“That’s absurd. But fine, even if we allow you to define the term middle-aged in that way, why would it follow that whatever happens during this time period is meaningless?”
“Good God! Must I forever be the world’s instructor? Do the terms Primacy and Recency mean anything to you? The human brain processes information a certain way. The things that come first, i.e. primacy, and the things that come last, i.e. recency, are the things that will stick in the human head. The rest is part of the forgotten middle. In a brief, where do you put the damaging admissions? In the middle! If placed in a lineup and given the choice of where to stand where should you stand? In the middle! These are not my usual unsupported ramblings, these are well-settled principles. In sum, Cleary is right to ignore that Saturday. Where he errs is when he tries to tell us that the Friday and Sunday are meaningful. No way. This, our world, is just a giant theatre, showing Life, a poor play written by a middling playwright featuring repellent and insipid actors that will close within the week. Friday doesn’t matter because Sunday is a scam and because of that, Saturday, id est our lives, couldn’t possibly mean less. You’re also wrong Debi when you try to paint our lives as this boring but ultimately benign even pleasant endeavor. Life, even at its best, is a tedious chore. For the overwhelming majority it’s Good Friday every day. If you disagree chances are you’re the sort who doesn’t pay attention, because life is hideous if you do. The things you have to see and otherwise experience will sap the joy right out of you. You start out shitting in a diaper, dependent on random lunatics to cart your shit away and fill your belly. You have no control over anything, can’t even speak! Then at the end, where I am, you feel like a giant bruise that won’t heal, your knees make more noise than your mouth, family members become strangers far as your memory can tell, and you resume shitting in a diaper. And in between? Well I already told you what I think about that. Life isn’t sweet, it’s sour, and that’s what keeps Cleary in business. Those are your choices, boredom or agony. Life is nasty, malevolent, toxic, evil, and brutish. And you know the worst part? The part that really sticks in my craw, whatever a craw is.”
“What?”
“It’s too short.”
chapter 18
But it does move.
—Galileo Galilei on Earth.
“Forgive me dude cause I’m a sinner.”
“Well forgive me but I highly doubt the word dude is involved.”
“Seriously.”
“Fine. Forgive me padre because—”
“Father.”
“Forgive me Father because I’m a sinner, something along those lines.”
“I’m a sinner?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think so, that doesn’t sound right.”
“What doesn’t sound right?”
“Sinner, that word. Don’t think that’s the right word.”
“I think she’s right. I don’t think you have to make a blanket generalization like that about being a sinner and all. I think you just have to indicate that you are going to sin dude, I mean Father.”
“Going to sin? You mean that you’ve previously sinned right?”
“Right.”
“What if you haven’t?”
“Haven’t what?”
“Haven’t sinned.”
“If you haven’t sinned then what the fuck are you doing there?”
“Exactly.”
“See I don’t think that’s right. I think the point, or at least one of the points, is that you can always go because you’re always sinning whether you know it or not.”
“What kind of insane crap is that?”
“Yeah, what kind?”
“I’m just saying, I didn’t make it up.”
“Just ask Cleary, he’ll know for sure. It’s his job.”
“Yeah ask Cleary.”
“Forget Cleary, we don’t need his help.”
“Yeah forget him.”
“Fine so you say something like look I’ve sinned eighteen or whatever times and I’m here to confess.”
“Wait, what are you talking about?”
“Yeah what’s with the numerical reference?”
“I distinctly remember you had to provide a number. I think you had to tabulate and disclose exactly how many sins you had committed.”
“No way. The number you’re thinking of is the number of times you’ve confessed. You have to tell the dude how many times you’ve confessed in your life. That way they can gauge your progress and shit.”
“No . . . no way. Hold it just a minute. The number you’re thinking of is, I think, how long it’s been since you last confessed.”
“Yes! Now we’re getting somewhere. That’s exactly right. You have to state when the last time you confessed was. You don’t have to give a specific date or anything though; I think you say something like it’s been blankety blank since my last confession.”
“Okay so something like, my name is—”
“No names.”
“No?”
“Anonymity.”
“Okay. So cutting right to the chase you say something like, forgive me for being a sinner and I haven’t confessed in a year then you get into it.”
“I have sinned.”
“You have? When?”
“No, I have sinned is what you say. You say forgive me for I have sinned it has been five years since my last confession.”
“She’s right. I remember it perfectly now and she got it almost completely correct. The precise wording is this: Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It has been a decade since my last confession.”
“Yes.”
“Agreed.”
“That’s exactly right.”
“So what?”
“Yeah, who cares?”
“I don’t.”
“Me either.”
“Yeah, why do you ask Casi?”
The church on 35th Street, the church where that prick nosy civilian Bolo was working that night the previous spring when meathead Hurtado made a brief stop into that van on his way to state prison; the church where they held him, seated in a pew, a guard at each side, until the police arrived to bring him to me, the white one named Peter and claiming Catholic, the church where I arrived well after dark that night; That Church was closed.
I went back to the illuminated Bingo-type board. The weathered plastic letters, alternately red or black with no seeming pattern, did in fact spell what I thought they had so why the barred door?
