Henry of Atlantic City

by Frederick Reuss

  “I went for a walk before morning mass,” the priest said. “Sunrise is always more brilliant on cold mornings. Have you ever gotten up early to watch the sun rise?”

  Henry said when you create something and it turns out well and beautiful you can be proud of your creation. But if your creation turns against you because of some flaw it is useless to try to find the fault somewhere else. The fault is not in the creation, it is with the creator.

  Father Crowley didn’t say anything and kept driving. Then he said, “It’s going to be an interesting day, Henry. My friend is a priest and also a psychologist.”

  Henry asked what a psychologist was.

  “A psychologist is someone who studies what happens in people’s minds. Sometimes people talk to psychologists to try to understand what they are thinking and feeling.”

  Henry asked if that meant psychologists had foreknowledge of the Perfect Mind.

  “Would you mind explaining what you mean by that?”

  Henry said ennoia was the Greek word for thought. It was Ennoia who came forth from the mind of the Father of the All and that’s how the creation was started.

  “Interesting. Which book did that come out of, Henry?”

  Henry said it was from The Apocryphon of John.

  “Try reading the real John, Henry. The Gospel of John says, At the beginning of time the Word already was, and God had the Word abiding with him and the Word was God. Dr. Alt will be interested in hearing what you have to say. I’m sure he knows all about The Apocryphon of John.”

  Henry asked again if psychologists had foreknowledge of the Perfect Mind.

  “I wouldn’t know what to say, Henry. It’s quite possible.”

  Henry said Ennoia performed a deed and Barbelo came forth and appeared before him in the shine of his light, the first power that came forth from his mind, the Pronoia of the All.

  “Comic books, that’s all it is. You might as well be reading comic books. You have an amazing gift, Henry. It’s a gift from God. I only wish you were able to give some thought to what it is you are saying.”

  Henry said the world was created when God thought the first thought, which was the thought of Himself.

  The priest turned into the driveway of the hospital and parked the car. He turned off the engine and sat for a minute. Then he said, “I suppose you could put it like that, Henry. It’s a very nice way of putting it, as a matter of fact. But where does it lead you?”

  Henry said it was selfish to think of yourself first and that’s where God made the first mistake and plunged the world into creation. But the priest didn’t hear him because he had already gotten out of the car. “Come along, Henry.”

  In the hospital Father Crowley said, “Mrs. Fontane is a very old woman and very ill. I want you to be polite and respectful.”

  “Good morning, Father, I hope you’re not here to give me the last rites,” Mrs. Fontane said when they entered the room.

  Father Crowley smiled. “Good morning. Good morning.” Then he introduced Henry.

  “Come closer,” the old lady said. Henry stood next to the bed. Mrs. Fontane touched his cheek with her hand. “Now, are you one of Laura’s?”

  “No, Mrs. Fontane. Henry’s a new pupil at the school. We’re going to spend the day together.”

  Mrs. Fontane’s eyes were milky and blue and her hair was almost all gone and she was propped up on big pillows that made her look small. There was a bottle hanging upside down with a tube going into the back of one of her hands. She took some teeth out of a glass that was next to her bed and put them into her mouth but they didn’t make her look any better.

  “I’m glad to see that you’re feeling more comfortable.”

  “I’m as comfortable as someone about to croak can be,” Mrs. Fontane said.

  “You certainly seem in fine spirits.”

  “Has my lawyer contacted you yet?”

  “We’re scheduled to meet next week.”

  “It’s about time,” Mrs. Fontane said. “What’s taking him so long?”

  “As far as I can tell, everything is in good order.”

  “It damn well better be,” she said and looked at Henry. “Young man, if you ever want to become rich you had better become a priest or a lawyer. They’re the ones who really know how to take advantage of old ladies. Right, Father?”

  “It’s usually doctors at the top of the list, Mrs. Fontane.”

  Mrs. Fontane made a wheezing noise and wiped her chin with her hand. “Well, I’m at their mercy too. But at least I can understand what they’re talking about a little better.”

