Mark Rogers - The Dead

“Anthuriums,” Gary said, nodding, suddenly remembering that detail of his dream very clearly.

“He’s going to send a bunch of those.”

“Have I ever met Uncle Buddy?” Linda asked.

“You’d know if you had,” Max said.

“I can’t wait.”

“Just don’t let him feel you up,” Gary said.

“He’s that kind of uncle?”

“He’s all kinds,” Max put in. “All of them really unpleasant.”

Off to the side, Mr. MacAleer droned from the television:

“Then there’s the story of Susannah and the Elders…”

“I remember it well,” Max said. “The ivory globes of her breasts gleaming with a fine mist of sweat, Susannah strode lithely into the water, looking just like Shannon Tweed-”

“Shut your brother up, Gary,” Linda said.

“Shut up,” Gary said.

“Ah, don’t listen to her,” Max said. “She loves it.”

There was a rap at the screen door. They turned.

“Excuse me, “ said the man outside, an elderly priest wearing a short-sleeved black shirt. His hair was an unnatural lustrous black, sculpted in what must have been a very expensive piece of barbering.

“I’m Father Ted,” he said. “Father Ted Maracek? I’m here to see Mrs. Holland.”

“Come on in,” Max said, in a tone that Gary thought something less than welcoming.

Father Ted entered. A large crucifix hung from his neck on multicolored beads; as the priest drew closer, Gary noticed that the figure languishing on it was a black woman in a dashiki . Father Ted squinted at Gary and the others.

Needs glasses, Gary thought. Probably thinks they’d make him look too old. It seemed a fair enough deduction, considering the dye job and the ludicrous trendiness of the crucifix. Gary didn’t care much for priests under any circumstances, but he liked the trendy ones least. There was something so bogus about them.

“Have we met?” Father Ted asked him.

Gary hadn’t seen him before; he never went to mass on his visits home, not even to please Mom. But Mom had mentioned the priest several times, once with a remarkable bitterness which she hadn’t been willing to explain.

Gary introduced himself.

“Your mother’s spoken of you,” Father Ted said. “Very proudly.”

I wonder if she mentioned that I think the Catholic Church is a crock of medieval horseshit? Gary thought. But immediately it occurred to him that there was something very un-medieval about Father Ted.

“My wife, Linda,” Gary said.

The priest exchanged pleasantries with her, then turned to Max. Gary eyed his brother. There was a subtly contemptuous look on Max’s face-Gary wondered if Father Ted noticed.

“I’ve heard a half-dozen of your sermons,” Max said. “They really stuck with me.”

Father Ted beamed, apparently oblivious to Max’s expression.

“Mom also wrote me about you,” Max went on.

“I’m flattered,” Father Ted said, and looked at Max sidelong. “Aren’t you the one who teaches history at that school in Maryland?”

“ Military history,” Max said, almost as if he hoped that particular detail would make the priest like him less.

“Ah,” Father Ted said, shifting his gaze from him. “I hadn’t realized I’d made such an impression on your mother.”

“Actually, what concerned her was the impression you made on my father ,” Max went on. “You were his confessor, weren’t you?”

“I had that honor.”

Max smiled coldly. “You’re the son of a bitch who told him it was okay to cheat on my Mom, aren’t you?”

Father Ted’s whole face went slack.

“ Max! ” came a voice from across the room. Celia Holland stood there, a graying middle-aged woman on the thin side, looking absolutely appalled.

“Actually, I… I…” the priest sputtered.

“What, Father?” Max asked, undaunted by his mother’s disapproval.

“I was only trying to persuade him to forgive himself.”

“Oh?”

“He thought God didn’t love him anymore, so I was attempting to show how a lack of self-acceptance is the greatest sin of all.”

“I’m okay, you’re okay?” Max asked. “On this rests the whole Law and the Prophets?”

“I can see your mind is closed, young man,” Father Ted huffed.

“I’d like to apologize for my son,” Celia broke in, before Max could say anything else.

“Mrs. Holland,” Father Ted said, “what exactly did you tell Max about me?”

“Well…” she began uncomfortably, “I did write him about what you told my husband. That is, Max Senior’s version.”

“Which was?”

“That, among other things, you thought no sin of the flesh could be considered mortal.”

“I don’t believe I’d express myself so unequivocally,” Father Ted answered.

“Didn’t you just say that ‘lack of self-acceptance is the greatest sin of all?’” Max asked. “That sounded pretty unequivocal to me.”

“Would you please let me continue?” Father Ted replied.

“Sure.”

“What I probably told him is that some theologians no longer consider adultery a serious matter,” the priest told Celia. “Now if your husband decided I was condoning infidelity because of that, he was very badly mistaken. I was only suggesting that if he couldn’t stop, he should try not to punish himself with guilt.”

Max immediately went back on the offensive: “Because a handful of theologians in the fever-swamps have decided the Church has been wrong for two thousand years?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way, but yes.”

“Then why should he have stopped at all?”

“He was in such pain.”

“But his guilt was irrational?”

“Yes.”

“And you tried to persuade him it was irrational?”

“Yes, but…”

Max pounced. “How exactly does that differ from condoning infidelity?”

“I don’t feel any need to stand here and chop logic with you, young man,” Father Ted blustered.

Lucky for you, Gary thought. Max was a very formidable logic-chopper. Gary remembered an episode from his late teens, when he and Max had been beset down at the boardwalk by a group of young Baptists looking for converts. It took two hours, but ultimately Max had reduced all seven of them to tears. And that was before he co-majored in philosophy at college.

Conan the Apologist, Gary thought.

“The Bible even goes so far as to describe how the men of Egypt have ‘members like donkeys,’” said Mr. MacAleer from the TV. “Ezekiel, Chap-”

Gary shut the set off.

“I certainly didn’t encourage your husband to make a habit of it,” Father Ted continued to Celia.

“But Father,” she answered, sadly but firmly, “When he kept doing it, you kept saying how God probably didn’t mind.”

“That’s hardly an endorsement of adultery, Mrs. Holland.”

“But it’s hardly surprising that he stopped worrying about it, is it?” she pressed. “Especially when he respected your opinion so much. Especially when his girlfriend-” A choke rose in her voice- “was so much younger and prettier than me.”

“Since that’s how you feel, Mrs. Holland, do you still want me to celebrate the funeral mass?”

“Max would’ve wanted you to.”

“Very well then,” Father Ted said, forcing a smile. “I’ll be going. Good-bye.”

He turned on his heel and went out.

“Max, Max,” Celia said, once the priest was well out of earshot, “Wasn’t the day sad enough?”

“I just couldn’t stand there and keep my mouth shut,” Max answered. “He hurt us all too badly. And what about Dad? Where’s he now, mom? That bastard convinced him that no matter how much he cheated on you, he had nothing to fear from God. What do you bet Dad’s gotten a very nasty surprise?”