Maybe there was a tricky side door or doors. It made sense that they couldn’t just go and keep the front door open, the world being the world, but just as assuredly there would have to be a side door of some sort. A way to get in.
There was such a door, just one, but it was closed with such prejudice as to be nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding stone walls. What about a rectory? Every one of these things had a corresponding rectory right? Probably not in the city though. Rectories were probably just a leafy suburban thing. Wait, what was I thinking? There had to be a rectory. Where else would the priests and their confederates hang out when they weren’t performing mass and sacraments and stuff? I knew they didn’t live in the church, that was for sure. Except maybe now they did live there and that’s why they had to lock the doors since you have to lock the doors to where you live if you’re going to get any kind of meaningful sleep. The whole thing was very confusing so I wandered around the perimeter of that artful boulder kicking little pebbles and looking down.
While doing that I wandered into this garden-type enclosure in the back where I had no business being. There were these cool stone benches back there and I was about to go sit on one when I heard a soft, collared voice.
“Can I help you?”
“Oh yeah . . . I was . . . are you . . . open? Like for business.”
“Business?”
“The doors were locked.”
“When it gets dark we lock the doors. Masses daily at ten a.m. and noon.”
�
�No, I’m an attorney.”
“Same schedule for attorneys.”
“No what I mean is I’m here investigating a case, not for any other reason.”
“I wasn’t even aware a lawsuit had been filed.”
“No, a criminal case.”
“Criminal?”
“Yes, it was several months ago. I just want to talk to someone. I need to. Someone who was here.”
“Come in young man.”
Those words were a soothing balm to me. My shoulders relaxed and fell. We walked to the door together. He turned a giant key that looked like it belonged to a dungeon. Two opposing metal bars rushed past each other towards the middle and the entry yawned open as a result.
He was young and strong. For a priest anyway. He had short, suspiciously black hair that formed a proceeding hairline less than an inch above his eyebrows, eyebrows that looked like little islands just off a continent. There was no warmth at all coming from my host, but still, once inside I felt good, safe. I also felt guilty though because I’d never been in there before. Not when it mattered and could have made a difference. It was a virtual reality in there. The painted expanse inside didn’t seem like it could be supported and enclosed by what I had seen outside.
“I’m Father Mulcahey,” he said and he surprised me by sitting on the steps going up to the altar. Or were they coming down from there?
“Really? That’s funny.”
“Funny?”
“I mean Mulcahey. Father Mulcahey you know?”
“No.”
“Never mind. It was stupid. I’m totally way off. I thought for a moment that it was the same name as the . . . just forget it.”
“Oh right. It is, you’re right. I get that a lot.”
“Get what?”
“Never mind.”
“Right.”
“So you say someone broke into our humble church?”
“No what happened, this was last April, was that someone was working on renovations here and my client broke into his van while he was here.”
“Allegedly right?”
“Well we’re well past that unfortunately. Anyway the contractor nabbed him and they held him here until the police came.”
“Yes, I do now recall hearing about that incident.”
“Oh good, I’m looking to talk to someone who witnessed that.”
“You need to talk to Father Irizzarry.”
“Irizzarry?”
“Yes, as I recall he was the priest on duty that night.”
“Duty? You guys have that? Like shifts?”
“Well someone is always available. That night it was Father Irizzarry, I’m certain.”
“That’s what I thought, I mean in terms of the availability thing you’re talking about. But seeing as you guys were closed just now it seems a strange kind of availability.”
“Closed?”
“The doors.”
“What about the doors?”
“No it’s just that they were locked. The doors. I thought, I mean a long time ago, that they were never locked, you know, as a matter of course, all things being equal, in the course of human events. I’m not sure exactly what that just meant even. So you say Father Irizzarry was here that night?”
“Yes, you’ll want to talk to Father Irizzarry.”
“Great, can I?”
“Can you what?”
“Can I talk to him?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“He can’t speak to you.”
“Really? Is it like a vow of silence situation because I have a niece that—”
“No, he’s not here. He’s gone.”
“When do you expect him back? I can wait around or just come back later.”
“No, he’s gone for good.”
“He quit? Do you know where he went?”
“He was a very good man so I feel very confident about his new location.”
“You’re saying he died?”
“I am.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Right . . . yet I feel oddly responsible.”
“I hope his absence isn’t going to adversely affect your case. I don’t think anybody else was here that night that could help you.”
“Thanks, that’s all right. The case is basically over anyway. I was just looking into a final thing really.”
“Confession?”
“No, there was no confession. That’s about the only thing they didn’t have but really there’s not much need for a confession when they catch you in the van.”
“No, I was referring to your situation. Would you like to take confession?”
“Confession?”
“Yes, Penance or Reconciliation, it’s a sacrament, you are Catholic aren’t you?”
“Yes, I mean no, I don’t really believe, I mean, I don’t think that—”
“Well there’s no harm in talking right? You look like you might want to talk.”
“No, I hate talking.”
“Well I’m here for the next hour if you change your mind.”
“You mean you’re here for just that purpose?”
“Yes, we offer the sacrament twice a week for a two-hour period.”
