by Ursula Paul
As he raced around the corner of the building to the garage, he literally ran into Simon.
“Eris, I desperately need to talk to you!”
Although the older man had rushed past and had already opened the car door, he was suddenly aware of the urgency in Simon’s voice and the brief sight of his face.
“Sorry Simon, I must run. Another call to the hospital for Mollie – double urgency this time. Get yourself something to eat – and something strong to drink. I’ll be back soon.”
For a second after the key entered the ignition he stopped. I’ve never seen Simon like this before, he thought. Fear, agony in his face. Perhaps Mollie will wait if Simon and I have just a little time – just enough to ease Simon’s worry, whatever it is.
But the call to loyalty to an old past employee was strong. Eris turned the key and arrived at the hospital in minutes. Mollie, surrounded by her family, drifted quietly from life to death some time after 9 pm., quite unaware of the prayers for the dying, the rosaries being said and the blessings Eris was called on to give by the close-knit family.
After reciting an appropriate prayer and joining in the prayers that Mollie’s eldest daughter had insisted upon, Eris was able to slip away, asking the family to call the next day to arrange Mollie’s Requiem. By then, it was well after 10 pm. As he raced the car into the garage, Eris froze – the presbytery was in darkness.
Chapter Eight
Simon stumbled into the house. He had to talk to someone who would understand. The heaviness that pressed on his whole body eased a little as he thought of his friends. They would have the answer.
Firstly, he dialled Julian’s presbytery – no one home, leave a message. No! Too late for a message! Then he dialled Joe’s presbytery. An answer this time – the old retired Monsignor would take a message but both priests at a meeting. Once again, no thanks! The last hope – Eddie. The phone rang out – no one home.
Eris will be home soon, Simon tried to reassure himself. But, would Eris understand?
Would he have any idea what to do?
The heaviness, like a suit of armour, enveloped Simon. Sweat poured from his body. The severe headache had given way to noisy throbbing. What to do? How to save such pain to his mother and father? That bastard was going to tell them – that their only son is a poofter – so he said. And he would do it! My head, my head, he almost screamed as the throbbing became louder.
The pain killers! With a certain amount of relief he remembered the bottle of tryptanol tablets, prescribed for him three months before when he sprained his ankle and which he had never opened. They were still there in the bathroom cabinet. Quickly he swallowed two and washed them down.
“Oh, God, please come to my help and save my good parents from pain,” his mantra as he paced, waiting for relief.
Half an hour later, with no physical relief and with worry for his parents almost unbearable, he shook another two tablets from the bottle and quickly swallowed them.
Was this scenario repeated and, if so, how often – he had no idea.
His mantra continued, but so did his agony. His parents…his parents…
Suddenly his body began to tremble violently. He clutched his chest as the severe pain burnt within. He became vaguely conscious of what was happening.
“Oh God, no – I didn’t mean to do this – just to ease the pain. Oh God, forgive me.
“Into Your hands …”
He struggled, almost crawled into the Chapel.
“Into Your hands…
He slumped, unconscious. The clock struck nine.
Chapter Nine
The telephone was ringing loudly as Eris Doran stumbled up the back steps in the dark and fumbled for his keys.
“Yes,” he panted into the phone, hoping the caller was still on the other end.
“Eris, it’s Julian Martin. I’ve just returned from a meeting and there’s a missed call from your number. Is Simon there?”
“Sorry,” panted Eris. “I’ve just driven in from the hospital. He must be out – the place is in darkness. I’ll get him to call you when he comes in.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Eris had barely replaced the receiver when the phone rang again. Now with his breathing back to normal, Eris answered in his formal way, “Good evening, presbytery, can I help you?”
“Hi Eris.” At once he recognised the rich, deep voice of Joe Frazer.
“Good evening Joe. Are you looking for Simon?”
“Sure thing. Just following up on a missed call from your number.”
