William Kienzle - Deadline for a Critic

But once more Groendal’s patience and perseverance paid off. A little more than a year after their marriage, a daughter was born to Mr. and Mrs. William Cahill. She was to be their only child.

Here was a distinct prospect. How better to get revenge against Jane than through her daughter, her only child. The potential increased when Larson was finally able to send a photo of Valerie Cahill, age seven, on the occasion of her First Holy Communion.

She was, by anyone’s standards, an outstandingly beautiful girl. With her childish yet evident comeliness and charm, there was a possibility that she might choose to be an actress.

Ridley’s prayers paid off. Through her high school years, Valerie was not only the most desirable girl on the Redford High campus, she was the staple star of virtually all the plays staged by the school. In three out of four major stage presentations— Arsenic and Old Lace, Meet Me in St Louis, and Annie, Get Your Gun!— Valerie played a female lead.

Annie, Get Your Gun! was the annual school play during Valerie’s senior year. For that, Ridley Groendal actually returned to Detroit. He attended one performance of the musical, taking care not to be noticed or recognized.

From far back in the crowd, Groendal was able to spot Jane. Her hair was now entirely gray. But she’d kept her figure. Groendal had not seen her since that Sunday afternoon in the park those many years ago. From the distance that separated them, he could see no great change in her. A more mature way of walking and moving, perhaps, but he would have recognized her anywhere. And, my God, he thought, it had been more than thirty years!

If he had seen her at close range, which he would never again do, he would have seen the difference. It was in her eyes. They reflected the suffering, sorrow, and hard times she had undergone.

The man with her had to be her husband. They took each other for granted after the fashion of long-married couples. He certainly was nondescript.

Groendal had no fear of being recognized. Though his photo appeared frequently enough in New York and national publications, who would expect him to be attending a high school presentation in Michigan? And even if any present thought they might know him, they would dismiss the idea out of hand. What would a nationally famous critic be doing there ?

The only one who could undoubtedly recognize him—and perhaps even guess why he was there—was Jane. But she and her husband were occupied greeting friends and acquaintances.

The lights dimmed; those still in the aisles scrambled for their seats.

The “orchestra”—piano, drums, and bass—struck up an abbreviated version of the overture. Groendal sighed and slumped in his seat. He was going to have to endure the tortures of purgatory. But he had already determined that it was worth the discomfort to see and hear his next victim. And there was always the chance that it might be a better than average performance.

Alas, it was what one would expect based on the age of the actors. Blown cues, misread lines, vibratoless voices, awkward interaction. Scenery and costumes obviously made by the loving and unprofessional hands of proud parents, relatives, and classmates.

With one glowing exception: the lead—Annie Oakley—Valerie Cahill. She was good. Not just the promise of developing into an adequate actress. She was good right now. If she had been Jane’s first child, Groendal might have considered himself the girl’s father. But that little mistake of nature? Forget it.

At intermission, Groendal buried himself in the program. Carefully, he studied the brief biography of Valerie Cahill. Unlike classmates headed toward college, Valerie intended to get right into show business while working on a college degree in her spare time.

Right into show business, eh? Delightful. We’ll see about that!

Part Six

Communion

18

Mass is, essentially, a reenactment of the Last Supper. As that event is narrated in the three synoptic Gospels, the setting is the ceremonial Passover meal. After that dinner had been completed, Jesus took bread and wine and told his Apostles to eat and drink, “Take this and eat it, this is my body.” And, “All of you must drink from [this cup], for this is my blood, the blood of the covenant, to be poured out in behalf of many for the forgiveness of sins.”

The reenactment is set not at a dinner but in a liturgical rite that has evolved very slowly over the centuries. At the Last Supper, the words of consecration were followed immediately by the eating and drinking of the bread and wine. In the Mass, the two rites are separated by many prayers.

The Communion Rite begins with the Lord’s Prayer, which is followed by the greeting of peace. Members of the congregation are urged to turn toward each other, shake hands, and offer a prayerful greeting, ostensibly wishing each other the peace of Christ.

At the appropriate time in this Mass of Resurrection, Father Koesler announced the greeting of peace. This was taken up with enthusiasm by the priests in attendance, and with restraint by the laity.

Koesler shook hands with several of the priests concelebrating with him in the sanctuary. Then he walked down into the nave of the church to greet some of the laity, certainly Peter Harison.

Koesler paused momentarily at Ridley Groendals coffin. Briefly he visualized Ridley’s mortal remains as last seen before the casket was closed. Koesler remembered Ridley as he had lived. The two of them as young boys sharing their secret hope of becoming priests. Koesler’s dream unalloyed; Ridley torn between becoming a professional musician and a priest. That dilemma solved for him when Dave Palmer sabotaged the musical career with a deliberate, if childish, trick. Then his seminary progress seriously threatened when Carroll Mitchell discovered Groendal to be a plagiarist, even though, in Ridley’s view, Mitch was the cause of the incident. Groendal’s priestly vocation finally ending with a one-sided homosexual “relationship” with Charlie Hogan. Again, Groendal managed to blame Hogan for that disaster.

Finally, what Groendal considered the disgrace of a nervous breakdown, triggered by Jane Condon’s pregnancy. Once more, as far as Ridley was concerned, it was somebody else’s fault, even though in actuality Groendal was undoubtedly the father of Jane’s child.

A strange man, thought Koesler. If there was any consistency to his life it was that he seemed constantly prone to shift the responsibility and blame for his own actions to others. Maybe it made him a happier person. Certainly it was not a realistic way to go through life.

In point of fact, such behavior was Koesler’s pet peeve. He had long since been disenchanted with those who refused to accept responsibility for their own actions.

Well, whatever. It was over. Ridley was gone. According to Koesler’s belief, Groendal had been judged. But Koesler was of two minds about that judgment. He liked to believe that when we die we will be judged by Love.

It was a consoling theology offering almost infinite understanding and forgiveness. On the other hand, there was that admonition by Christ that on earth we should judge others with understanding and forgiveness—for we will finally be judged in the same way we judge others.

In all truth, Groendal had left no legacy of understanding, forgiveness, or even fair judgment. In any case, whatever judgment Groendal deserved from God had already been given to him. What more could Koesler do than remember Ridley and pray for him for whatever good that might do.

“May Christ’s peace be in your heart today, Peter,” Koesler said as he shook hands with Harison.