“You should also know that we will not send any of your novices home. We believe that there is nothing to be gained by informing them that you were not who you pretended to be. As Father Beck predicted, you led two perfect Long Retreats and perfectly prepared your novices to continue their spiritual formation and to take their vows.”
“I cannot tell you how pleased I am to learn that, Father. I hoped that would be your decision.”
“So let me ask you this. When you were instructing your novices, what was your intention? What were you trying to do with them?”
The Russian threw up his hands. “I was simply trying to help them to become what they wanted to become.”
“To become Jesuits?”
“Yes, exactly. That was what I was trying to do.”
“Did you yourself believe what you were teaching them? I don’t mean acting. Or were you actually believing what you were teaching?”
“In all honesty, I cannot answer that. Was I truly believing? No, not truly. But maybe? Sometimes? At the beginning, I did not believe much of what I was supposed to present to the novices. But I had to admit that some of Loyola’s ideas seemed to be logical and perhaps even true. Or, should I say, correct?”
The Russian sat silently for a few moments before continuing.
“Right now, I must say that I still have some serious doubts about Loyola’s theology and conclusions. But he might well have been correct. In all honesty, I just don’t know. But I am not adamantly disbelieving.”
“That’s quite understandable. I dare say that all of us have had our own doubts. Some of them quite serious. But still we press on.”
Charley was surprised to hear that. He looked around at the others in the barn and saw that all the Jesuits had been nodding, in agreement, even the bishop.
Charley turned back when Father Fitz started speaking to the Russian again.
“The other day you asked me why Father Beck had died with a joke on his lips rather than break the Seal of Confession and betray you. Well, he left a clue for us that he believed that you had undergone a significant change and that he could relax and safely leave you to Heaven, as the saying goes.”
The Russian laughed.
“Are you saying that John Beck believed that about me? That this actor was taken over by the character he portrayed? Of course, there are tales in the theater of such dramatic changes happening to actors. But if such an incident actually did occur, it would have been a symptom of a serious mental illness.”
The Russian shook his head.
“No, no, no,” he said. “I know that I have expressed my wish to remain here at Milford as a Master of Novices. But I knew that it was an impossibility. I am not crazy!”
“No, we all believe you are perfectly sane. But all of us are also convinced that Father Beck was right about your being transformed, not by some miracle, but by your long years of intense study of Catholicism and the Jesuits as well as your years of observation of Alex Samozvanyetz himself. Not to mention the months in Milford in such close contact with Father Beck and your novices. Think about all you have studied and observed and experienced first hand. You know and remember what your own eyes and ears have seen and heard. And consider this fact. All of us here agree that you have somehow become, as we say, one of ours.”
“My God!” gasped the Russian. “What are you saying to me? Have all of you gone mad?”
“No we have not. But just listen to us! We are saying that you have become one of us in spirit and that we want you to join us. We want you to become one of us in actuality.”
“To become a Jesuit? Is that even possible?”
“If you are willing to become a Jesuit priest and continue playing Father Alex Samozvanyetz, we are prepared to make this happen right now.”
“Dear God! Help me!”
The Russian slid off the box and sank to his knees.
“What has happened to me? What have I become?”
Charley rushed to help Father Fitz raise the Russian to his feet. He could hardly hear what the Jesuit was saying to the Russian, he spoke so softly.
“Just stay quiet for a while and listen to your heart. If you wish, we can do this now, my dear brother in Christ.”
Charley, who had his arm around the Russian’s shoulder, could feel the man’s shudder and hear his staccato breathing.
“Sit for a while,” Father Fitz was saying. “Try to be calm. If at any point you wish us to stop, just tell us and we will stop.”
The Russian grasped the priest’s forearm.
“Continue, Father,” the Russian whispered. “Please continue.”
∗ ∗ ∗
Charley helped Brother Krause clear off the work bench and spread out a white altar cloth. The priests opened their black valises and removed the wine and water, the communion wafers, the chalice and paten, the sacramental oil and the candles. Then Charley arranged everything on the makeshift altar. Brother Krause lit the two candles which now gleamed brightly in the dusky barn. Charley stood back and made sure that everything was in order and nodded to Father Fitz. The ceremony was about to begin.