“Joe, I’ll get back to you. Just got in from the hospital – the place is in darkness.”
“Fine, Eris. I’ll wait to hear back.”
Quickly Eris replaced the receiver and fumbled around for the hall light-switch. Now with light and beginning to feel agitated as he suddenly remembered Simon’s car was still in the garage, he raced to Simon’s room. Please God, let him be asleep in bed! But no – no sign of Simon. Perhaps he has fallen asleep in the kitchen or in the lounge, watching TV. Please God, let him be there. No – not in either room.
Suddenly he knew where he would find Simon. Slowly opening the door to the little Chapel and turning on the light, he whispered to the figure slumped over the kneeler.
“Simon, are you okay?”
But he knew, even before he gently felt for a pulse, there would be no answer. Tears welled in his old Irish eyes as he squeezed the soft, still warm hand. Simon, Simon, I’ve let you down! Then, quickly the priest in Eris Doran jumped into action. After the quick phone call to Bill Bennett, who had been his GP for many years, Eris knelt beside Simon, at first reciting prayers for the dead, then merging into his own way of praying.
“Dear God, how did You let this happen!… No… It’s not Your fault – It’s mine! – I walked out on him. He’s a great kid. He’s done so much in Your name; now he needs You. Take his hand – forgive him for the times he’s let You down – and there wouldn’t be many! Bring him home… How could I let this happen! Simon, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
Dr. Bill Bennett arrived to find a sobbing Mgr. Eris Doyle and to verify that Fr. Simon Jackson was dead.
“Something is very wrong,” Eris confided to his doctor. “Simon – usually so happy – was in mental anguish for some reason.”
“Eris, go and make us a strong cup of coffee. I want to look in his room before we notify anyone!”
Moments later, Bill Bennett joined Eris in the kitchen. He held the open bottle of Tryptanol tablets.
“This is what I prescribed for Simon when he sprained his ankle a couple of months ago. At the time I warned him to go easy on them. With his heart condition he needed to be careful. There are only four tablets missing from the bottle. But we don’t know how many of those he took tonight. If, as you say, he looked as though he was under some mental strain, that would have been the catalyst for a major heart attack. He knew his heart could give out on him at any time under stress. Ordinarily, I would order a post mortem. But I think there will be enough pain without adding to it… I am going to write the death certificate showing a major heart attack was the cause of his death. There is little doubt of that – I am sure in certifying it. But you may have to look into the cause of the anguish that apparently caused this heart attack!”
“Yes. You’re right. And I certainly owe it to him to find out!”
When Bill Bennett left some half hour later, Eris Doran, as friend rather than parish priest, returned to the Chapel and remained beside his curate, sometimes praying, sometimes quietly talking to him, sometimes in silent thought. He was still there when the funeral directors arrived early the next morning.
Chapter Ten
“Saints of God, come to his aid; come to meet him angels of the Lord.
“Receive his soul and present him to God, the most high.”
The Requiem was about to conclude. Family, friends, priests and religious had filled the Church. Bishop Welton, surrounded by many concelebrants including Mark Le
vitt, had led the liturgy, had spoken glowingly of Simon’s gifts and hopes for the future. Julian, Eddie and Joe, still in semi-shock, listened half-heartedly. But the final words of the homily, “…now it was time for God to call Simon to Himself…” were too much for Joe. Had not Julian gently touched his arm, he was on the point of shouting, “No! No!”
“Later!” whispered Julian.
As the ceremony progressed, each had occasionally glanced towards the casket at the foot of the altar. Simon – it just seemed unreal. But, it was all too real!
As they recessed with all the clergy, the choir chanted ‘Te Deum.’ The poignant memory struck each friend as they continued in silence.
Outside, they accepted Bishop Levitt’s invitation to be driven to the cemetery. The drive proceeded in silence, each battling inner thoughts and feelings of sadness, grief and anger.
