“Of course. I miss them.”
“You don’t look particularly happy.”
She folded the dish towel and snapped it across the rack. She swiveled abruptly to face him. “It’s not the kids. That’s not what’s upsetting me. It’s the pope!”
His eyes widened. “Our Holy Father! Why should he make you angry?”
“Because he’s coming here! Because he’s coming just before Christmas! Because he’ll be here in just a few days! Because—if the Fathers were right tonight—because he’s going to cause turmoil.”
“Not to us.” He smiled indulgently. “Family planning is over for us. It was something we handled and, thank God, we were able to do so in keeping with the Church’s teaching.”
“Because you could set the clock by my periods.” Her blood pressure was not going down.
“Yes.” The rhythm method had worked for them like a charm, but only because of her calendar-like regularity.
“But what about our kids?”
“What about them? We have no way of knowing about their private lives.”
“I do.”
“What?”
“I talk to them. They talk to me. You’ve got to remember, Walt, I was the one who was with them all the time when they were growing up. I’m not saying anything about your role as their father. God knows you were—you are —the best father and husband God could make. But you had a career. And you lived it. To the fullest. You tried to be with us for all the important things. You were with us just about every moment you were free.
“But you were a policeman all the time, whether you were on duty or off. There were lots of things the kids couldn’t bring themselves to tell you. They felt awkward sometimes … like it would be your duty to arrest them if they did something bad, or even questionable.”
“But—”
“I was with them all the time. They told me everything. They still do. I can talk to them about everything. They can talk to me about everything. So, we’ve talked. We talk every time they come home. We will talk when they come home for Christmas. I know how they feel. I know what they’re doing.”
This conversation was surprising Koznicki. And he was not easily surprised. “And what are they doing?”
“What are they doing? They’ve got jobs. They’ve got kids. They even go to church—most of the time.”
“Most of the time!”
“That they don’t talk to you about. In fact, that they go at all is mostly out of loyalty to you.”
Koznicki was truly shocked. “I was not aware of that. They all attend Mass when they are with us.”
“And sometimes when they’re not with us. But only sometimes. And not with a lot of conviction.”
“I must speak to them—”
“Not unless you want them to stop confiding in me. That you know now is only because I’ve told you. They don’t want you to know.”
“But … but what has this to do with our Holy Father?”
“They have no confidence, no faith in him whatever. It is with them as the Fathers were saying tonight … and I’m thinking mostly of Anthony.” She slumped into a chair at the kitchen table.
Anthony? Anthony was his father’s pride. Anthony the miracle baby. Conceived at the time when Wanda thought she was physically beyond fertility.
It had been a difficult pregnancy. Several times she almost miscarried. The last two or three months she’d spent mostly in bed.
Anthony was Wanda’s lone difficult pregnancy. He fought to remain growing in the uterus. He fought for life after he was born.
He was the last of their children. With his uncertain coming into the world, Anthony was especially favored by his mother, and particularly by his father. Walter and Wanda, as is usual with parents, would immediately affirm that they loved each of their children equally. And, indeed, they did love all their children. But silently, in their hearts, they had a special affection for their youngest.
Koznicki sat across from his wife. “Anthony!”
Wanda was close to tears. She choked them back. Koznicki waited.
“Tonight … tonight I was so startled … I thought the Fathers knew Anthony. It was as if they were describing him.” She paused. “Anthony was born years after the Vatican Council. That attitude where Catholics pick and choose what they believe was a part of Anthony’s formation.”
“But we sent him to parochial schools—even high school and college,” he protested.
“And that’s what they were teaching.”
“I didn’t know.”
“I did. But what was the use of bothering you with it? The schools he went to instilled discipline and were excellent academically. They were better than anything the public schools could offer. But they weren’t the schools you and I went to. The Sisters were gone. The Baltimore Catechism was gone. We did the best we could. Your job was important and took most of your time and just about all your concentration.”
Koznicki was stunned. “Anthony … Anthony does not attend Mass?”
Wanda shook her head. “He’s about the only one who goes all the time … even the holy days of obligation.”
“Then …?”
“Anthony is the one the Fathers were talking about tonight. He and Cynthia had two kids their first three years of marriage. We love our grandkids and we just took it for granted that Anthony and Cynthia wanted a big family. Things were tough for them financially. But they were making do ….
“It took Anthony a long time, but he finally told me what was going on. They tried rhythm but it failed them. The kids decided they would use a more dependable method of birth control.”
“But the Church—”
“It was just as the Fathers said, Walt. Anthony was very much aware that the pope said this was not an infallible teaching. In fact, Cynthia didn’t want to try rhythm from the beginning: Her periods were not that regular.
“But Anthony wanted to give the pope a ‘respectful hearing.’ Oh, he didn’t use exactly those words; but that was the idea. It was obvious the pope preferred rhythm, so Anthony talked Cynthia into trying it. But not the third time. He felt he’d given the pope’s opinion all the respect the opinion deserved.