Charley had never seen so many sacraments administered to anyone at any one time. First the Rector baptized the Russian who was now kneeling before the altar. Then the bishop left his bale of hay and confirmed the Russian in the Roman Catholic faith.
Charley watched spellbound as the bishop anointed the Russian and, laying his hands upon his head, ordained him. The Provincial accepted the newly ordained priest’s perpetual vows of poverty, chastity and obedience and declared the Russian to be a member of the Society of Jesus.
Then, with Charley serving as his acolyte, the new Jesuit priest offered his first Mass. Charley and the others received Holy Communion from the Russian’s hands and, when the Mass was over, knelt down one by one and received the Russian’s first blessings in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.
Father Fitzmaurice then addressed the newly ordained Jesuit.
“We are sending another good man into the Soviet Union to try to do what Alex Samozvanyetz set out to do ad majorem Dei gloriam so many years ago.”
“You asked me what you are to do when you return to Russia. I told you then, Father, and I tell you now, that I have no idea. Only this. You know as much as the Apostles knew when they set off to follow Christ. Probably more than the rest of us, I’ll wager, because you learned from the very best: Alex Samozvanyetz and John Beck, as well as those novices you trained so perfectly. Let their example give you courage and let Alex and John and Ignatius and Jesus Himself lead you through the unknown darkness ahead.
“You once were able to help John Kennedy save our planet from total destruction. You may find yourself in that situation again. If so, you will be prepared to act. So go in confidence and in peace, our dear Brother in Christ.”
“Amen!” responded the other Jesuits in the barn.
Charley saw Father Fitz raise his right hand. “Before we all leave, let us remember that we must keep all of this secret. Our man’s life depends on this.”
And that was that.
Charley blew out the candles and helped Brother Krause return the makeshift altar to its original appearance.
Once everything the Jesuits had brought to the ordination was packed, they left the barn, locked it, got in their automobiles and drove off with their secret intact.
The Provincial, his secretary and the bishop headed back to Chicago. In less than twenty minutes, Charley, the Rector, the Russian and the Visitor from Rome were all back in the Novitiate well before any hikers returned from Tibi Dabo. No one at Milford knew that they ever left.
∗ ∗ ∗
Later that next morning, while he was replaying that secret ceremony, Charley Coogan remembered that he had never opened the envelope the Russian agent had given him. He slid it out from the books on the shelf above his desk. Inside he found a holy card with a picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Charley turned the card over and saw the Suscipe of Saint
Ignatius Loyola.
“Charley: a remembrance of our Long Retreat” was written in ink just above the printed prayer.
Charley read it through slowly.
Take, Lord,
And receive all my liberty,
My memory, my intellect,
And all my will—
All that I have and possess.
Thou gavest it to me:
To Thee, Lord, I return it!
All is Thine,
Dispose of it
According to all Thy will.
Give me Thy love and grace,
For this is enough for me.
The card was signed: “Alex Samozvanyetz, S.J.”
Well, why not? thought Charley. How else would he sign it?
He opened the folded sheet of paper upon which the Russian agent had written a short note.
I want you to have this, Charles, as a reminder of what we have been through together. I have signed a batch of these cards with my nom de guerre because that is how I hope to be remembered by all of you. There is one card for each novice who made the Long Retreats with me. They are in the top left drawer of my desk. After I have gone, you can decide whether to distribute them or not. But I wanted you to have one, in any event.
The pendulum clock on the dormitory wall told Charley that it was still a long time before the Angelus bells would be rung. He spent several minutes staring at the prayer on the card.
∗ ∗ ∗
When the dawn broke, Charley sat back in his chair to rest his aching knees. There was some heat coming up in the radiators now. The frost on the window had softened and he was able to wipe some of it away with his handkerchief, enough to see through the glass.
Outside, all was white. Beyond the snow-covered trees that marked the limits of the novitiate property the sky was a translucent white wall. Charley’s whole world was bright and frozen.
