Chapter 7

Father Augustus Shannon thought, One more to go, then I can relax. Not the best attitude I know, but my back has been killing me. Maybe I need orthopedic shoes. Maybe one leg’s longer than the other. Who knows. Just get me through this day. He took off his wire-rimmed glasses and rubbed his eyes. He squinted when he put them back on and waited to hear the door close on the other side. The penitent began, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was … too long ago, Father.” Father Shannon remembered that the last person was a stranger, a face new to the flock. He’d been here long enough to know most of his parish by voice. The silence went on for a while. Father Augustus said, “Yes, my son?”

“That’s a good point, Father. Am I your son? I mean, do you think there’s a place in your heaven for me, Father? I’ve gone quite aways astray.”

“God’s love is infinite as is his forgiveness. Repent your ways and all things are possible.” Father Shannon had often heard this defiance and doubt in his adolescent congregation members.

“That’s an interesting concept. Let me tell you my story first. I’ve refined myself quite a bit over the years. It’s nice to be able to sit here in the dark, though I wish it were cooler, and tell someone about myself. Unburden myself, as it were. I mean that’s what confession is, isn’t it? Oh, by the way, before we begin. What I say here is confidential, isn’t it? I mean absolutely confidential. You Catholics are ones for absolutes?”

“What you say here is absolutely confidential without exception, provided it is a confession of sin in hopes of reconciliation with your God.” Father Shannon was used to the need for certainty among penitents that this was an inviolate secrecy. It was essential to the task of seeking God’s forgiveness that they be free to pursue it without fear of the censure of their fellow men. “You said ‘you Catholics.’ Are you not a Catholic, my son?”

“Oh, I’m not sure what I am these days.” The man laughed. “First off, it’s been quite a while, as I said. Seven years to be precise. Frankly, I didn’t recognize you.” The man laughed again.

“You wouldn’t. I was assigned to this parish after Father Simons retired last year.”

“Well, that changes things a bit.” There was a pause, then, “This will do though. Let me tell you a story about myself. It’s quite illuminating, really opened up my eyes to reality. Taught me a lot of lessons about myself that I’ve been pursuing ever since. When I was a younger man I sought the company of prostitutes. Unusual ones, for I sought unusual pleasures. The details are unnecessary, but I was pursuing my pleasure with one, a woman I had used quite often. I was lost in myself enacting our favorite game as I always did, when she started to laugh. She had looked up at us in the mirror and was laughing at me. I suddenly realized she had been laughing at me all the time. I stopped playing with her and began to beat her. I smashed her face. That mocking mouth I emptied of teeth. I hauled her around by her hair, slamming her head into the wall. Pretty soon there was blood everywhere. I took her head in my hands and looked into her face. She looked like a slam-dunked jelly donut. And what do you suppose I learned in that moment, Father? Let me tell you. I saw that there was no one there to laugh at me. There was no place for her to hide. I had reeled her entire being up from the depths like one of those grotesque lantern fish, so poorly adapted to the surface that they just lay there stunned. So did she. All of her was on the surface. Those bulging eyes looking at me for mercy, for an end to it all. I had turned her inside out like a pocket and emptied her of everything, every wish, every dream, every secret. Her life was reduced to one simple sentence: Don’t hurt me. That was all there was. A simple purity to our relationship. I could inflict pain or not. She would suffer or not. There was nothing else. There’s nothing like pain to bring people together. I’d never felt closer to anyone in my whole life. I wanted to thank her for having let me learn that beautiful lesson from her. So I let her live. I fixed her first. I really don’t know if she lived through that night or not. Capricious mercy pleased me also. I had found the key to grasping the mystery of other people. They’re so slippery and elusive. Don’t you find that, Father? It’s so hard to get the true measure of a person, to know, really know, if their heart is pure. Father? Oh Father, please don’t go mute on me. We’ve only just begun. You wouldn’t want me to leave angry would you?”

“Oh, no. No. Don’t go. I’m here. I’m listening. Please don’t go. Go on with your story.”

“If you insist, Father. You do wish it, do you not?”

