The Hounds of Rome - Mystery of a Fugitive Priest

by Tom Clancy

“Problem is,” Elmer answered, as he stood up, getting ready to leave, “when a priest is defrocked, there can be retaliation—bad publicity, even lawsuits. Although the priesthood is a vocation, we both know it’s also a job, a career. If you found yourself forced onto the street in your fifties or sixties, even if you knew the church was justified in getting you out, and let’s say you were desperate or angry enough, you might want to talk to the media or write a book. What would you have to lose? After all, your job is gone, your retirement’s gone. No more health care. On and on. You’d probably feel you were screwed. What kind of job can a priest get who’s forced out? He’s even too old to flip hamburgers.”

  Elmer cautiously opened the door and peered down the length of the building. Seeing no one, he looked back at Steve. “By the way,” he warned, “only smoke late at night.”

  Steve was puzzled. “Why all this cloak and dagger stuff, Elmer? So what if I break some of their rules, what can they do to me?”

  “Other than cutting off some of the things they loosely regard as privileges like showers and food, my friend, they can find some pretext to pick a fight and beat the hell out of you. Right after I got here, I gave one of the monks some backtalk. You see this hole in the inside of my mouth. That’s where a tooth used to be. After he knocked it out, the monk was kind enough to pick it up and let me have it as a ‘keepsake.’”

  “Elmer, that’s absurd. Catholic brothers beating Catholic priests? I don’t believe it. Isn’t there any Christian charity in this place? Does the church hierarchy condone this?”

  “My friend, church authorities don’t know what goes on here and frankly, they don’t care to know. If anything, the bishops are frustrated and angry at the priests they send here, and the brothers, knowing this, believe they have a free hand.”

  “Are you serious?” Steve asked, surprised.

  “Come on, don’t act so surprised. The bishops are human too. They can put up with only so much crap. Remember Christ’s anger at the money changers in the temple? Hasn’t the behavior of some of these priests been worse than money changers?”

  As Steve shrugged his shoulders, Elmer whispered, “Good night my friend and God be with you.”

  “And also with you,” Steve replied.

  *****

  After his visitor left, Steve sat on his cot for a long time thinking. Although some of the Passion Brothers looked and talked like street thugs, he was upset to find they would actually do violence against a priest—an ordained minister of God regardless of how low the priest might have sunk in adherence to his vows. Of course, the crippled priest he had met in the clinic gave confirmation of the situation that prevailed. He also began to realize there was a way of thinking that the Passion Brothers, for all their crudity and narrow-minded devotion to one aspect of Christianity—the Crucifixion, performed a service for the church. By quietly pressuring unworthy priests to resign, they were able to circumvent a lot of cost and scandal that might plague the church hierarchy. But then he thought of Elmer, a short, skinny, harmless guy who made the mistake of opening his mouth. As he drifted off to sleep, now more aware of the control exercised by the monks, Steve began feeling a deep-down chill about his own prospects at the monastery and, more importantly, his future role in the church.

  *****

  Three weeks went by. If it weren’t for the icy showers, bad food and constantly clanging bells, the place would have been almost tolerable. Steve walked a lot, prayed a lot and was even able to get a few books from the library. His field work assignments were sporadic. There were some days when he realized his anger had almost faded away. But he knew that boredom would set in before long. He was still troubled by the fact that some of the priests eating in the refectory had cowls drawn closely over their faces while others were openly bareheaded. Had some of them been beaten? Were they trying to conceal black eyes and cut lips? He made a point to ask Elmer about it on his friend’s next nocturnal visit.

  *****

  One morning when Steve returned to his cell after Mass and breakfast, he noticed a flyer that had been slipped under his door. It was an invitation to play in the following Saturday football game between the priests and brothers. It took him completely by surprise. The guards and the prisoners playing together? Was the purpose to have an afternoon of entertainment or to beat up on the priests under the guise of a football game?