Below, in the courtyard, the trackless snow looked knee-deep. No one yet had ventured outside. Not until the manualia period would anyone trample a path through the snow. The Jesuit community would stay warm indoors until after Mass and breakfast.
Across the courtyard, atop the Juniorate wing, white smoke was rising from a chimney straight up into the air where it was absorbed by the icy haze. Gazing across the white world before him, Charley saw one small spot of color.
At the far end of the courtyard was a whitewashed statue of Saint Joseph. And there, perched on Saint Joseph’s head, he saw a bright red bird. The bird sat there motionless. But then, just seconds after Charley had caught sight of him, the cardinal flashed away in a burst of scarlet. Charley watched the bird fly across the fields of snow. And then he could see him no more.
The bright red bird had flown too far away.
∗ ∗ ∗
“So now what?” he asked himself. He stared out the window and wondered what God’s will might be and if there was any way of knowing.
It was going to be a white Christmas. He could see that plainly enough. But it would be his second Christmas away from his Mom and Dad. He missed them and he knew they missed him.
So should I stay here at Milford? Or pack it in and go home to Lakewood to start a new life as a layman? It is my decision to make. But how will I make the right decision?
Just then the electric bells in the corridor signaled the end of the mediation period. Charley got to his feet and said a closing prayer.
I don’t have any answers, Lord. So I guess I’ll just hang around here for a while longer and maybe you’ll give me one. I’ll try to do whatever you want me to do.
He switched off his desk lamp.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Thank you, Lord, and Amen.
Charley walked out of his dormitory room and headed for the stairs to start another day. Maybe after Mass, he thought, there would be corn bread and stew for breakfast.
Then he remembered that it was still Advent.
∗ ∗ ∗
Later, after Mass, Charley sat with the rest of the Jesuit community in the silent refectory slowly eating his lukewarm scrambled eggs and dry toast. He tried to feel penitential, but he was looking forward to his second Christmas at Milford. He needed to calm down after all he had been through the last few weeks. He knew he had better regain his composure before his Mom and Dad came to visit soon after New Years. He would have to watch his step and pretend that nothing unusual had been going on here. After that, he’d be able to settle into the novitiate’s routine to figure out what God wanted him to do with the rest of his life.
Which he did.
∗ ∗ ∗
That October in Moscow, almost one year after President Kennedy’s murder, Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev was forced to resign, placed under house arrest and given a pension. He spent his retirement in relative comfort with his family. Once one of the most powerful men in the world, he worked in his garden, according to some accounts, trying to figure out how to grow corn in Siberia successfully.
T H E • E N D
About the Author
PATRICK TRESE, an original staff member of the Huntley-Brinkley Report, was born in Detroit during the Depression and raised in Cleveland during the second World War. Hiroshima and Nagasaki were destroyed when he was a junior in high school and the Cold War began.
Trese was not drafted until 1953 but by that time he had finished high school, spent a year as a Jesuit novice, left and finished college and wrote sports for the local NBC radio station. The fighting in Korea ended about the time Trese finished his 18-week basic infantry training. The Army assigned him to write for the Armed Forces Press Service in New York where the young soldiers, sailors and airmen watched the Army-McCarthy hearings on TV.
During his 30 years at NBC News, he shared several Emmys and a Peabody for “Tornado! Xenia, Ohio” which showed how a local newspaper helped this small town recover from sudden disaster. (The Gazette won a Pulitzer.)
His book about making documentary films in Antarctica in 1957-58, Penguins Have Square Eyes, was published in 1962.
Caril, the story of Caril Ann Fugate, who became involved with mass-murderer Charles Starkweather and was convicted of first-degree murder at age 15, was published in 1972. It was based on his NBC News prime-time investigative documentary “Growing Up In Prison.”
After retirement, he wrote the 10-part PBS series “America Goes to War,” narrated by Eric Sevareid, and 12 episodes of “The 20th Century” series narrated by Mike Wallace.
Bitter Medicine, which he co-authored with Richard E. Kessler, MD, dramatized how the doctor used malpractice cases as teaching tools for his medical students.
Red Army Spies and the Blackrobes Trilogy Page 52
