The Mirror Apocalypse

by John Ayang

  “May he rest in peace,” he added.

  “Amen,” responded the crow, as before.

  “Since Almighty God has called our brother, his priest, Cletus McCarthy, to his eternal rest…” Fr. Polanski continued, purposefully raising his tone to emphasize the words, his priest. “We now commit his body to the Earth, from which he was made.”

  At Fr. Polanski’s pronouncement of “his priest,” Jennifer, who had rested her head on Barbara’s shoulder, started slightly. Barbara, noticing her quick, reflexive move, threw her arm around Jennifer and gently pulled and coaxed her to lay her head back on her chest. Ever since the bitter news of Cletus McCarthy’s accident and death filtered back to them in Houston, the four women—Hannah, Barbara, Crystal, and Jennifer—had forged such a close bond that they couldn’t let go of their hands whenever they were together. Their pictures even appeared in the Houston Chronicle and other papers. In every case, they were always depicted locking themselves together by the crook of their arms. It was as though they were always telling the world, ‘he belonged to us four, and we belonged to him’. It was always a very moving sight, all the women in Fr. Cletus McCarthy’s life. Jennifer cooperatively lay her head back on Barbara’s chest, reaching out at the same time to rub Hannah’s forearm. Jennifer’s thoughts were inundated with Barbara’s words of admonition. She was not to grieve enough to the point of distressing the child in her womb. She understood her perfectly well, also being a nurse, and knew the implications of fetal distress and possible miscarriage. Jennifer wanted to avoid a miscarriage at all costs.

  “That’s him living inside you,” Barbara kept reminding her in the days leading up to the funeral. “That child is the only handle you’ve got on him. Lose that, and you lose everything of the person you loved so dearly.” Jennifer thought that was the most profound way to perpetuate the memory of Cletus McCarthy. And it was a very real one. She was carrying his child and, metaphorically speaking, she was carrying Cletus McCarthy in her womb. Though she had lost Cletus McCarthy, a Cletus McCarthy was growing inside her. The first Cletus McCarthy came from a test tube, produced, not begotten, according to Catholic doctrine. However, the second Cletus McCarthy would come from her womb, begotten not produced, according to Catholic doctrine. He would be the new beginning for the McCarthy family; he would start the lineage of the begotten, not the produced or adopted. She would name him Cletus. As she used to call the first Cletus, ‘Cousin’, she would call the second Cletus, ‘Cletus Cousin McCarthy’. She smiled at the awkwardness of the name and was again startled by the abruptness of the loud chant from the choir of priests who erupted in one great Salve Regina to conclude the graveside service for Cletus McCarthy

  Salve Regina, Mater misericordiae,

  vita dulcedo, et spes nostra salve.

  Ad te clamamus, exsules filii Hevae.

  ad te suspiramus, gementes et flentes.

  in hac lacrimarum valle.

  Eia ergo, ad vocata nostra, illos tuos

  misericordes oculos ad nos converte;

  et Jesum,benedictum fructum ventris tui,

  nobis post hoc exilium ostende.

  O clemens. O pia, O dulcis, Virgo Maria.

  Houston, Texas

  Memorial Day, May 26, 2014

  JENNIFER LAY HER bouquet of flowers at the base of the marble tomb marker for Cletus Nicholas McCarthy, in Rest Haven Cemetery, and stood beside the baby stroller, looking pensively for a few seconds at her seven-month old son, sleeping peacefully in it. Then she sat down, cross-legged, facing the tombstone. The baby had come in October, 2013, exactly nine months and three weeks from when he was conceived. She had named him Cletus McCarthy, Jr., a name that pleased Stephen and Hannah McCarthy, since it perpetuated the memory of their son. She had not inserted “Cousin” as his middle name, though she originally intended to do so. It sounded awkward. And so, she decided to leave it out and only use it as a nickname. And besides, born on the memorial of St. Ignatius of Antioch, there was little debate that his middle name should be Ignatius. In the end, everybody opted to stay with just Cletus McCarthy, Jr.

  She was not working on Memorial Day and, so, decided to pay a visit to the tomb of the man she loved, the father of her baby. It was a few minutes before 4:00 in the afternoon and there were a handful of other families milling around the cemetery honoring their dead loved ones by placing flowers on their graves. Stephen and Hannah McCarthy were going to join her at 4:30. It was a little family ritual they had begun on Memorial Day in 2013. On that occasion, after joining hands and standing around the grave and praying, Stephen had pronounced that the family would be doing that as an annual remembrance of Cletus.