  Just about midnight that night, Elmer visited again. Steve liked the idea of the visits—thank god there was someone to talk to, but he also thought it could be risky if Elmer intended to drop in every night.

  “Ever play touch football?” Elmer asked. “And another question: are you under fifty?”

  “Yes to both. But I haven’t played in a long time.”

  “The under-fifty question is important because it gets rough out there and they don’t want some elderly priest who thinks he’s a jock, dropping dead during the game. Although we greatly outnumber the brothers, like six to one, there’s a lot of gray hair among the priests. By the way, if you volunteer to play, you’ll find an extra ration of potatoes and probably even a slice of meat on your plate at dinner. They want the priests who play football to be at least strong enough to put up some kind of show against the brothers. The brothers want to win and they always do. It’s important to them, but they don’t want it to look too easy. The negative side of this comes from the other priests at your table watching you eat a decent meal. You can expect some scowling.”

  “Elmer, tell me why some of the priests have their heads covered in the refectory. What’s that all about?”

  “Sorry, friend. Some other time,” Elmer replied as he walked to the door, glanced both ways along the portico and left, quietly closing the door behind him.

  12

  Saturday afternoon was bright and warm under a cloudless blue Arizona sky. Steve was in a small locker room with a group of priests getting ready for the game. He fished for a T-shirt, jockstrap and shorts from a large barrel. Another barrel held tennis shoes. He selected a pair that gave him a tight fit. They would play on the grass in a large side area near the compound wall. It was two-hand touch, played without helmets or other gear. The priests wore white T-shirts, the brothers, red. Steve thought wryly that the red probably was meant by the brothers to represent the blood of Christ. When he saw the lineup of brothers—all bruisers, stomping like bulls, getting ready to run roughshod over the priests, he thought dourly that the priests’ white T-shirts might also be red from blood by the game’s end.

  The game would have been a rout except for Steve’s pinpoint passing and a couple of priests who as pass receivers could break fast and almost never miss a catch. Steve himself was surprised that his old throwing arm was still intact. As the game progressed, the brothers, fearing they might lose their only game in many seasons, began to put the pressure on. Steve was sacked several times, the brothers in their enthusiasm apparently forgetting that the game was supposed to be touch football. During the game, one of the priests was roughed up so badly he had to be carried off the field. Another had a bad limp from a twisted knee. There was more than one bloody nose. After awhile, it looked as if the brothers’ plan was to win by attrition. As the day wore on, the game became more brutal. In all, five priests were injured, nevertheless, spectators and players all thought it was an exciting game. At one point, finding that both of his best pass receivers were on the sidelines due to injuries, Steve faked a pass and surprised a close-in pack of brothers by running right through them. It even surprised him. Almost fifty years old and he could still run like the wind.

  The game ended 36 to 24. As he walked off the field, a few of his team members whispered to him that although they had lost, it had been the best showing by the losing priests as far back as anyone could remember. Everyone was so up, there were actually silent ‘high fives’ between the priests and the brothers after the game. Standing on the sidelines, Brother Berard was visibly displeased by the display of fraternization. He began to think seriously of canceling
future football games but he changed his mind when he recalled that his monks needed some diversion and football was a wonderful way of burning off their pent up hostility. Besides, there would only be a few more Sundays left before the beginning of Lent at which time all such activities would cease.

  That evening, Steve was so stiff he could hardly walk to the refectory. Once inside, he swung his legs painfully over the bench of the picnic table to take his seat. As he did so, he saw furtive admiring glances from the priests sitting opposite. There was an extra ration of potatoes and some meat on his plate. And, in fact, as he glanced at the other plates, he saw that every table that had one or more football players had extra rations. One or two priests openly smiled in his direction. With the exception of his clandestine meetings with Elmer, the day of the football game gave him the first signs of recognition, not to mention approval, he had received from any of the other priests in the refectory.

  *****

  Steve slid the small rickety wooden door back. The speaker’s voice was familiar. It sounded like one of the brothers but Steve couldn’t put a face to it.