“Yes, Yes. Please go on,” he said reluctantly.

“Very good, Father. Well, over the years I refined myself. I came to know myself much better. Actually, being here is the inevitable extension of all my evolution to date, but more of that later. That dear girl had taught me how to heal that terrible separateness between me and other people, that mystery. With my new tools people were known to me, simple and clear, straightforward, no deception, no lies. Oh I hate liars. I had solved the mystery. I had my hands on truth. How many philosophers can make that claim, I ask you. When I ask a question, I get answers. You’d best believe that.” The stranger stopped abruptly.

Father Shannon moved closer to the screen. He couldn’t tell if the stranger was still there. Hope and dread churned in him as he peered into the lattice work that separated them.

The stranger began anew. “I’m sure you’re hoping to hear of a traumatic childhood, beatings, abuse, abandonment. No. Sorry. Not so. My parents aren’t divorced, alcoholic, poor. They never beat me. Not once. In fact, they never denied me a thing. I hardly remember them at all. They had little impact on me or I on them.”

“I remember as a child I used to destroy my toys. And my mama would tell me that was a ‘no-no.’ I hated being told no. I wanted to do whatever I wanted, no limits, no nos. I’ve always broken rules. My will, my way. Do what I want. Did my mama tell me no once too often or not enough? Who knows? Can you believe what a fragile species we are if I’m the result of a no too few? Maybe I’m a biochemical glitch? Does it matter? Let me tell you I’ve studied mankind for these last few years now, and I’m not that strange, you know. Everyone wants to do what I do at some time. What do you think the families I’ve destroyed would do to me if they found me? Pray for me? Not likely, Father, not likely. But I’m sure you will, won’t you?” The stranger laughed. “Think about it, Father. I am wish unlimited, power without end, no bounds. Perhaps I’m not so strange after all. I’m part of all men, unbound. Am I not superior? Let me tell you, Father, I sleep like a baby. I am successful, respected, comfortable. Life is simple, clean. I don’t know anxiety, sadness, guilt, shame, depression, insecurity, doubt. No painful emotions. I know joy, contentment, happiness.”

“Are you not lonely, my son, for the company or the love of others?” Father Shannon barely got his words out.

“Lonely? No Father. Happiness is my self. Do I miss the love of others? I could just as soon ask you if you miss the love of a roasted chicken, for that’s what you all are to me—food.”

“What do you think, Father? Can you answer me? Is there a place in your heaven for me?”

“God loves all. All who would turn to his ways, no matter how late, how far they have strayed. You were gifted with an immortal soul in his image. You can lose it, but you can’t destroy it.”

Fingers snaked through the grate and clutched it. “Oh no, Father? Can’t destroy it? Let me tell you I’ve made people turn on themselves like cannibals to escape me. There’s nothing I can’t make a person do. Give me three hours alone with you, Father, and you’d …” the stranger’s breath came rapidly.

“I’m sorry, Father. I’m here to seek forgiveness for my sins. I’m sorry I lost control like that. It’s been quite a long time. Very unseemly of me. Where was I? You’ve confused me. I’m going to have to go back to the beginning. There was a time you’d have rued those words, Father. But I’m beyond that now. I have worked hard to purge myself of anger. I never really was angry, you know. But there was this frenzy. I was like a child at Christmas with a new toy when I was opening a person up—when I was getting close. Had to control that. I lost my head a couple of times. Got overzealous and that was that. Lost them. Jesus, that used to infuriate me. I’d have to go out and get another one. Right away. That was dangerous, let me tell you. But I was young. I needed to learn discipline. It’s a game of inches. Ha, ha. I like that. Well anyway, you know sometimes I’m not sure it’s the pain I’m after. I mean it works. But I sometimes think it’s breaking the taboos I crave.

“Nothing is forbidden. It just happens that ‘don’t hurt me’ is such a big no-no. I hate masochists. That’s why I left the dub. You know I realized that the game was just that: a game. If I’d been just into the pain I could have stayed there. Lord, there were some people you could do anything to. But they wanted the pain so that lost its appeal to me. It was doing what other people didn’t want done that I adored. That look in that girl’s eyes showed me the way. I could never play the game anymore.