  “That’s generous.”

  “Doctors are like libertines. They’re only aroused by extreme circumstances.”

  Father Crowley picked up a fat book that was on her bedside table. A surprised look came over his face. “Mrs. Fontane!”

  “Are you shocked, Father?”

  Father Crowley fanned the pages of the book with his thumb. It was called One Hundred and Twenty Days of Sodom. “Yes. I am. I don’t—I don’t know what to say.”

  “Then don’t say anything, Father. I always wanted to read the Marquis de Sade. I wish I had read it earlier. Have you read it?”

  “I certainly haven’t! It’s pure pornography.”

  “You could call it that, Father. But you’d only be missing the point.” She coughed into her hand. “I find it extremely entertaining, Father.” She giggled in an old-lady way. “De Sade is a riot.”

  The priest picked up the book again and opened it and read a page. “I wish you wouldn’t say that, Mrs. Fontane. In my opinion this is sinful.”

  “Now, now, Father, what’s so sinful about an old woman amusing herself on her deathbed? De Sade is really very harmless. And very, very imaginative.” She tried to laugh but began to cough and a nurse came in.

  “I’m afraid we have to leave,” Father Crowley said. “Would you like to say a prayer?”

  The old lady nodded and the priest took her hand and bowed his head and they said a short prayer together. When they were finished the nurse adjusted Mrs. Fontane on her pillows and asked if she would like some juice.

  “Do you really think it’s a sin, Father?” She smiled and her teeth slipped.

  “I do. Yes. And I can’t imagine why you would want to read such trash.”

  “The marquis says that Nature, despite all her disorder, is often sublime, even at her most depraved,” Mrs. Fontane said. “Come back tomorrow. If I’m still alive we can talk about that.”

  “I don’t have to wait until tomorrow. I’ll tell you right now that I see nothing depraved about Nature.”

  Mrs. Fontane lifted both her arms with all the plastic tubing and held them up in front of her like two bent twigs. “Oh no, Father?” she said.

  The priest put a hand on her forehead and made the sign of the cross. Mrs. Fontane closed her eyes and Henry could see her eyelids twitching. Then the priest blessed himself and said, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen.”

  Henry was standing near the foot of Mrs. Fontane’s bed and said no one will hide a large valuable object in something large, but many a time one has tossed countless thousands into something worth a penny.

  “What was that, young man?” Mrs. Fontane tried to lift her head from her pillow. She gestured for him to come around to the side of the bed. “What did you mean by that?”

  Henry said compare the soul, it is a precious thing and it came to be in a contemptible body.

  Father Crowley took Henry’s hand and pulled him away from the bed. “Don’t take it personally, Mrs. Fontane. Henry is a—well, let’s say he’s special.” Then he tried to lead Henry away.

  “Wait. Let him be, Father.”

  The priest let go.

  “I’ve just read that there is nothing more delicious than meting out punishments. I can’t think of my condition as anything but a punishment.” She looked sad. Nobody said anything. “For the life of me, I just can’t understand it.”

/>   “The Lord often asks us to accept that which we cannot understand. Perhaps the Book of Job would be more appropriate reading now. I’m sorry. But it really is time for us to go.” He took Henry’s hand again.

  “Hold on a moment, Father,” she said and began to read: “In that nothing was more delicious than meting out punishments, in that nothing prepared the way for so many pleasures…”

  “Please, Mrs. Fontane, we really have to go.”

  Mrs. Fontane put the book aside. “The idea that punishment and pleasure can be linked! Father, do you think it is possible that God is enjoying all this?”

  “Mrs. Fontane, please. I’d be happy to talk with you some other time. Now is really not appropriate.”

  Henry said the world came about through a mistake. For he who created it wanted to create it imperishable and immortal. He fell short of attaining his desire.

  “That’s quite enough.” Father Crowley led Henry toward the door.

  Mrs. Fontane closed her eyes. “Good-bye, Father.” Then she opened her eyes. “Good-bye to you, young man, and thank you for coming.”

