William Kienzle - Deathbed

“Then there are liberals who are so liberal they themselves admit they simply have left the Church altogether. Just as there are conservatives who have fashioned their own rigid Church that is far more Catholic than the Catholic Church.

“Then there are people like you and me, Harold, who differ minimally if radically.” Koesler smiled. “I’ll let you be a Catholic if you’ll let me be one too.”

Harold returned the smile. It seemed a happy compromise. Then he grew concerned. “But how will this look to outsiders, Father? Won’t this give scandal if we Catholics openly disagree with each other? If we’re not united?”

“It’s already happened. Pope Paul insisted that his encyclical, ‘Humanae Vitae,’ was not an infallible statement, but it certainly was the ordinary magisterium of the highest order. And in that document, he spelled out the traditionally approved methods of family planning: rhythm or abstinence. But Catholics, at least in the First World countries, have maturely and prayerfully decided that this particular Vatican decision is not for them. Has anybody confessed practicing artificial birth control to you lately?”

“No.”

“Remember how it used to be?”

“Yes.” Harold winced. “Almost all the marrieds either were expecting, or practicing birth control—and confessing it.”

“So family planning remains a moral problem for a few lay Catholics, some priests, most bishops. And of course the Pope. As a matter of fact, in the field we’ve been talking about—medical moral ethics—there is a bit of divergence.”

“There is?” Harold was surprised.

“The Code of Medical Ethics has been approved by the U.S. Conference of Bishops and supplemented by and blessed by the Holy See, but it is not enforced by any national conference of bishops. It is implemented by each individual bishop in his own diocese.”

“It is?”

“Uh-huh. So there is a bit of divergence. Generally, they try to overlook the differences within the good-old-boy network. But differences there are.

“Really! I had no idea! Father, will you look at that cloud pattern on the weather map. Looks like we’re in for some more snow.”

“I guess so. “ Koesler went into the kitchen to make some instant coffee. As far as he knew, he was the only one left in the world who would attempt to drink the coffee he made. The taste never offended him. And he was at a loss to know why others refused his coffee. He had forgotten that years in the seminary had made him an omnivore. And that if not for bread and peanut butter, he very probably would have starved long before ordination.

As he stirred his usual overabundant spoonful of instant coffee granules into the steaming water, he wondered what he had accomplished by his disputation with Father Harold. Probably not much. Harold would continue to let the Church Xerox his mind and conscience. At most, perhaps he would understand how others might responsibly differ with the ordinary magisterium. That alone was a not inconsiderable achievement.

* * *

In the brief time since his inadvertent rescue of Sister Eileen, George Snell had achieved the status of in-house hero. Singlehandedly he had raised the image of a ragtag protective service to a level of respectability. Nor had he himself been unaffected by the new image that had been created.

He had long considered himself God’s gift to womankind. Now he saw himself as fearless guardian of St. Vincent’s Hospital and all its personnel as well.

He had conveniently managed to blot out the stark reality of that fateful evening. If aide Helen Brown had not upset his balance while he was entering into the famed Snell Maneuver, Sister Eileen undoubtedly would have been strangled. As it was, she had come all too close to death. And she would have been murdered in the same room with him. He would have risen satisfied and sated from his unique maneuver to discover the corpse of the CEO he was supposed to protect.

As it was, he was a hero. And that was plenty good enough for him. So good, indeed, that since l’affaire Eileen he had taken to actually patrolling his beat. Who could ask for anything more? Certainly not his supervisor.

“Checkin’ in a little early, ain’t you?” Chief Martin asked.

“Early? Didn’t realize I was early,” Snell said virtuously.

“Yeah, early.”

“Better early than sorry. I made that up.”

“Yeah? Well, you ain’t gonna be paid overtime just ’cause you came in early. I made that up.”

“You don’t have to pay me overtime. I’m just here to do my job.”

The chief scratched his head. “What is it with you? Ever since you kayoed that detox guy, you act like a cross between Superman and Mother Teresa.”

“Oh, no sir, Chief. I’m just little old ordinary George Snell, doin’ my job.”

“Another thing, Snell. I paced off the distance down that hallway you said you covered when you seen that guy drag the nun into the room. I paced it off maybe a dozen times. No way I can see how you covered that distance in the time it had to take you to get to him in time to save the nun. You just ain’t in no way, shape, or form that fast.”

“You know how it is, Chief: In moments of stress you don’t know your own strength or speed.”

“I dunno. I guess you had to do it. But I’ll be damned if I can figure out how you did.”

“Chief, my strength is as the strength of ten because my heart is pure.”

It definitely bolstered Snell’s inward and outward credibility that he himself had come to believe this fairy tale.

“And now,” Snell said, “if you’ll excuse me, Chief, I’ll start on my rounds.”

“Go ahead. “ Martin turned toward the closed-circuit television monitor. “But you ain’t gettin’ any overtime.”

Snell sauntered off. After all, he was early. He began his patrol in the hospital’s basement. At this hour, it was the eeriest section of the plant. Housekeeping, the kitchen, and general cafeteria were all closed and the people who worked there were long gone home. No one else should be in the basement. No one else was.

That was a slight disappointment. George had been rather looking forward to another confrontation. Unarmed though he was, he was convinced he could handle any disturbance. So much had he come to believe in his own misbegotten reputation.

From the basement, he took the elevator to the fourth floor, which was completely residential. A skeleton staff of nurses and aides fluttered about answering patients’ summonses, delivering medication, in general being busy.

“Evening, Officer Snell,” one passing aide greeted.

It surprised him. He hadn’t expected to be greeted. In fact, he had never before been greeted by anyone on the hospital staff. He had been convinced that, on the one hand, no one knew his name and, on the other, that no one wanted to.

Evening, Officer Snell. It had a nice ring. He could grow to like it.

She was a pretty little thing, too. For a split second, he toyed with the idea that he might bestow God’s greatest gift to women upon her. But in that second she was gone, disappeared into one of the rooms. He might have pursued her. But he wasn’t going to do that any more. He was a celebrity now. If someone wanted his favors, she could at least inquire, if not beg.

He boarded the elevator to the first floor. Now he would work himself up to the third floor, the scene of his triumph both over the assailant of Sister Eileen and, literally, over nurse’s aide Helen Brown. As he recalled, and this he clearly recalled, the crescendo and climax of God’s gift had been denied Ms. Brown. That, he felt, should be remedied.

First floor, through the day busier than most downtown streets, was now deserted. And all the more creepy for its comparative silence and emptiness. Even though Snell felt slightly more invulnerable than Achilles, he moved through these corridors somewhat more cautiously.