  Rest Haven Cemetery was breezy that day. It was cozily cool, also, because of the numerous oak, piquant, and acacia trees which provided large portions of shaded areas from the sun. The sun itself was bright, but not really hot. It was late spring. The shrubs lining the edge of the cemetery grounds and the lawns around the Funeral Chapel were in full bloom. Their flowers blended with the ones brought by families to lay on the grave of their loved ones to produce a pleasantly idyllic ambient so delightful to the eyes. Jennifer thought the name of the cemetery was very apt because it was seductively restful and peaceful. Was that how Heaven would feel? If it was this peaceful and restful on Earth, maybe it was one hundred times so in Heaven. If so, Cousin Cletus was having a swell time over there. She stared at the tombstone and smiled absent-mindedly. She felt peaceful, healed and contented. Maybe Cousin Cletus was fanning her from above, fanning his sleeping baby. Maybe he was looking down at them, very happy that they had come to visit him.

  Jennifer had never thought she would get over the loss of Cletus McCarthy. It devastated her. The only thing that kept her going was the knowledge that she was carrying his baby inside her. She was determined to make sure nothing distressed the baby which might possibly lead to a miscarriage. Barbara Horacek had been her guardian angel in the meantime, prodding her, admonishing her, gently coaxing her and goading her on. Hannah McCarthy did the same to a lesser degree because she herself was almost a wreck from grief. Then all of them had taken turns counselling Crystal, never letting her out of their sight, in case she tried to harm herself out of anger for losing her newfound brother. The men had reacted in different ways, but generally did better than the women. Stephen McCarthy consoled himself with large gulps of Kentucky Bourbon. John McCarthy wreaked of Havana cigars, which he chain smoked to calm his nerves.

  Josh played violent video games on his android tablet and cursed when he missed a villain, causing Hannah to take a break from sobbing and sniffling to chide, “Josh, mind your language,” and then go back to sobbing again. Trevor and Emma Henson visited every other day to spend time with them. Greg Sullivan and Fr. Polanski swung over at least twice a week. Members of Our Lady Queen of Peace and St. Monica Churches visited in groups and on various days to show solidarity. It was almost three months before the constant stream of visitors to the McCarthy house slacked off. Stacy visited quite often in John’s company, and on one occasion, visited with her parents, Patricia and Geoffrey Donovan, Sr. All in all, the McCarthys were not short-changed in condolences and sympathies. At one point, they even began to wish the rest of the world would let them have some private time to themselves, to heal faster. They were particularly concerned about Jennifer and the baby, and, of course, shielded her from most of the visitors.

  The Horaceks had their fair share of sympathizers. Barbara’s house was a revolving door to her nurse colleagues at Baylor Methodist Hospital, and elsewhere. Ima and Edidiong Eshiet visited and, together, they had all visited the McCarthys to express their profound sympathy. Edidiong assured the McCarthys that although he disagreed with Fr. McCarthy’s treatment of them, and sought redress in court, he would never dream of wishing any of the McCarthys dead. He took refuge in an African proverb: “As our people say, ‘It is better to have a sibling to fight with, than to have none’.�
� The McCarthys were touched by the visit from the Eshiets and assured them that they harbored no more hard feelings. It seemed like an aeon before the stream of visitors finally stopped for the McCarthys to move on with their lives.

  Late July of that year, Barbara Horacek was able, finally, to resign from Baylor Methodist Hospital and her teaching job at the college. She and Crystal moved back to Norfolk, where Crystal enrolled in the prelims in the School of Medicine and Health Sciences. She later learned from Edo-Mma that Kelechi had returned back from Nigeria and he and Josh had joined the Air Force. Edo-Mm herself had been admitted to study neuroscience at Rice University. They had sworn over phone calls and texts to remain friends forever, despite what had happened.