The sadness of the crowd lay heavily as they joined in the final prayers of farewell. The grief of Marj and Gary Jackson was evident as they farewelled their only child. The sadness of all in farewelling a young family member, friend or pastor was also evident. Not so evident was the anger, not only of his three friends but of others who held suspicions something was amiss, causing the death of this popular young priest.
Chapter Eleven
The parish hall was humming. Crowds milled inside and out. Bishop Levitt sought out Julian, Eddie and Joe.
“Marcus has asked me to call over first. We’ll both be back soon. See you then.” With that Mark Levitt walked across to the Bishop’s house, where Marcus Weldon was waiting for him.
Mark Levitt wanted answers to many questions. He knew Marcus Weldon had the answers to some. Yet it had come as a surprise when, as they were leaving the cemetery, he had asked Mark to call.
“Thanks for coming over,” began Marcus. “Won’t keep you long. We both need to get over to the hall soon. But I also need to talk to you!”
“Fine,” answered Mark, fairly primly. “Fire away!”
“Such a sad affair!” began Marcus. He looked around the room, searching for words.
“I know you have a healthy” – his choice of word seemed rather pronounced to Mark’s questioning ear –“friendship with Simon’s friends. Simon’s death was a tragedy, yes. But it could have various consequences. On the one hand, this could be the end with happy memories for all concerned for this young priest with the weak heart. On the other hand, questions could be asked about his untimely death and false answers given, leading to gossip and lies!”
Since Mark had heard of Simon’s death, he knew he could no longer ignore questions that kept racing through his mind. He had grappled with ideas on how to brace the subject with his fellow bishop, who, he knew, must have some answers. Now Marcus Weldon had opened the gate to any questions, to any pertinent subjects.
Thank God, his heart beat.
“Oh, yes,” was his quiet reply.
“Look, Mark, I won’t beat about the bush. For the sake of their friend, would you squash any probing Simon’s friends may start? It will do no good – only cause more heartache.”
“Explain yourself!”
“Mark, you know what I am getting at. The last person seen with Simon was Alberto Ponti and Simon was in rather a state when he arrived home. So many simple explanations. Yet the enemies of the Church could turn that into quite a story. So, Mark, I’m asking you to prevent those young friends from causing any trouble.”
The easy-going Mark could take no more.
“Trouble!” he almost shouted. “You and I have been chosen by our Church as leaders of our diocese. Leaders, I stress. As leaders we have an obligation to ensure, as far as humanly possible, that everyone – again I stress – everyone – treats and is treated by in a way Christ would not only expect, but command.
“So, Marcus, let’s not play with words any more. Let’s put the cards on the table.
“We can prove nothing, true. But we can have a general idea of what happened – of what caused Simon’s serious mental distress, to say the least.
“First, let’s start with Ponti. It is common knowledge that he was moved from a couple of parishes in another diocese before you took him on. Why he moved around or was moved around is not so common knowledge. Since Simon’s death I have used my status to order findings that, up to now, have been well hidden. And what I have learned, which is minimal at this stage, makes me cringe. I’m only guessing – as yet – but it seems as though Ponti is a sexual predator, a real horror. Have no illusions, Marcus, I, along with Simon’s three young friends, will be looking for the truth.”
“Don’t throw dirt at me!” shouted Marcus. “Look at you. Don’t forget that young fellow in your diocese who was playing up with the girls six years ago.”
“Yes, Marcus. You are right. I did have a priest in my diocese who did such harm. But also, as you remember, as soon as any whisper came to me, I acted. You know as well as I that the case went to court, he was convicted and defrocked by the Church.”
A brief silence followed.
“So Marcus, what are you going to do?”
“Do!” Marcus exclaimed. “Nothing! Sure, Alberto has his problems. But we should be helping him, not hounding him.”
“And what exactly are you doing to help him? Leaving him free to roam as he pleases! This is the way of the devil!”
With that Mark Levitt rose. “I will encourage these three young men to seek the truth.”
