William Kienzle - Masquerade

“Speaking of having all the lines,” Marie said, “we haven’t really had a chance to discuss that bizarre incident last night.”

“Krieg’s ‘death.’ The play within the play,” Winer said.

Augustine was about to refill his glass but decided against it. He had entirely missed that episode. He had wanted to have the particulars explained to him but felt awkward in asking. This was his opportunity to be brought up to date and he didn’t want to miss a word.

“I think Sister is absolutely right in referring to that matter as bizarre,” Martha Benbow said. “I just can’t imagine what the man had in mind.”

“By the way,” Benbow said, “just where is ‘the man’? We couldn’t be lucky enough to have had him leave town in a huff, could we?” His words belied his smile.

“He’s upstairs in his room. He wanted to freshen up before dinner,” Janet supplied. “As for last night, these acted-out mystery dramas are very popular now, you know. As I said, this had been all worked out between Jack Regan and Reverend Krieg.”

“Mystery psychodramas may be popular,” Marie said. “I don’t doubt that for an instant. But I still say last night’s charade was bizarre.”

“The man has a strange mind,” Benbow said. “I’m not sure what his real intention was in all that.”

“If he was trying to plant a thought in our minds,” Winer said, “he went to a lot of needless trouble. I daresay it was already there.”

“Thought?” Martha asked. “What thought?”

Winer did not answer.

“His death?” Marie pursued.

“Why pussyfoot around it?” Benbow said. “The thought Rabbi Winer suggests-which we didn’t need to be reminded of-is the Reverend Krieg’s murder.”

Martha gasped. “David!”

“Praise God!”

Krieg was in the doorway and in good voice and spirits. A couple of paces behind him was the considerable bulk of his bodyguard, Guido Taliafero.

Had Krieg overheard their conversation? Had he heard what David Benbow had just confessed? Krieg gave no indication.

At this point, the others couldn’t help being in the same room with Krieg, but it was Sister Janet who effusively greeted and welcomed him.

Taliafero strode immediately to the cabinet, unlocked it, and proceeded to set out on the serving ledge a splendid array of spirits. He poured a couple of jiggers of whiskey neat and placed the glass in the hand of an inattentive Krieg in much the same way an operating room nurse slides a scalpel into a surgeon’s hand. Taliafero then took his position near the door.

The others still had their original drinks, with the exception of Father Augustine, who, now that conversation about his previous lost evening had ceased, decided it was time for a refill of Scotch. Spontaneously he moved toward Krieg’s superior supply, then hesitated.

“By all means, Father,” Krieg said, “help yourself.”

Feeling like a Judas, or an Esau who was selling his birthright for a high-class intoxicant, Augustine poured from Krieg’s cache.

Almost immediately a sort of natural polarization took place and three groups formed. Krieg and Janet made up the first set. The three men-Augustine, Benbow, and Winer-composed the second cluster. They were joined by Benbow’s wife, Martha. That left Koesler with Sister Marie. He didn’t mind; he’d wanted to talk to her. He offered to refill her glass. She said she’d wait until dinner was served.

“Well, here we are,” Koesler said. “One relic to another.”

“Pardon?”

“There are not that many priests and nuns left. You and I are an endangered species.”

“Don’t I know.” She gestured toward Sister Janet, who was busily listening to Krieg. “That woman is a reminder to me. We practically grew up together in the convent. But she is one of the last of my close friends who is still a nun. Most of the others are gone. Oh, I don’t mean they’ve died-though a few have. No, the majority are ‘in the world.’” She smiled. “Odd how easily that expression comes to mind. ‘In the world.’ I can remember when that excluded all but us. We, in the convent, were not ‘in the world.’ Now even those of us who have remained nuns would have to admit we’re ‘in the world.’”

“I guess. In charge of continuing education for an entire diocese and now author of a popular book. You’ve squeezed into ‘the world.’ But then, you’re certainly not alone. We owe it all to Vatican II, the religious event of this century. From time to time I think of how drastically life has changed for priests as a result of the council. But, to be fair, priestly life has stood still compared with what’s happened to convents.”

“I believe I will have a bit more wine.” She smiled. “Dinner seems to be delayed.”

They moved to the tray the college had prepared; Koesler filled her glass. No point in his taking more tonic water; he was still nursing the ice cubes from his original drink.

Picking up their conversation, Marie said, “What’s happened to convents is that there aren’t any anymore. Or at least precious few. But I’m a bit surprised you’re interested. Most priests nowadays are concerned almost exclusively with their own survival.

“Now I shouldn’t have said that,” she corrected herself. “I don’t mean they are not giving service to their parishes or whatever their particular vocation calls for. I mean most priests don’t think much about nuns-now that there’s no chance of getting a passel of them for the parochial school.”

Koesler chuckled. “I used to be a regular confessor for nuns in parishes where there’d be anywhere from twenty to thirty or forty in a convent. That’s where I learned the word ‘promptitude.’ Seems that’s about the only sin nuns ever committed. They were late for things.”

Marie laughed. She had an engaging laugh. “Stop! You’re bringing back memories. Memories that are treasured, but memories regardless. I would just as soon forget before they remind me too much of the grind we were in. Nuns as teenagers. The postulancy, the novitiate, first vows, perpetual vows. Then the parochial school and its unending routine. Up for early-and I do mean early-Mass, quick breakfast, Mass with the kiddies, school, lunch any time or way one could; afternoon classes, evening prayer, dinner, lesson plans, night prayers, and then to bed. Every day throughout the school year until summer break gave you a chance to finish one academic degree or begin another.” Inwardly she winced at the memory.

“Is there any doubt that things have changed radically for you-for women religious?” Koesler said. “To my eyes, the biggest change has been the virtual end of communal life-those convents with all those nuns living so closely together.”

Marie grew serious. “You’re right. There have been lots of changes: the habit; the rules that apportioned one’s whole life; independent thought being discouraged. But most of all-you’re absolutely right- there’s no more community such as it was.”

“And that was, substantially, the reason for the founding of religious orders. So, although I’ve never asked anyone in your position-if you don’t mind-why stay?”

“Why stay?”

“If you don’t mind?”

“You first.”

Koesler chuckled. “Turned the tables on me, didn’t you? Well, I could claim inertia, but that would be facetious. I could say that something happens to a person after age fifty that discourages a midlife career change. And I suppose that could discourage even more anyone thinking of leaving a religious vocation.

“But, in reality, ‘none of the above’ to any significant degree compels me to stay in the priesthood. I suppose it’s mostly the feeling Sancho Panza had about Don Quixote in Man of La Mancha- ‘I like Him.’ That’s the way I feel about the priesthood. I like it. I’ve liked it ever since I was old enough to think about what I wanted to do as an adult.