  The weeks and months following the death of Cletus McCarthy were very interesting. It brought out the best in people, even those who initially were upset with them for flouting the Church moral teaching against IVF. Jennifer experienced an uncommon show of solidarity and understanding from her colleagues at St. Luke’s Hospital in the Woodlands, where she worked. She made more friends among her co-workers than she had made when Cletus was alive. In fact, all that came to a head, when at 4 a.m., on the morning of Friday, October 17, 2013, her water broke as she was taking the vital signs of one of her patients to prepare her for a procedure. Jennifer was rushed to the maternity unit of the hospital, where she gave birth to a six-pound-eleven-ounce baby boy. Dr. Nguyen kept her at the hospital for a full week before releasing her and the baby to go home. By then, Cletus, Jr. had grown to weigh almost twelve pounds.

  As if on cue, little Cletus woke and tried to turn over in his stroller. He gasped and stuttered, then yelled a cry of protest. Jennifer woke from her revelry, jumped up, and rushed to attend to the needs of her little boss.

  “There, Cousin. There, there!” she coaxed. “What you need? You need Momma? I’m here, my love. My little king. We came to see your dada. Come here,” she said as she picked him up and sat him in the crook of her arm, rocking him gently. “We came to see Dada. You wanna talk to Dada. Here, talk to Dada.” She sat down again, cross-legged, and sat the baby down within her crossed legs and leaned him on her belly and chest. “Talk to Dad. Call him. Dada! You see, Dada was a very intelligent man, strong and friendly. Well… a little self-willed sometimes,” she said, bobbing her head from side to side to indicate she could tolerate that trait in him. “He was a priest for a while, almost eight years, but then something happened, and he resigned.” Little Cletus gave a grunt and a feeble squeal. “No. You won’t understand,” Jennifer continued, as though she was having a conversation with her little baby. “But you will understand when you grow up. I’ll tell you his story again. I’ll fill you in on the details. For now, though, you won’t understand. I can tell you that he left before you were born. He was called to Heaven by God. This is where we buried his remains. So, that is why we’re sitting here.” Little Cletus gave a joyful shriek, splashing the air with his little hands. “No, you cannot see him, but he sees us. You can talk to him, though. I know you’re not talking yet. You can call him Dada. You wanna call him Dada? Say Dada. Dada. Say Dada.” Little Cletus pointed a tiny pinkie at the tombstone. “Yes, that is Dada. Call him Dada.” Little Cletus shrieked again joyfully and energetically splashed the air again with his little hands. Then he shrieked and uttered, “Ta-ta, ta-ta, ta-ta,” and pointed again at the tombstone. “Yes, call him Dada. That’s Dada.”

  “No. That’s not me, son,” a man’s voice said, firmly, from behind Jennifer. “I’m this way, son. That’s only a tombstone. I’m here. Dada is here.”

  “What?!” Jennifer swirled around at the voice and saw a thirtyish-looking, handsome man in a bowler hat, suit, and tie. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “It’s me, Jenny,” the man said, calling her by the endearing name that only one person used to call her. He moved closer and squatted. Jennifer recoiled violently and began shouting, hugging little Cletus very tight to her chest, struggling to get up at the same time.

  “Who are you? What do you want? Stay away from me and my son, or I am going to shout!”

  “Jenny, take a hold of yourself,” the man said harshly, almost whispering. “Don’t shout. It’s me, Cletus Nicholas McCarthy.

  “What?!” Jennifer exclaimed loudly, in spite of herself. “You…?”

  “Yeah, me. I thought you would recognize me right away,” Cletus replied, smiling inanely at her discomfiture. “It’s not a ghost. It’s me. It wasn’t me. It’s me,” he felt stupid babbling and decided to rush out his explanation before Jennifer caused a row at the cemetery.

  “No! No! This isn’t real! No! I’m dreaming!” Jennifer yelled, struggling to her feet and slowly backing away.

  “Will you stop and listen? Pull yourself together!” Cletus almost snarled at her in frustration. “It wasn’t me in the accident. I survived. I mean, I was involved, but I survived. I did not die in the accident.”

  “How do I know you’re not a ghost?” Jennifer asked, looking wildly incredulous and suspicious. “How do I know you’re real, and it is you?”

  “You can touch me,” Cletus said, removing his hat. “I am not a ghost.” Then he swore, “Jesus Christ, Jenny! You’re now making me play Jesus before the frightened apostles at His first appearance. Look, before you touch me, look at your far right.”