“The pain is just a tool, you see. Kind of like prayer is for you, I guess. I bet I get better results, Father. Does God answer all prayers, Father? My people answer all my calls. Have you ever seen the human soul, Father? Well I have. It’s a goggle-eyed shrieking thing that shakes all over and wets itself. If that’s God’s image, good luck.”

“God answers all prayers, son. The answer is not always yes.”

“Oh that’s good. I like that, Father. I do. Excellent. Well, let’s see. No-nos, no-nos. There is no no I am subject to. No realm where you can evade me. No action, no thoughts, no feelings, but that which I and my tools will to be. I am in control, my will, my possession. There is no secret, no separation, no hiding, no mystery. The inside is outside. The pain focuses the totality of their being. My every movement yields a corresponding response. I am everything to that person. A god, if you wish. I learned this on the winos of this country. Perfecting my art, you see. Trimming the herd. Cutting out the weak, sick, those unfit to survive. No one lamented them. They died without leaving a trace in our society. They had removed themselves from their families and friends. No one missed them. As I grew older I reached greater heights of dexterity and discipline; I once kept one alive for thirty hours. Thirty hours. It defies belief. I did things medicine would say was impossible. I tried to research it. Apparently no records are kept. It’s a lost art. Well, as I grew older the demands began to exhaust me. It requires almost constant effort. Any respite and the damn things crawl back under a rock. So I studied. This led me to my next great discovery. You know in some ways you’re right, Father. The soul or spirit may or may not be indestructible, but it’s a damn sight hardier than the tissue. I needed to extend my domain and develop more efficient methods.

“This was when I discovered children. Mind you, there were technical problems to surmount. They were easy enough to harvest, but their pain tolerances are too low; you can’t really get fancy with them. They die too easily. But they’re the heart of the family and that’s the heart of the herd. Take them and you rip the fiercest bond of the species. Wouldn’t you agree, Father? Father? Oh, I’ll go on. I know you’re out there.

“Children, their innocence makes them so easy to seduce. There’s no end to the supply. But it isn’t really them I’m after at this point. Oh, I know there’s something in their purity and innocence that makes destroying them like pissing in the temple—destroying the holy of holies. But it’s those silent parents out there. Those wishes, dreams, so fiercely held that I was after. Think of it. Each death radiating out in a lattice of guilt and rage, fear and sorrow without end. This would be my kingdom: pain everlasting. Long after the flesh has failed to transmit my message, the soul goes on. Such efficiency, such breadth of scope. I had found the solution to my aging, a legacy that would go on forever beyond me. To legend, to myth. The missing ones like black holes torn in the fabric of families. Around the edges, as close as they dare to get they would embroider stories, lessons, signposts to their children and their children’s children to avoid that place. I would leave a mark on all those lives for generations. As long as there was memory, I would be there. In each and every house. Whew. My goodness. Well, I feel so much better, Father, let me tell you, having gotten that off my chest. This was the right thing to do. I was ready to share my creation with another. What do you think, Father? No. Don’t answer that. Give it some thought. Hell of a tale, isn’t it? I’m taking my show on the road these days. You know—revisiting the scenes of some of my greatest triumphs, my earlier crops, to see what has come up after all these years.

“Thanks for the talk. It’s been a pleasure. You probably saved a life today. Who knows? I’ll be back. This confession stuff is exhausting. We’ll talk about a suitable penance next time. Some Hail Marys, okay?”

“That won’t …” Father Shannon snarled.

“Listen, I want to come back. I mean I really want to seek God’s forgiveness. Can I come back tomorrow, huh? What do you say?”

“You may come back.”

Father Shannon was surprised at his feelings. His hands were clutching his knees and his teeth hurt. He heard the other door open and close. For reasons he could not fathom, nor truth be told did he want to, Father Shannon opened his door to the booth and went quickly out of the church. He saw the stranger striding swiftly away, heading toward the only house at the end of Point Repulse whistling in the late afternoon sun like you or me.