His voice mellowed. As he turned to leave he spoke quietly, “Think, Marcus. You’re a good man yourself. Think what you are doing!”
Back at the hall, with the crowd dwindling, he soon spotted Julian, Eddie and Joe, standing rather dejectedly in a corner.
“We waited to see you before we left.”
Julian noticed the tenseness. “Mark, we’re not going back until the morning – staying at the Victoria. We could get you a room there too.”
“Thanks Julian. Great idea. But I need to get back tonight. Walk me to the car. Better still – we could do with a coffee – just over the road! Firstly though, we need to see Simon’s parents.”
Marj and Gary were still surrounded by relatives and friends. Seeing the bishop and Simon’s friends approaching, they left the group to join them.
Marj hugged each friend, with a whispered, “Thanks for everything. Simon won’t forget you. You have been wonderful friends.”
“We always will be!”
As they began to move on Gary pulled Julian aside, “Thanks. Please thank the others too. I let him down; you boys held him up.”
“You didn’t let him down. He knew you supported him. And he knew his mother needed you.” Julian squeezed his hand as Gary turned and joined the family group.
At the coffee shop, Mark wasted no time in relating what had transpired in the discussion between the two bishops.
“I’m telling you this in confidence. Also, perhaps a warning. Marcus is a good man, but with very warped, dangerous ideas on defending the Church. Be true to yourselves, but be careful!”
“We can’t let Ponti get away with it!”
“We owe it to Simon!”
“For now, we can and we must!” Julian replied to his two friends.
Eddie and Joe stared aghast at Julian. Gradually the crux of Julian’s statement dawned on them. They nodded slowly.
“I think it’s time we told Mark!”
Again his two friends nodded.
“Mark,” began Julian, “what I am about to tell you is something known only to the three of us – though I think Simon’s father has guessed. And, I don’t think I need emphasize – this is never to be repeated for any reason. Simon is gay. Because his mother is verging on homophobic she was never to know. So Simon kept his sexuality completely to himself – that is until he decided to trust the three of us. And I would be pretty sure he died a virgin. If we start proceedings we may eventually have our day in Court with Ponti. But for what price? Even questions of sexuality would devastate his mother and father – they ha
ve suffered enough! Ponti’s day of reckoning may come – but not now. Right now, in doing nothing, we do everything for Simon.”
“You’re right,” agreed Eddie.
“Yeah – but it’s still not right,” added Joe.
“No, it’s not right, I agree, Joe. But, right here and now, it’s what we owe Simon. For the future – who knows! But for us – Simon always comes first.”
“That’s for sure!” Eddie and Joe, almost in chorus.
“Thanks for trusting me.” Mark Levitt spoke quietly. “It is a sacred trust, never fear! Simon was lucky having such great friends he could always trust. Sorry to hurry away but I have a fair way to drive tonight. Bless you all.”
As Mark Levitt’s car faded into the distance, Eddie suggested, “Let’s head for our hotel. I think we all need a drink!”
“Great idea,” answered Joe. Then added, “There’s something I’d like to share with you.”
“Sure Joe. And I have something to share too,” added Julian.
Chapter Twelve
Once seated at a table in the corner of the garden with drinks recently served but still untouched, the three friends stared at nothing in particular. Silence was broken only by talk and laughter wafting out from the bar.
Eventually Eddie whispered, “It’s not the same.”
“It never will be,” added Joe.
“So we have a decision to make!”
Eddie and Joe looked to Julian who continued, “Yes, it’s not the same and it never will be ever again. So we have a decision to make. Do we shake hands, thank each other for friendship and helps of the past and walk away? Or, do we build on our friendship and use it as a foundation for wherever our individual futures take us? Personally, I value our friendship. And I would hope we continue to trust and help and grow through it.”
“Definitely!” agreed Joe and Eddie.
“It’s just so different without Simon.”
