Reginald Cook - The Hammer of God

“That was fun,” said Eduardo. “Thank you, Father.”

“You’re welcome, my son. Now, tell me, how’s that rubber ball I gave you? Putting it to good use I hope.” Eduardo reached in his pocket and removed the ball. “I take it everywhere,” he said. “I’m getting good at catching it.”

“Great,” beamed Father Tolbert. “We’ll have to play sometimes.” He got up, went to the closet and returned with a blue plastic bat and small baseball glove. He gave them to Eduardo, whose mouth opened wide in astonishment.

“Wow!” said Eduardo, so excited he almost fell off of the bed.

Father Tolbert caught him and helped him back up. “Grazie, tante grazie!” He jumped up and gave the priest a hug.

Father Tolbert laughed and closed his eyes. “Prego,” he told Eduardo. “You’re very welcome.”

The priest put his nose to the boy’s hair and took a long whiff, rubbing his cheek to Eduardo’s, then pushed away, his breathing heavy, heart pounding, member hardening. Eduardo, oblivious to anything but his new toys, sat back down tossing the ball up into the air and catching it with the glove.

Father Tolbert sat back down. “Wouldn’t it be nice to do this all the time?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Eduardo, tossing the ball higher. “Could we?”

“Yes,” said the priest. “But it would have to be our little secret.

Grown-ups don’t always understand.”

Eduardo continued to play. “Yes, Father, anything you say.” Father Tolbert sat back and watched Eduardo, enjoying his playfulness as though it were a snort of cocaine or a hit off the crack pipe. The longer he watched, the further he was sucked into the boy’s innocence, and the more excited he became. After a while, he didn’t see Eduardo, he saw Samuel, which only increased his excitement. It took every bit of his will not to throw himself at the boy. Not now. It’s too early. Be patient. A knock at the door slapped Father Tolbert lucid. He sprang from his chair and grabbed the glove and bat.

“We’ll keep these in my closet,” he whispered. “Just a second,” he called out, putting the toys away. He smoothed out his hair, and opened the door. Cardinal Polletto, Father Ortega, Armanno, and another little boy stared back at him. Father Tolbert fell back against a table, knocking the lamp to the ground. “Cardinal Polletto, I didn’t know you were coming,” gushed Father Tolbert. He bent over, effusive, sweating, and kissed the cardinal’s hand.

“Hello, F ather. I wanted my visit to be a surprise,” said Cardinal Polletto.

Father Tolbert stepped back, startled. He scanned the faces looking back at him. Nobody smiled. He took a closer look at the little boy. His mouth fell open. He was the spitting image of Samuel too. He looked back at Eduardo, then at Cardinal Polletto.

“Please,” said the cardinal, walking into the room, “may we come inside?”

“Papa,” cried Eduardo. He jumped off the bed, ran to Armanno and jumped into his arms.

Father Tolbert continued to examine the two children who looked like Samuel’s twins. Cardinal Polletto smiled. “Look familiar?” he asked.

“They look like Samuel,” Father Tolbert stammered. “What’s going on?

“All in due time,” answered the cardinal. “But please,” Cardinal Polletto motioned for the two children to come over, “this is Felipe, you’ve already met Eduardo. Children, I’d like you to meet your father, Charles Tolbert.”

C ardinal Polletto watched Father Tolbert’s eyes dance, as his words sank in deep.

“Their father?” the stunned priest mumbled. “What are you talking about?”

Cardinal Polletto sat down on the bed. “Leave us alone,” he told Armanno and Father Ortega. “And take the children.” The two children stood motionless, their eyes fixed tight on Father Tolbert, their little faces etched with confusion. Armanno took both by the hand, smiling as Father Tolbert continued to sway off kilter, his eyes darting around the room in wonder.

“We’ll wait for you in the car,” said Father Ortega, looking over at Father Tolbert, meanness swelling in his eyes.

“That’ll be fine,” said the cardinal. “I won’t be very long.” Everyone herded out of the room, the children still staring at Father Tolbert, then at each other, mouths open. The door shut, the sound reverberating with a bang off the walls. Cardinal Polletto and Father Tolbert stared at each other, silent.

“Please, have a seat,” the cardinal finally said, motioning the distraught priest toward the bed.

Father Tolbert bumped into a lamp stand on his way over to the bed, and plopped down. Cardinal Polletto gave him the once over. You fool.

You very necessary fool. “So, how have you been holding up? Are the urges as strong as ever, or have you managed to keep control?”

“Don’t toy with me,” cried Father Tolbert, shaking. “Why did you tell those children I’m their father?”

Cardinal Polletto smiled. “Because you are,” he said.

“But, I don’t understand. That’s impossible,” said Father Tolbert, confused.

Cardinal Polletto watched Father Tolbert’s confusion grow. “How much of your childhood do you remember?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Father Tolbert had grown up alone, teased and made fun of as a boy, ignored most of his adult life. Cardinal Polletto had tried to place him with good families, but nobody would agree to keep him permanently.

So, the weak man sitting before him had developed into a pedophile.

“I try not to remember,” said Father Tolbert. “As you know, my childhood wasn’t pleasant.”

“I know,” said the cardinal. “After your mother died, I tried to make things normal. Please forgive me for my failure.”

“Oh no,” said Father Tolbert. “You did the best you could, protecting me all these years. It’s more than I deserve. But I still don’t understand about the children.”

Cardinal Polletto sat forward. “Father Tolbert, I’ve waited a long time for the right time to tell you this, but you and I are more than colleagues. You’re my sister’s first and only child. We’re family.” Father Tolbert’s eyes widened. Gasps of air puffed out of his lips.

“All these years,” he stammered, “you told me I had no relatives, no family.”

“It was for the best at the time,” said Cardinal Polletto. “The circumstances surrounding my sister’s death were tenuous at best. I didn’t have a choice if I wanted to keep you safe.”

“But, you’ve lied to me all these years.”

“For the greater good, Father, a good you’ll soon witness for yourself.”

“How could you look at me all these years, knowing what I’ve gone through, what I’ve become, and not say anything?”

“And where do you think you’d be right now? Certainly not here, a priest working at the Vatican,” said Cardinal Polletto.

“I’d have a family! A life, a normal childhood!” screamed Father Tolbert.

“Calm yourself,” the cardinal said, forcefully. “There would’ve been no normal childhood for you.”

Father Tolbert broke down and cried. “I don’t understand.” He wiped the tears from his eyes. “What about my father?” Cardinal Polletto stared at Father Tolbert, angry, seething, remembering the betrayal. “Your father’s dead.” Father Tolbert adjusted himself on the bed and leered at the cardinal with meanness and smoldering hate in his eyes. Something Cardinal Polletto had never seen in him.

“Who was he?” demanded Father Tolbert.

“A member of the Church hierarchy. A cardinal here in Rome.” Cardinal Polletto watched Father Tolbert’s surge of strength cave.

“How did he die?”

“Cancer,” the cardinal lied, with little emotion. “While you were an infant.”