  “I killed a man, Father.”

  Steve was stunned. “What do you mean? How did it happen?”

  “Well, it wasn’t murder, if that’s what you’re thinking. It happened this afternoon. He was giving me a hard time...a very hard time, and I invited him out back of one of the buildings. I don’t think anybody saw us go back there. When we got there, he was mad and tried to get the jump on me, but two punches and he was down. I told him to get up but he just laid there. I went over and saw his face was white like the blood was gone. I couldn’t feel no pulse.”

  “Don’t you think the authorities should be notified? Does Brother Berard know of this?”

  “Brother Berard saw the body. It’s up to him. But look, I’m only here to make a confession and get absolution. I did what I had to do.”

  “It doesn’t sound to me as if you’re filled with remorse. Part of the forgiveness of the confessional is to be sorry for your sins.”

  “I’m sorry it happened, that’s all.”

  Steve thought a moment about the Seal of the Confessional. The penitent said he was sorry. Even if Steve didn’t believe it, there wasn’t much he could do. “For your penance,” he said, “I want you to say the Rosary one hundred times.”

  “That’s pretty stiff. Too stiff if you ask me. Besides, we don’t say the Rosary here.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s filled with Hail Mary’s.”

  “Well now’s your chance to begin a long overdue devotion to the Blessed Virgin. Let me ask you something. Are you one of the Passion Brothers?”

  “Yes, but what’s that got to do with anything? I’m a Catholic and I need absolution.”

  “Look a man is dead. You did it. You could have resolved the affair without killing him. Accept this penance or get out without absolution.”

  As the brother made an act of contrition, Steve gave him absolution. He closed the small rickety door. A moment later, in a rustle of monastic robes, the brother was gone.

  *****

  Around midnight that same night, Steve heard Elmer’s familiar tap on the door. Steve let him in. They sat on the cot. Elmer held the match as they lit up.

  “Big happenings here today, Steve. One of the priests was killed. None of us knows how. His body was found behind one of the buildings after he didn’t turn up for dinner. But I’ll bet one of the brothers did him in. Don’t know for sure.”

  Under the Seal of the Confessional, Steve felt he had to act surprised—as if he had not even heard of the incident. “Are they going to notify anyone? The coroner or the police? What about his family?”

  “Don’t know. The word is he had no living relatives. He was kind of a derelict. Boozing for years. If he had relatives, they must have abandoned him along the way.”

  “What if someone does inquire about him?”

  “If anyone asks, not that anyone outside is likely to, they’ll just say he was bitten by a scorpion or a rattlesnake, or maybe fell down and hit his head on a rock. If someone tries to investigate, it’ll come out that he had been an alcoholic. And the claim would be that his brain was shot. He didn’t know what he was doing. And there’s some truth to that because in therapy sessions, all he did was mumble. He never shut up—just constant angry muttering.”

  Steve shook his head. “I guess all we can do is pray for his soul. When is the funeral?”

  “He’s already buried. It was done right after dark tonight.”

  Steve sat in stunned silence. Just like that, a life is snuffed out. And a priest at that. No funeral Mass, no eulogy. But far more serious, no repercussions. No punishment. He thought back to what had happened in the confessional. He should have thrown that monk out. He suspected the contrition was not genuine. The brother had even balked at was a trivial penance compared to the killing.

  “Elmer, I’d like to see where they buried the priest.”

  “What’s the point? It’s a freshly dug grave. They haven’t even put a cross on it yet. And maybe they never will.”

  “I want to see it anyway,” Steve insisted.

  “Well come on,” Elmer said, “I’ll take you to it. It’s in the cemetery behind the mission church. It’s getting late… we’ll have to step on it.”

  A yellow moon was dipping down to the horizon on one of its erratic night swings as the two priests walked through the graveyard to the fresh mound of earth covering the grave. In the moonlight, Steve could see that it had been a quick sloppy job. He shuddered in the chilly air as a rattler slithered across the mound and disappeared into the night.