“I see. But isn’t there some kind of specially-designed booth? I seem to recall a little bootheroo.”
“There is, over there.”
“Truth is I don’t even remember the, like, preamble you say just before you disclose the sins and all that. I mean there’s a thing you say right?”
“There is, but you can also just go in and talk about whatever you’d like to talk about.”
“All right,” I said, and the words had barely escaped my mouth, and my instant regret registered, when he got up and walked towards the booth. I followed him but when he went into his little curtained portion I contemplated making a break for it. After all, I thought, I hadn’t even given him my name and chances were overwhelming I would never see him again. Instead I pulled the curtain to the side, heard a whirring sound, and gingerly entered the enclosure. I knelt on the little ledge they had there for that purpose and planted my chin on my right hand. There was a pleasant because only slightly translucent little screen separating us that I was highly grateful for. But then the priest slid that screen over revealing a lesser, far thinner, screen in its place. I guess it was better than nothing but I was tempted to slide the other one right back. He didn’t say anything so I figured I had to start.
“Hi Father?” I wondered. “As you know, I have sinned since my last confession, which was a few months ago.” That was a lie. “Actually that’s not true. I made a mistake. It’s been more than a few months. A lot longer.”
“ . . .”
“Also I didn’t really make a mistake. When I said it had been a few months just now? That wasn’t so much a mistake as it was an out and out lie. Both were lies in fact. You understand? When I said it had been a few months since my last confession, that was a lie. It wasn’t true. Therefore when I later said I had made a mistake, you know when I said it had only been a few months, that was also a lie. Of course, the one lie led me to tell the second lie out of sheer embarrassment so I suppose the argument could be made that it’s all just one lie with maybe two subcomponents although I will not now make that argument. Anyway now that I got that out of the way I suppose I’ll start listing my sins, which as I recall is the way I’m supposed to proceed.”
“ . . .”
“I think I’m going to proceed in chronological order since that seems the best way to achieve completeness and I want to cover everything. Of course it’s unlikely that I will remember everything, human memory being what it is. The question, I guess, then becomes whether something that I did in the past but cannot now remember is even relevant in this context. Whether it can even be said to have been done by me actually. You see what I’m driving at right? Locke?”
“ . . .”
“I mean, taking the extreme examp
le, imagine I previously slaughtered someone in cold blood but now have no recollection of it whatsoever. It doesn’t seem that that action can then do me any harm now. I mean in terms of weighing on my conscience and guilt and all that, you know? What the hell is a conscience anyway? Sorry I mean heck. Why do I know, with seeming certainty, that I would feel like absolute crap if I did slaughter that dude yet I also know with similar certainty that the social conditioning explanation that will almost certainly be offered up fails to apply in my case in many other situations where you would expect it to? I mean that makes perfect sense doesn’t it?”
“ . . .”
“Listen I’m no expert at this but aren’t you supposed to have a speaking part?”
“Perhaps, son, you should begin by simply listing your sins.”
“Right, what constitutes a sin though? Never mind, I’ll just start. I am going to go in chronological order. Reverse chronological actually so I can get the ball rolling with sins that are like still fresh in my mind. I was going to talk about something that happened this morning but I now realize that lying is a sin. I mean that’s pretty well established right? After all lying is one of the ten commandments isn’t it? Not lying of course being the requirement. Thou mustn’t bear false witness and all that. Well if lying is a sin then I guess my most recent sin was the lie I told at the outset of this confession. The one I’ve admitted to. All of which might make me the first person ever to commit a sin in the very process of seeking forgiveness for earlier sins. Or not, who knows?”
“ . . .”
“Strange kind of sin lying though. Let’s say a lie is a declaration the declarant knows is not true, why is the creation of one a sin exactly? What the hell, heck, is so sinful about telling a lie? Take my earlier lie as an example. So I said something that didn’t accurately reflect truth, whatever that is. So what? How exactly is morality implicated? So these words that were uttered didn’t happen to correspond with truth. Big deal. Is truth so paramount that a violation of it in any form is a sin? If that’s the case then what is it about truth that makes this so? If it’s a sin because God says so then why is God so hung up on truth? Is truth so important because without it, and without reliance on basic conformance with it, human interaction becomes hopelessly complicated and unsatisfying? Well that seems a concern more apt to contract law or social utilitarianism than to the lofty realm of morality. On the subject of the lofty, does God always expound the truth in its purest form? If so, and there’s never artifice or ambiguity of any kind involved, then we need only look around to see what God thinks of us and it isn’t good. Or maybe truth itself is God or a major aspect of God and therefore a violation of truth is the equivalent of a direct slap to God’s face? Frankly I find those kind of anthropomorphic views of God to be the most annoying kind of bullshit, I mean bullcrap, and basically highly silly and arbitrary. And that’s how I view your proscription against lying. I can’t get too worked up about it is what I’m saying. Especially when, as here, it’s clear no one was hurt by the declaration. And while I can certainly mentally concoct a situation where a lie would be grossly wrong I can also easily envision the opposite. The result is that the whole thing ends up seeming almost pedantic and superstitious you know?”
A Naked Singularity: A Novel Page 51
