucker,” I said. “You are one of them, after all.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Maybe Melody can do it,” I said. “Thursday, I mean.”

  Danny nodded. “Well, I’m sure she can. I think she’s done this before. But I think it’s a disservice to you.”

  “That’s a cheap shot.”

  “Not if you think you’re taking control of your life,” Danny said. “You’re saving yourself as much as Antony. It’s obvious.”

  I felt sick. “What part of my brother might die on the operating table don’t you understand? Get me some water,” I said. “Besides. You’re changing the subject. Why stay here?”

  “It’s not a parish. I can do some reflection and they’ll leave me alone. I want to get back to the diocese eventually. My way.”

  Danny fetched a glass of water from the sink.

  “Pff. Once you’ve gone rogue you think they’ll let you back?”

  “I do. Gast’s well-connected.”

  I gave it a legitimate attempt. A good old varsity try to see things from his perspective. I found it sickening. Danny claimed to love his parish, but a parish is a fulcrum of community. People, fully integrated into other communities, perforate it with numerous checks, balances, and values. A parish interacts with the broader world. A church — a good church, or the kind of church I think my parents believed in — is porous. There are lawyers, teachers, adults, children, men, women, different ethnic groups, even varied languages. But what is a monastery or any strictly religious community? It is a closed society, a monoculture within a secure building. What makes people want to trade certainty and their lives for a blockaded institution in exchange for belonging?

  “You’re disgusting. All that bullshit. I should have called the cops on you as soon as you told me about Emily.”

  He smiled. “Then you wouldn’t have gotten what you want.”

  “Just one man’s opinion, but aren’t you barricading yourself in?” I asked. “It’s the opposite of what you’ve told me you believe in.”

  “I can tell you this now. You are patronizing. You’ve been that way with me from day one. You can’t understand.”

  “If I didn’t feel like I would puke, I would pop you right now.”

  “Let me tell you something. I used to own a Jetta. I used to think, whenever things got real bad, I would just take the passenger seat out and put a hammock in there. I’d live out of my car. I planned to drive out to Tofino. That was my escape plan. But now, I don’t know. It’s warm here. These guys will give me a home.”

  “This isn’t the place. These guys are vampires. Don’t be crazy. Get help.”

  “Like you?”

  “I’m trying to do the right thing. I’m trying to confront everything that has fucked me up.” I looked at him, he was smiling in a benign way that I had not seen in weeks. It was unsettling and made me think his mind was made up. “I’m trying to be a better person. Aren’t you?”

  “You look sort of crazy right now,” he said.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I said. “Do whatever you want. Molest more kids.”

  “These guys don’t think there’s anything wrong with me. Besides, you think I can just get a job and do something else?” Danny’s voice shot up. “And go see a shrink?” He leaned forward and spread his hands. “Because I can’t.”

  “If you stay with these people you will become just like them. Entirely. Shouldn’t you be careful what you — feed yourself with?”

  “I don’t want to go into deprogramming with the Servants of the Paraclete. That’s what’s waiting for me if I go back. Paraclete cage. My life isn’t mine. Besides, you’re so clear on what to do — what about you? What are you going to do to get help for yourself if you’re just going to throw everything over the fence to Melody? She can’t save you. You’ve got to want it, man.”

  “What about your self-pitying speech about being bedevilled? Was that just lies? This is hiding.”

  “That’s my choice to make. And, maybe it is,” he said.

  “You won’t be able to come home. As soon as I’m back in Ottawa, I’m calling the police.”

  “Fine.” A confident smile brushed his lips. “I’m not bothered. It’s warm here. The tequila is cheap.”

  29

  A couple of days later, I was back in Los Angeles, back in the Motel 6, engaged in a flurry of busy calls and emails to Ottawa and discussions with Melody.

  I had spoken with Clare and told her to kiss Jamie for me as he went in, but neither Jamie nor I could bear to speak with the other. I didn’t want to say the word goodbye. It would be a few hours now. Everything would be done.

  Padre rang me again — I assume he kept trying because Danny had stopped answering — but I did not take the call. He sent me a text message instead. Padre was the oldest person from whom I had ever received a text message. And as it came in slowly, line by line, I was not sure what he thought was going on, but in the context, I found it kind of menacing.

  I don’t know what you are doing

  Danny says hes got a new plan

  You there?

  Are you trying to find peace?

  You won’t talk

  So I’ll say it here

  Finding spiritual solace is

  Fighting medusa

  You cannot look directly at what you fear

  what repulses us

  Faith, hope and charity

  That’s the mirror

  Where you can view and fight the gorgon.

  Via con dios.

  I called Melody.

  “You ready?” I asked.


  “Pick you up in fifteen minutes.”

  I was clean-shaven and wearing conservative, nondescript clothing, as Melody had advised. For me, that meant dark clothing head to toe. Black golf shirt, black pants. Inadvertently, I had dressed like a priest. I went out onto the breezeway to wait and drank the rest of my Starbucks. The butterflies were alight in my gut. It was a warm, dry morning full of potential and possibility.

  The housekeeping cart wheeled past, pushed by the woman who looked to me so much like Mrs. Paquime a few days ago. We exchanged smiles and said buenas dias.

  Minutes later, I was in Melody’s air-conditioned and fresh-scented Highlander. Clean and lightly floral. It smelled like her. We headed southeast.

  The radio was tuned to an upbeat R&B station that inspired her to sing along from time to time. Especially when it was Whitney or Aretha. She sang those four songs beginning to end. As we got more into the desert, I felt relaxed, like we were heading off on a holiday. I smiled.

  “I never thought I’d drive the California freeways this much in my life.”

  “I must say, you pulled it all together the past couple days,” Melody said. “You thought of everything.”

  “Be prepared,” I said, beaming.

  30

  Danny’s note gave us the itinerary for Father Sweet and Antonio as provided to Monsignor Gast. The two had been driving around Arizona, Nevada, and California like Humbert and Lolita, but their last two days would be pre-ordained for a simple logistical reason.

  Melody and her friends in the state police had worked out a good interception plan. Gast had asked Sweet to pick up a package in the eastern suburbs of San Diego on Thursday. We would wait until they arrived, and then it would be a good old-fashioned sting. Just like in The Rockford Files.

  The house was on an average suburban row of bungalows. Cars had been placed strategically in four locations so that, once Sweet drove down the street toward the house, the street would be discreetly closed off behind them and ahead. It was a mousetrap.

  Melody and I were around the corner from the street, in a small strip-mall plaza with a McDonald’s, a Chevron, and a few shops, including a liquor store. By midafternoon, I had torn my nails so much that one of the undercover state troopers gave me four Band-Aids from his first aid kit without asking if I needed them. Melody and I sat drinking coffee at a window-side table in McDonald’s. She texted back and forth with the stakeout on the street.