“Obviously, Walt, Anthony relied on the pope’s own word that the doctrine had some latitude. Otherwise, Anthony would be torn between following the pope’s teaching blindly, or destroying his marriage. He was—and he is—at peace with his and Cynthia’s decision to use artificial birth control.” She left off, seemingly spent.
After a few moments, Koznicki asked haltingly. “Does he … mention this in his confession?”
Despite the depth of her emotion, Wanda could not help smiling. “It must have occurred to you, dear, that people don’t go to confession like we used to … especially young people.”
Actually, even as the question left his lips, he recalled the crowded churches of his past. Saturdays, and particularly at Christmas and Easter time, priests had spent countless hours hearing individual confessions. Nowadays, it was as Wanda pointed out: Few people went to a priest for confession anymore, and certainly not with any frequency or regularity.
“Besides,” Wanda said, ‘Anthony and Cynthia don’t consider what they’re doing sinful. They listened politely to the pope, and gradually—even reluctantly—decided they could not follow his direction. As far as they are concerned, they are acting in good conscience.” She leaned forward in deep concern. “But now, Walt, what’s going to happen to Anthony and Cynthia and how many more just like them if this pope comes over here and tells the world—or at least the Catholic world—that there is no longer any option? It doesn’t take much to figure that out. People like Anthony will be driven from the Church in anger and frustration—if not outright disgust. They will be lost to the Church … probably for the rest of their lives.
“And,” she continued after a moment, “what about their children? What affect will their parents’ departure from the Church have on our grandchildren? Do you think they’ll keep goi
ng to Mass if their parents don’t?”
The long silence that followed was disheartening. Unknown to the other, each of them was reliving Anthony’s life. They had come so close to losing that beautiful little boy so many times. But he had braved his way into adulthood. If only one of their children could still be close to the Church of their tradition, it was not surprising that it would be Anthony.
“Maybe the priests are wrong,” Wanda said finally. “Maybe …”
But Koznicki shook his head. “To be truthful, I would be willing to admit that perhaps Father Smith might be a bit eager to pass on some unfounded opinions. But when Father Koesler corroborates … well, I think this is far more than idle speculation.”
“What can we do …? What can anyone do?”
Koznicki shrugged. “Pray?”
“Pray against the pope!? Somehow that doesn’t sound as if it could work.”
They fell silent again.
“There isn’t anything we can do about it, dear,” Wanda said softly. “Why don’t you read your paper, or go to bed? It’s getting late. I’ll just do another batch of dishes.”
Koznicki glanced at his watch. It was getting late, and he would have to be fresh for work tomorrow.
He went to bed aware that it would be difficult to fall asleep. He could not put their conversation on a back burner. He knew his son. Anthony would never be able to rationalize his way around an infallible pronouncement of a pope. Nor would he be able to risk his marriage. If these priests were correct—and Koznicki was quite sure they were—what course would Anthony choose? Would he abandon his strong faith? Would he lose Cynthia? For Koznicki was certain that having solved a major problem, she would never return to the uncertainties of the rhythm method. Would Anthony and Cynthia agree to live as “brother and sister”? What sort of relationship would that be?
All of this tempest was the result of the decision of one man.
Strange, this was the first time Koznicki had ever envisioned the bishop of Rome as a single, solitary individual. Heretofore he had taken for granted the pope’s predilection for referring to himself in the plural. He had no idea just when a pope had first decided to use “we” instead of “I.” But he was sure it had been going on a very long time. And so, when hearing or reading of the pope’s “we,” Koznicki had quite naturally taken it as God speaking through the pope’s voice.
Now something vital and personal was going on.
For Koznicki the pope had suddenly lost his divine aura … at least in the present case. Now Koznicki’s cherished son was threatened. Instinctively, Koznicki the father searched about for some way of defending Anthony. It was as if the pope were somehow attacking the boy.
For the very briefest of moments, the thought of attacking the pope crossed his mind. The notion was so outrageous that he almost laughed aloud. It had to be an animal instinct.
His next thought was not that preposterous. What if his reaction to some threat to the pope were to be passive? Almost criminally passive …
He thought of two movies he had seen. He’d found them memorable not because they centered on police work as such. Actually, they were about the Secret Service. Both movies had to do with protecting the president of the United States.
One was In the Line of Duty, wherein Clint Eastwood played an agent who had been on duty in Dallas when President Kennedy was assassinated. The agent had been slow to respond to the first shot fired in Dealey Plaza. If he had been a step faster … if he had been a step faster, he might have saved the president’s life. He might have “taken the bullet” that had been the fatal shot. The agent had never been able to forget, or to forgive himself.
The other movie was a comedy, Dave. Kevin Kline played a double role. He was president of the United States, a cruel, manipulative, self centered, arrogant bully, and also a shameless womanizer. His top advisers found a look-alike, a wannabe actor. Dave, the lookalike, a kind, thoughtful, loving buffoon, is coached to stand in at ceremonial functions while the president is woman-occupied.
