William Kienzle - Requiem for Moses

“Father,” Lennon said reasonably, “face it: This is a major news story. This could be the greatest thing since Lazarus. There’s nothing you can do to stop it; it’s going to be reported.”

“Oh, I know that. That isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Oh?”

“I was on a bit of thin ice when I agreed this afternoon to permit the wake in church. The understanding was that everything would be low key, brief, to the point and, most of all, over speedily. The considerable size of this crowd was a major surprise. But this …” He gestured toward the central scene, where, with Margie cradling her husband, it was beginning to resemble a secular Pieta… marred, of course, by the angrily contesting women.

“I know this is going to be reported,” he said. “I suppose we’re only minutes away from being invaded by a whole slew of reporters-TV and radio people. That will complicate things for me. But the reporting of this incident is not what I meant when I said I was scared of what might happen. The incident -any incident that would call attention to what I kind of reluctantly consented to-that’s what I was afraid might happen. And it has-in spades.

“But …” Koesler smiled at Lennon. “… I really couldn’t ask for a better reporter to be first with this story than you.”

He meant it. As the first reporter on the scene and the only one actually present during the event, it was Lennon’s story. She knew how to run with it.

Her record spoke of her professionalism and capability. If there was more than one side to a story, she covered each side. She would not exaggerate for the story’s sake. On top of everything else, she could write correct English. Koesler was fortunate this would be her story. And he knew it.

Without including any detail he judged to be of a private or privileged nature, Koesler gave Lennon the basic facts. The reason for the request for the parochial wake. The Catholicism of widow and children. That none but the redoubtable Aunt Sophie, from the deceased’s side of the family, was likely to attend. The search for direction from Church law.

And the agreement to keep it simple.

Koesler watched as Lennon scribbled. He knew just enough to know that what she was writing was not standard script. Nonetheless he envied her ability to use any form of shorthand. That, coupled with a good ear for speech patterns and dialects, added to her accuracy.

As if on cue, the ambulance arrived just as Koesler concluded his account. Lennon thanked him and, in parting, added, “Now, let’s see if my calling EMS and the ambulance gets me a ride with the family.”

She entered the inner circle and said a few words to Mrs. Green, who hesitated briefly, then nodded.

The ambulance and two cars sped off. The ambulance carried Dr. and Mrs. Green and Pat Lennon. One car contained Judith, the other, David and Aunt Sophie, whose pride was sore afflicted.

The thought occurred to Koesler that he might lock up the church and take refuge in the rectory before the media arrived. The thought died aborning. There was no sign that the spectators were anywhere close to leaving the scene of tonight’s circus. Especially since no sooner was the ambulance out of sight than the TV crews arrived and headed directly for Koesler as the figure in charge. The TV crews had actually been preceded by members of the print and radio media. But the pecking order was established and pretty much followed.

Koesler did his best to answer their not-well-phrased questions. None of them seemed to know exactly what he or she was looking for.

As the reporters spread out through the church interviewing eyewitnesses, the word “miracle” was uttered with abandon. Later, on the ten and eleven o’clock newscasts, some anchors would tease their way into the story by labeling it “The Miracle on Jay Street.” The tag would be copied by some of the newspapers and radio stations.

Eventually and mercifully, the media as well as the crowd began to thin. At last Koesler could lock up after an evening he would never forget. He wanted to believe that somehow his role in all this was close to over. He knew this was wishful thinking.

He passed among the pews-empty. He searched the nooks and crannies-empty. The only other person still in the church was Dan Reichert, who stood, head bowed, where earlier he had knelt to do reverence to the “miracle.”

In truth, his constant reference to it as a miracle was the major source of the media’s loose use of the term. In the news reports tonight and tomorrow morning, Father Daniel Reichert, a senior priest of the Archdiocese of Detroit, would be quoted as stating that this was, indeed, a miracle. Over and over the statement would be attributed to him.

But Koesler was unaware of the media’s glomming on to Father Reichert’s buzzword. Right now Koesler’s principal aim was to clear the church and lock up. “How about it, Dan … let’s call it a day. We need some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be hectic.”

Reichert wheeled on Koesler. “You bet it’s going to be hectic,” he barked. “We’ve got an appointment with the Cardinal tomorrow morning at nine in the Chancery. You’d better be there. You’ve got a lot to answer for.”

“What!?” Koesler was amazed. “After what happened here tonight? Why, you were the one who said this was a miracle! Besides, nobody informed me about a meeting.”

“They probably left a message-you’d know if you took your calls or checked with your answering service. I talked to the head of the Curia. He agreed that the Cardinal would want to clear this up personally. Monsignor is the one who set the meeting.”

“You mean after what happened here tonight, you want to rehash all this stuff about having the wake in church?”

“You should never have agreed to it. Never! You were wrong, and the fact that a miracle came of it doesn’t justify your decision. You’re going to pay for that!” He stormed out of the church.

Koesler, shoulders slumped, stood in the sanctuary. He had been counting on the only rainbow he could find in this storm: At least he would be spared the confrontation with Dan Reichert. Now …?

Now he would lock up and retreat to his room. He was so exhausted he would have retired well before the late newscasts. But tonight he would be the star of the show.

Tomorrow morning that star had a very good chance of being drawn into a black hole.

Greetings were cursory.

Father Koesler had not slept well. Father Reichert was filled with righteous anger. And Cardinal Boyle was suffering jet lag.

Koesler had long admired the Cardinal. Tall, handsome, whitehaired, with piercing blue eyes, Boyle was a born leader. But he did not welcome rigged confrontations such as this.

Boyle had many archdiocesan problems to deal with today. But he was a quick study. There were two distinct elements in the matter presently on the table. One was Koesler’s decision to hold the wake of a Jew in a Catholic church. The other, and far more pressing, was this business of a “miracle.”

When and if there was an undemanding moment today, Boyle would reach an understanding with his chancellor. The monsignor had scheduled this meeting solely to deal with Koesler’s decision. When the appointment had originally been made, Dr. Green had not yet been found alive in his coffin. There had been no need to arrange for an immediate meeting over the wake issue. In fact, had Father Reichert not been so insistent, there might have been no need at all for a meeting.

The other issue was something else altogether.

Fed by the media, Dr. Green’s “resurrection” had become the prime topic on nearly everyone’s lips. That had to be addressed.

Boyle gave Reichert undivided attention.