  “I’ll come again tomorrow—with some books that might interest you.”

  “Save your books, Father. Piety is the worst disease of the soul.”

  The priest ushered Henry out of the room and they left the hospital. Father Crowley didn’t say anything the whole way except that Mrs. Fontane was very old and very, very ill.

  Dr. Alt arrived at the rectory just as Father Crowley and Henry were getting out of the car. He parked his car next to Father Crowley’s and when he got out Father Crowley went up to him and they shook hands and talked for a minute in quiet voices. Then Father Crowley touched Dr. Alt on the elbow and the two walked over to where Henry was sitting on the steps. Dr. Alt walked with a cane.

  “Henry, this is Dr. Alt.”

  Dr. Alt held out his hand and Henry shook it. “I’m pleased to meet you, Henry.” He was much older than Father Crowley, with big glasses and bushy eyebrows. He also had an accent and was either an Ostrogoth or a Visigoth or a Vandal but Henry didn’t know which one for sure. When he walked he leaned over his cane and he wore the same black suit and collar as Father Crowley except instead of polished black shoes he wore white running shoes. He didn’t look like someone who had foreknowledge of the Perfect Mind.

  Father Crowley led them into the sitting room. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  “Take your time,” Dr. Alt said. There was a fire in the fireplace and a plate of cookies on the table. The old doctor sat down in a chair by the fire and took off his glasses and began to clean them with a handkerchief.

  Henry looked at the bookshelves to see if there was anything new but it all looked like the same stuff and he took a cookie and then put it back because he didn’t want to fall for any tricks.

  Dr. Alt put his glasses back on and then blew his nose on the handkerchief. “Well now, Henry. Father Crowley tells me you have an interest in gnosticism.”

  Henry looked at the fire and didn’t say anything.

  “Maybe we have something in common. Tell me, Henry. How did you come to such an unusual—hobby?”

  Henry said he didn’t know and just then Father Crowley came into the room and asked if he could join them.

  “Of course. Please. We are just getting started.” Then Dr. Alt asked Henry to tell him how he had heard about the gnostics.

  Henry said from The Coptic Gnostic Library.

  The doctor stared at Henry from under his bushy eyebrows. Father Crowley got up from where he was sitting and began to walk around the room with his hands behind his back. Henry looked back at the old man and tried to see through him but all he could see was a swirl of leathery wrinkles and a bushy gray mustache and a faint light in his eyes that glowed like numina. He asked the priest if he had any money.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Henry likes playing games,” Father Crowley said.

  The doctor leaned over and reached into his pocket and took out an old leather change purse and opened it and fished around for a coin. Finally he took out a quarter and gave it to Henry between pinched fingers. “Think of it as a token of friendship,” he said.

  Henry said he would do that and rubbed the quarter on his pants until it shone.

  “Could you tell me about the books you’ve been reading?”

  Henry said he had lots of books.

  “Do you know the titles?”

  Henry said he had all the books of Procopius and also The Coptic Gnostic Library.

  The old man nodded. “That’s a sizable collection of books. Have you ever discussed them with anyone?”

  Henry said they weren’t the kind of things you discussed.

  “Why not?”

  Because Sy said so.

  The brushes over the doctor’s eyes went up for a moment, then fell back into place. “Go on.”

  Sy said you had to keep the things you take seriously to yourself. Then Henry asked the doctor for some more money.

  “I don’t want to play that game right now, Henry. I’d like to hear whatever it is you feel like saying. If you don’t want to say anything, that’s fine too.”

  Henry said the word is one in silent grace.

  “While it was yet the depth of His thought, the word which first emerged revealed a mind which speaks.” The doctor finished the sentence for him. “You see. I know it too.”

  Henry asked for another quarter.

  “Okay,” the doctor said. He leaned over again and took out his change purse.

  Henry asked the old doctor if he had foreknowledge of the Perfect Mind.