  As the two priests stood looking down at the dirt mound on the unmarked grave that held the body of a priest whose name would be forgotten, Steve made the Sign of the Cross over the grave. “Eternal rest grant unto him O Lord and let perpetual light shine upon him. Requiescat in Pace…” Rest in Peace.

  Before they left the small cemetery, Steve noticed two other freshly dug graves. “Who are they, I wonder?”

  “They’re two priests who died a few days ago. No foul play. They both had AIDS. They must have been homosexuals. You probably never saw them because they were moved to the clinic before you came.”

  “I saw the clinic and frankly I wasn’t impressed with it. It just looks like a place where the sick go to die. Let’s go back,” Steve whispered, as the pair inched along the portico past closed doors to Steve’s cell. They sat on the cot in the dark.

  “Tell me more about how to get in contact with that kid Jeremy. How often does he show up?”

  “Every couple of weeks. If you want cigarettes or want to send a letter, I can leave a note and money in the hole in the back wall. We can’t get much at one time because we’d have no place to hide it. But, Steve, let me read your mind. If you’re thinking of running away and having Jeremy take you out, there’s two problems. First of all, his runs are erratic. You could sit out there for three or four days never knowing when he’d show up and they’d be sure to catch you. On top of that, I doubt that he’d take you.”

  “Why not?”

  “He doesn’t mind making some money on the side and breaking the rules a bit by sneaking in contraband, but helping someone get out is a completely different ballgame. Way out here in the desert, Berard knows you don’t just walk away from this place. You need someone to supply transportation. Berard and the bishop in Tucson would come down hard on him if some priest just disappeared.”

  “I wasn’t thinking so much of getting out of here right now, but what about him delivering a letter for me?” Steve asked, thinking of the letter he had written to Janet.

  “You can try, but like I said, it could lie in the dirt on the other side of the wall for days, and as you know, we do get some rain once in awhile or some animal could pee or poop on it and it would just be a hunk of paper in the crud.”

  Steve got up and paced the floor. He lit a cigarette. He lit one for Elmer. “There’s som
ething that has me puzzled,” he said. “What about the priests who decide to resign? How do they get out?”

  “That’s a different situation. After a priest makes a request to dispense with his vows and if it’s approved by his bishop, Brother Berard makes the priest sign papers saying he’s not just leaving the monastery, he’s leaving the priesthood. It’s a formal document—you know with clauses renouncing any claims against the monastery and the Catholic Church, including an agreement never to file suit or get a book agent to produce a best seller. In return for that, the priest’s bishop agrees to let him remain in the faith, get married, whatever, sacraments and all. Then Brother Berard gives the man a grubstake of a few hundred bucks, a pat on the back and calls Jeremy to take him away. Case closed nice and clean. No scandal. If the priest later reneges on the deal, he is excommunicated. Few, if any priests want that. By the way, if this place gets to be too much for you, you can always get out that way. Of course, Berard first has to get permission from your bishop and probably also his bishop in Tucson.”

  “Not interested,” Steve replied, shaking his head. He threw the remains of his cigarette on the floor and stepped on it.”

  “That’s a no-no,” Elmer reminded him. “You’re gonna get your priestly little ass in trouble,”

  “What are you talking about? What else can they do to me after sending me to this place?”

  “Let me enumerate just a few things,” Elmer said, “although I believe I went through all this with you before. How’s about half-size portions at meals for openers? After all, the supplies come courtesy of Brother Berard. And there’s other things like no hosts for your Mass. Or maybe they just ran short of wine—only for your Mass, that is.”

  “But that’s harassment. It’s probably sacrilegious,” Steve contended.

  “You’re dealing with strange types here. The whole damn place has the makings of a sacrilege. There’s another little form of punishment I’ve seen them impose for rule breakers—no access to the washroom or the showers.”