Physically, they are identical. Morally they are each other’s antithesis. Much was made in this film of the solemn duty incumbent on members of the Secret Service to protect the president at the risk of their very lives. The agent assigned to Dave, the impostor, is at home with his responsibility to the real president. He is not nearly that sure that, should an emergency occur, he would lay his life on the line for the impostor. Eventually, Dave proves himself so courageous and good that the agent—at the very end of the tale—tells Dave, “Yes, I would take a bullet for you.” It is the ultimate gift of faith in a person of worth.
Take the bullet.
It was not a virgin concept to Koznicki. He had been on many a protective detail for important personages visiting Detroit. The duty was, for him, a sacred trust. Never could that trust be more sacred than when the visitor was His Holiness the pope. This he was aware of to the very marrow of his Catholic bones.
But now …
Now this pope was coming to this city.
And he was coming to … destroy Anthony. No, that was melodramatic. But Anthony’s Catholic belief probably would not survive the pope’s mission to Detroit.
However, he, Inspector Walter Koznicki, had been assigned to this protective detail. And he would fulfill his duty.
Besides, what were the odds that anyone would actually attack His Holiness? The very proliferation of officers—federal, state, and local—had to discourage nearly everyone, even professional assassins. Anyone foolhardy enough to attempt an assault on the pope would likely not escape with his own life.
Beyond all that, even if someone were determined enough to try to kill the pope, what again would be the odds that one Inspector Walter Koznicki—out of all the thousands of guardian officers—would just happen to be the one called upon to take the bullet?
But what if he were?
Never mind the odds. The time for such an assault would be chosen by the assassin. At whatever time he planned it, some few officers would be close enough to the pope to have the immediate responsibility of ensuring his safety. Very likely, in this scenario, someone would be called upon to step into danger’s way. To hell with the odds; he could be the one!
And if he were?
Police instinct, training, professionalism would take over. Koznicki very well might find himself responding to the instant with professional instinct.
But, to be totally candid, he could not guarantee how he would respond. Not now. Not anymore.
In the dark, he could feel Wanda crawling carefully into bed. Obviously she thought he was asleep. He pretended sleep; he didn’t want his freshly conceived misgivings to upset her.
Shortly, her deep, regular breathing told him she was asleep. He would stay awake most of the night battling his choices.
How could he save the life of the man who might destroy Anthony’s faith? How could he not respond to a duty that was second nature to him?
And so the silent debate continued through the night.
7
Zoo Tully had no clue anything was wrong. He and Anne Marie had not been together long enough for either to have developed that sort of spousal sixth sense.
She had been silent on the ride home. That was not unique, not even rare. In fact, it was one of the characteristics that Tully treasured in their relationship. He liked that they could be together in silence. That conversation could become necessary, he felt, was a sign of awkwardness in a relationship.
So they returned home in silence.
Tully’s thoughts were in neutral as he pulled into the underground garage of the building known only by its address: 1300 Lafayette. Here in one of the cheaper, lower-level apartments, Anne Marie had lived before she married Tully.
Tully, in turn, had sold his house and moved in with Anne Marie just before their wedding. His home had housed his first wife and their children before the divorce. Thereafter, she and the children had moved to Chicago, where, later, she had remarried. Shortly after that
he had shared the home with Alice, his significant other. Alice had thought that she could accept the fact that his work came first, second, and third in his life. Eventually, fourth place was not enough and she left him.
This building—1300 Lafayette—was almost directly across the street from the school in which Anne Marie taught. It was only a few blocks from another 1300—1300 Beaubien, police headquarters, home of Detroit’s Homicide Division and Tully’s squad of homicide detectives.
So far, the Tully relationship was working well. But both were painfully aware of his blighted marital record. He was resolved that this time it was for keeps; she hoped it was.
Once home, they exchanged a few inconsequential remarks about the evening as they prepared for bed.
He checked the answering machine. Most of the messages were for him; none was urgent. Meanwhile, she slipped into bed.
Only lately, since she had become Mrs. Tully, had Anne Marie become friends with the Koznickis. That was natural since, over the years, Walt and Zoo had bonded. Both Walt and Wanda were pleased to learn Tully’s new wife was Catholic. Aware that Zoo had been married before, the Koznickis were diplomatically tactful concerning the form of the Tullys’ wedding. Aware that Anne Marie took Communion regularly, they assumed that somehow this marriage was Church blessed.
That was not precisely the case.
Anne Marie attended one of the many core-city parishes whose pastors on occasion dodged much of the red tape that entrammeled Church law. Having discussed with Tully his first marriage, Anne Marie’s priest determined that, one, it had been an honest effort on both parts, but simply had not worked; and, two, Church law, in its cold heart, would never grant an annulment to clear a path to a canonically correct marriage for Alonzo and Anne Marie.
So their marriage had been witnessed and blessed by the priest and probably God, but not by the official Church.
That was enough for Anne Marie and more than enough for Tully.
Which is not to imply that Anne Marie had rejected the official Church. By her own lights, she cared enough about her Catholic faith to do almost anything to remain in good standing with her Church. Her priest had made that choice easier for her. She trusted him. He did not appear to be troubled by the counsel he had given her.
Call No Man Father Page 5
