Simon awoke to a fine, but cloudy day. Lunch with the bishop was scheduled for just after midday. There was no need for hurry. He left with time to spare, to drive slowly thinking over what he would say to the bishop – and perhaps imagining what the bishop would say to him. He had been up-front with the bishop regarding his sexuality before ordination and acceptance as a pastor in the diocese.
But, prior to accepting the new ministry with students, he needed to be sure of the bishop’s faith in him. Bishop Welton was a serious man. Simon had found him fair, in spite of talk among some of the clergy that his front was a cover for unsolved problems. Simon had found him approachable, although at times slightly arrogant. Simon had requested this meeting to personally express his gratitude for the offer of this new youth ministry and to discuss the pertinent points of the new constitution. He also needed to ensure that the bishop, aware of his sexuality, trusted him fully in this new role. Still a virgin, Simon had no sexual attraction towards the youth.
As he drove closer he could feel the old anger building up inside him. Why I am different? Why do I have to defend myself? Why can’t I trust even my own parents to accept the real me? Then he remembered how his three special friends had always accepted him in full.
His arrival coincided with the ringing of the Angelus, so he knew his timing was perfect.
“Hello Simon,” greeted the bishop’s secretary. “I’ve been trying to call you for the past hour – just caught your boss a few minutes ago so it was too late to get a message to you. The bishop had an emergency call from Tenterfield – had to go at once – looks like the old man up there has had a stroke. Bishop Weldon apologises. He’ll reschedule this meeting with you as soon as he gets back. For now – lunch will be served shortly. And… (Simon noticed the sunshine previously in her voice had turned icy) “Alberto is gracing us with his presence today. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Thanks,” Simon smiled. “Please tell Bishop Weldon it’s okay. I’ll come over when he returns. It’s not far. And I will stay for lunch, thanks.”
Lunch was tasty but devoid of much conversation.
Simon had met Alberto previously but knew little of this short, fat, bald Italian priest. Rumour had it that Alberto Ponti had come out from Italy shortly after the war but had never settled in any parish for long. The bishop had taken him under his wing, officially appointing him to the Cathedral parish. But Alberto seemed to move around as he pleased.
Simon was about to leave when Alberto asked, “So, are you accepting the job of youth minister?”
Rather taken aback, Simon replied, “I need to talk to the bishop before any final decision is made.”
“Umph!”
“Well…” Simon was unsure of how to address this rather unpleasant little man. “I must be going back. I’ll speak to the bishop later.”
“Wait!” It was a command rather than a suggestion. “No need to hurry. You haven’t far to go and plenty of time to do it in. I’ll show you around – the schools, parish hall, places you’ll see plenty of… when you take on this appointment!” There was an inflection in the last phrase that sent a shiver through Simon.
“I really should be getting back!” Simon meant it.
“So the curates these days come through ignoring the offered help of their elders!”
Once more Simon was taken aback. “No, it’s not that. It’s just that I should be getting back. But,” expecting that this priest may not have many opportunities to show off, added, “I could find an hour to be shown around. Thanks.”
“Leave your car here. You can get it later. We’ll take my car.”
At first they drove around the perimeters of the school, with next to no descriptions from driver. Then down a street close by with the bare description ‘parish hall.’
“Thanks, Alberto.”
“Not finished yet. More out further.”
“Oh… Okay… I didn’t realize the Church had more property out this way,” Simon commented as the car left the main highway and headed down a narrow gravel road, surrounded by heavy foliage on both sides.
Suddenly the car stopped and Simon’s life was changed forever. Without warning, the older man’s hands were all over him, groping for the fly of his trousers, pulling Simon’s face around.
“What the bloody hell!” Simon gasped as realization dawned.
“Come on Simon,” Alberto rasped. “You knew what was coming. You want it too!”
“Get away!” Simon shouted as he fought to free himself.
“You want it rough, do you!”
Simon struggled against the weight of the other and the strength of his hands. Although to Simon it seemed like a century, he soon freed himself and jumped from the car.
“Get back in!” Alberto sneered.
With inner strength, Simon shouted, “Go!” He banged the car door closed.
“Poofter! Poofter!” Alberto screamed, as he turned the car and drove back down the lane.
Immediately Simon’s inner strength faded. He collapsed on the road. His whole body shook. Shock had enveloped him, mind and body.
As in a dream he soon picked himself up and began to run. Run! He seemed to be running for his life. ‘Poofter! Poofter’ kept ringing in his ears.
“No! No!” he breathed as he ran. “He must know! He’ll tell my mother!” Mind and body were out of focus. “I must stop him! No! It’s too late! Why…? Why…?”
In his unfocused state, all rational thoughts evaporated as ‘poofter, poofter’ hammered in his brain. No way could he imagine, let alone reason, that it was impossible for Alberto to know of his sexuality. Nor could Simon know, or even guess, that Alberto’s catch-cry to all would-be victims – regardless of their sexuality unknown to him – over many years was always ‘poofter, poofter.’ Many years later this was revealed in evidence at his trial.
In a state of deep shock and devoid of all logical thought, Simon kept running. Unaware of his aching legs, he ran. Unaware of the traffic racing beside him, he ran. Unaware of his racing heartbeat, he ran.
He ran until he stopped suddenly at the presbytery gate. Would that monster be waiting for him? Quickly and stealthily Simon crept to his car, opened it quickly and, within seconds, steered the car onto the highway.