  Stephen and Hannah McCarthy were walking toward them. Hannah was waving and seemed to be laughing at the same time. Then Hannah broke into a strut to get to the scene before the little drama got out of hand.

  “Jennifer. It’s Cletus. ‘Cousin’ Cletus, not a ghost,” Hannah said, excitedly, trying unsuccessfully to hold back her laughter at Jennifer’s still clutching little Cletus protectively and half turning away from Cletus, Sr. “I had the same reaction when I opened the door and saw him.”

  “Won’t you tell her how you ran away shrieking?” Stephen McCarthy teased his wife.

  Little Cletus shrieked at seeing his grandmother.

  “Yes, my little angel. It’s Nana. Come here,” she said, taking him from Jennifer, who let go of the baby grudgingly, still looking confused. “Let’s go home before people notice us, please.”

  “Come on, Jennifer. Let’s go,” Stephen McCarthy said, beginning to wheel the stroller toward where he parked their car.

  “Jenny, relax and pull yourself together. I am real. I am not a ghost. It’s a long story. Let’s get home and I’ll tell you everything. I witnessed the accident. In fact, I almost got involved in it, but I escaped it by a fraction of a second. I like the fact that everybody believes I died. It gives me the room to begin life again without the old baggage and without people always staring at me with unwanted curiosity.”

  “But…?” Jennifer turned and looked at the tombstone where she had laid her bouquet.

  “Yeah. Someone else’s ashes are down there, not mine. It wasn’t my time yet and God did not want me to die. I know the flowers were for me, but leave them there. The poor guy down there probably needs ‘em more than I do. Let’s go,” Cletus McCarthy said and started walking in the direction where he parked his car. Then he turned to his mother and asked, “Mom, can I please hold my son for the first time?”

  “Oh, sure, son. Hold,” Hannah said, handing him the baby, who looked at the face of the stranger with quiet curiosity.

  “Auntie, Hannah?” Jennifer found her voice.

  “Yes, dear. Are you okay?” Hannah asked.

  “Pinch me,” Jennifer said. “Pinch me so I can wake up. I think this might still be a dream.”

  “Okay. There,” Cletus McCarthy said, pinching her hard on her forearm.

  “Ouch! That hurts!” Jennifer protested.

  “Well, at least you’re awake,” Cletus said. “And you asked for it.” Hannah and Stephen laughed.

  “I asked Auntie Hannah to pinch me, not you,” Jennifer said, and beat Cletus on the shoulder with her purse. Then sh
e added in a loud whisper, “Ghost!”

  Stephen, Hannah, and Cletus McCarthy broke out again, laughing. Cletus Junior, not wanting to be left out, shrieked loudly with joy as the little group walked to their vehicles to drive home.

  The thirty-minute drive from Rest Haven Cemetery to Hollow Wood Circuit took ages because of the traffic. Cletus McCarthy thought too many folks spent their Memorial Day holiday behind wheels on the roads than they did beside their barbeque pits and beer coolers. Eventually, they made the exit to Saw Tooth Canyon Drive and then wheeled onto Hollow Wood Circuit. He put on his long coat and bowler hat and looked like Sherlock Holmes incarnate, stoutly walking in to investigate a crime scene. His disguise hugely paid off. It would have taken a close acquaintance quite a while to recognize him as Cletus McCarthy. If the neighbors noticed him, they probably thought a gentleman from the FBI was visiting the McCarthy’s for some more information on Cletus McCarthy’s death a year and three months earlier. Or, that a wealthy gentleman courting the single mother, Jennifer, was just visiting with her for the holiday. He moved briskly inside the house. Jennifer followed with little Cletus. Then Hannah and Stephen brought up the rear, with Stephen dragging the stroller after him.

  Once inside, he relaxed and started shedding his disguise. He hung his great coat and suit on the back rest of a chair, and dropped his hat on top of the television set. Then he took little Cletus from Jennifer and sat down, looking at the child’s face with a smile.

  “He’s a chip off the old block, son,” Stephen McCarthy said, putting the stroller by the corner near the big couch. “In a few months, he’ll be quite a handful.”

  “Yep. I can see every bit of me in him,” Cletus concurred with his father. “Let’s just pray he doesn’t grow up stringing bad luck like his dad.” Jennifer moved closer and gingerly laid a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it gently and looking him over slowly, like a prospective buyer appreciating a horse before making a final offer.