Cry Wilderness
Page 20
“‘I know you have looked for my chapel. It is a four-by-five, head-high cave I fashioned on the seldom-seen far side of the Obsidian Dome near Deadman’s Summit. Its door, made of saplings and small pieces of obsidian, blends right into an obsidian slide. I roll away a large piece and pull open the camouflaged door. Three small Jeffrey pines both shade and hide my hideaway. The inside is a miniature chapel in which I have lived and said daily mass for twenty-five years.
‘‘‘This morning I said my last mass, closed the rock door, kissed it, and, surrendering myself completely to God, I walked away in the deep snow, facing the icy wind.
“‘Some ten minutes later, I heard distant roaring sounds. I saw two specks in the distance coming in my direction. Two men in snowmobiles arrived and hurriedly introduced themselves as Father Savage, the priest of the local church, and Bishop Buddy, head of the diocese. Father Savage said that he had heard me tell my story in the courthouse, and that he had immediately notified his bishop, who in turn called my diocese in New Jersey to tell them about me and my belief that God would never forgive my sin. And that their answer was, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! Of course, God has forgiven him. Tell him to come right back to his parish, because we desperately need him here to replace many priests who have been martyred in Africa. Put him on a plane and get him here as fast as you can.’”
Smiling from ear to ear, Lefty turned to us and exclaimed, “How about that, huh!” We all cheered. “Wait,” said Lefty. “There’s a little more.”
He read on. “‘And so, Mr. Lefty, by the time you read this I’ll be on a plane flying back to New Jersey, and I’m sure people will think I’m crazy because I’ll be laughing and crying at the same time. How great and how merciful is our God! I keep saying, ‘Here I am, Lord. I come to do Your will.’ And, Mr. Lefty, you’ve never seen a happier man than I am at the moment. So goodbye, dear friend. And God’s grace and blessings be with you and your wonderful family forever.
“‘Yours in Christ,
“‘Father “Dry Rot” Terence.’”
Well, there was whooping, cheering, and dancing in the paddy wagon. Lefty turned on his siren. Then, picking up a communicating mike and identifying himself, he shouted, “Chief, turn on your siren, Dry Rot’s on his way back to New Jersey as a priest again. And the rest of you guys turn on your sirens, and let’s give Dry Rot a great send-off!”
Sirens on all sheriff cars and highway equipment came on and deputies and working stiffs all shouted to each other, “Atta boy, Dry Rot!” And the word got back to June Lake, where the stores hung up “Closed” signs, and the bars ran out of liquor. “Atta way to go, Dry Rot.”
END