  The old man was silent for a moment. Then he smiled and said, “Only as far as it dwells within us as an image of God.”

  Henry wanted to ask what that meant but before he could Dr. Alt asked Father Crowley if he’d ever met Henry’s father.

  “No. I missed both chances. It’s too bad. I might have gotten to the bottom of things.”

  Dr. Alt turned back to Henry. “Would you like to tell me a little about what it’s like to live in Atlantic City? It’s a place I’ve never been to.”

  Henry didn’t know what to say.

  “Can you describe it to me?”

  Henry said yes and he could get to the bottom and underneath too.

  Dr. Alt chuckled and looked at Father Crowley. “Please do.”

  There were cisterns and basilicas all over Byzantium but there was only one that was called the Basilica Cistern because it was built underneath the Stoa Basilica, which was between the Phosphorion Harbor and the Forum of Constantine. It supplied water to the Palace and was so big and dark inside that you had to have a boat to get around and torches to light the way. It had three hundred thirty-six huge columns topped with Corinthian capitals and a high, vaulted ceiling, but instead of mosaics as decoration there was only moss and fungus and other things that grew in dark, wet places, and instead of the sound of prayers and the smell of incense all you could hear was a steady dripping and lapping of water and all you could smell was a cold, fertile dampness.

  The priests didn’t say anything. They waited for Henry to continue.

  Once Henry’s father took him through it. In a boat.

  “Is that so?” the old doctor said and leaned forward a little.

  Henry nodded.

  “What were you doing there?”

  Looking for corpses.

  “Corpses? Why would you want to do that?”

  Enemies of the Palace were dumping them into the water to ruin it for drinking. The boat had a long, curved prow and they built a fire in a large clay pot in the middle of the boat that gave off as much light as twenty torches. An old Armenian freed slave guided the boat through the underground caverns and told Henry to keep his eyes open because if you fell asleep underground you might never find the way back out.

  “A fascinating story, young man. Is there more?”

  Henry nodded and told them about a monk who came to Byzantium because his order was
being persecuted and he and the other monks who lived with him in the wilderness agreed that the only way to stop the persecution was to petition the emperor. The emperor was away at his retreat on the Black Sea with his generals.

  “What kind of monk?”

  Henry said he didn’t know but maybe a Montani or a Sabbatiani or one of those kinds that were always being persecuted. Procopius said the emperor had to keep tabs on the monks because they could make trouble. They got ideas because they had so much time to think and if they began to write them down and spread them around things could go bad fast. The streets of Byzantium were filled with monks and priests and ordinary people who were persecuted and forced to give up their beliefs but most people had either given up their beliefs because they didn’t make sense anymore or they were like Sy and believed in everything because they were afraid to rule anything out.

  “That’s very interesting,” Dr. Alt said.

  Henry said it didn’t matter if you were a Christian or a Jew. When you worked at the Palace you had a job to do and everyone was happy that way.

  “What about Sy? I’d like to hear more,” Dr. Alt said.

  Henry said well, Sy was sort of like a monk, and he was a blackjack dealer too.

  “Henry is a great storyteller, Father. But his stories are very confused,” Father Crowley said.

  Dr. Alt said, “That’s all right. Go on, Henry.”

  Henry said Sy didn’t want to rule anything out and that made him different from everybody else and also he had a head for numbers. That’s why the emperor gave him a Christmas present.

  “Yes?”

  Henry said Sy wasn’t like most people at the Palace. He wanted to rule everything in and worked toward his full orgastic capacity by sitting in a box so that he could feel the pulse of the universe.

  Dr. Alt laughed. “That’s marvelous. Did you hear that, Father?”

  Father Crowley stood up and walked to the other side of the room. “I did, and I don’t want to hear any more of that kind of talk, young man.”

  Dr. Alt waved his hand. “Don’t worry, Father. He’s just talking like a Reichian!” The old doctor laughed. “Did Sy talk about orgastic capacity?”

  Henry nodded.

  “Could you tell me more about what happened around the Palace?”