Morte D'Urban

by J.F. Powers

  So Mr O’Hara wasn’t making idle conversation when he commented on Father Urban’s loss of weight, nor when he asked whether Father Urban’s head was still troubling him. At their last consultation, Mr O’Hara had told him to try standing on it for fifteen minutes just before retiring. “Did you do what I told you?”

  “I haven’t felt up to that. I did try letting it hang down over the edge of the bed.”

  “That’s better than nothing, but I wish you’d give the other a try when you feel up to it. Of course, you know what you should do.”

  “Yes. I’ve been thinking of that.”

  “You really should. Would you like me to make the arrangements? I could give him a ring tonight.”

  Father Urban thought this over, and then he said: “Would you?”

  “Sure. I won’t say it won’t cost you something, but I’ll ask him to make it easy on you. I’m taking a little more off the top than usual.”

  “Well, I hope it won’t come to that,” said Father Urban.

  Thus his case was referred to Mr O’Hara’s son, a big head specialist in Rochester.

  Father Urban went down by train. He stayed a week, and was given a thorough physical examination. Special attention, of course, was given to his head, X rays, electroencephalograms, and so on—the works. The results were negative.

  “Doesn’t show a thing,” said young Dr O’Hara, holding one of the X rays up to the light.

  “How do you mean that?” said Father Urban.

  Young Dr O’Hara sat down on the desk in Father Urban’s room at the hospital and put his feet on the chair. He didn’t inspire confidence somehow. “Perfectly normal,” he said.

  Father Urban still felt that something was wrong with his head. “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

  “Oh, but of course,” said young Dr O’Hara, with a big smile. “That’s one thing I believe in. Now let’s get this straight. There could be plenty wrong. It just wouldn’t show up. You can understand that, can’t you?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “When you get a little older, you know, the old machine develops a few knocks. You have to expect these things.”

  “I suppose you do. I just never had anything like it before.”

  “First time for everything, you know. Have you tried aspirin?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Didn’t help?”

  “Some. The trouble is I don’t know when these attacks are coming, and then it’s too late.”

  “You might try Anacin for faster relief. It won’t upset your stomach either.”

  “That’s what you recommend then?”

  “Yes, in a case like yours.”

  “I see.”

  “Of course, no two cases are alike.”

  “No, I suppose not. Well, thanks.”

  “Say hello to Dad,” said young Dr O’Hara, after making sure he had Father Urban’s correct address.

  POWWOW

  Present were the Rev. Fathers Wilfrid (Bestudik), John (Kelleher), and Urban (Roche), with Brother Harold (Peters) recording. The Rector called upon Father Urban for a prayer.

  RECTOR: Thank you, Father. Once again, I choose this day to meet with you—this day because it marks the Order’s second anniversary here. I’m happy to say that the past year was in every way better than the first one, and I thank you for making it so. You, Father Urban, and you, Father John, and you, too, Brother Harold. Without you, well . . .

  FR JOHN: Our thanks to you, Father.

  RECTOR: Thank you, Father.

  Financially, St Clement’s Hill was doing better than ever before, even though expenses were at an all-time high. What had been realized from retreats and weekend work in the past year was no little sum, but was nothing compared with the satisfaction there was in a job well done. Only last week, the Bishop was said to have said, “Those men have become an asset to the diocese.” Wasn’t that nice? That was how they wanted to keep it, and so they would continue their weekend work as long as it didn’t conflict with their obligations at the Hill. In any case, now that they weren’t going to St Monica’s, there would always be a man on duty at the Hill (Brother Harold would be there, too, of course), and the two men who did go out weren’t away as long as in the past, thanks to the station wagon. Nevertheless, there were problems. Several retreatants had complained about the coldness of their rooms. Perhaps more would have done so if they’d spoken their minds freely. Therefore, in the next few days, the Rector would install a blower in the furnace—rather, although this would cost money, would have one installed by local labor. (The blower itself was coming from the discount house in Minneapolis.) Thus the Rector was acting before the Hill got the reputation of being uncomfortable in the winter time. This was what the Rector called staying on top of a situation. He was also doing something about that bad place in the northwest corner of the roof. He had received a number of estimates, and had got the best possible deal, but the job was going to cost $92.50, not counting the cost of materials. It would begin as soon as these arrived from Minneapolis. After that, the attic would be insulated by the same contractor—an experienced man, presently unemployed, and his son—who would use insulation (Woolite) also on order from Minneapolis. Nobody at the Hill would have anything to do with these jobs, not even Brother Harold.

  RECTOR: Now, as for the holes in the eaves, have you noticed something? The squirrels have disappeared. It’s the same all around here. That last frost we had in the spring played hob with the nuts. Hard on the squirrels, of course, but a break for us.

  FR JOHN: Where’d they go?

  RECTOR: I understand they’ve migrated to the east of us, but they’ll be back next year. House seems awfully quiet at night.

  FR URBAN: We still have a mouse.

  FR JOHN: Yes, there’s one lives in the wall between our rooms.

  RECTOR: Does it bother you?

  FR JOHN: Oh no.

  RECTOR: Does it bother you, Father?

  FR URBAN: Oh no.

  RECTOR: Because if it does, maybe we can get rid of it. You have a mousetrap, Brother? No? Well, better buy one. We can always find use for it. And if there’s anything else you need, Brother, let me know. So much for that. Now then.

  More than forty religious orders would be represented at the upcoming Vocations Fair at the Catholic high school in Ostergothenburg. The Rector, after making several inquiries, had been invited to participate, and permission to do so had since been received from Chicago. So the Clementines would have a booth at the Fair. They would display their publications, among them the brochure, and would be ready to talk turkey with likely prospects. Probably most orders would let it go at that, and hope for the best. As always, the small orders would be at a disadvantage. The Clementines would not be favored by the location of their booth (between the Jesuits and the Dominicans), but the Rector and Brother Harold had come up with something that they hoped would not only redress the balance in their favor but would appeal to youngsters of high school age—an I.Q. test.

  RECTOR: I don’t have to tell you that everybody likes to take an I.Q. test. Now here are some of the questions. Please listen carefully. “Who was the Holy Founder of the Order of St Clement?”—“St Clement of Blois.” You realize, of course, that the questions and answers will be scrambled on the page. “Who was St Clement of Blois?”—“A Frenchman of noble birth.” Too easy, you think, but wait. “Was St Clement of Blois also known as Pope Clement?”—“No.” “Was St Clement of Blois a martyr?”—“Yes.” You can see it’s getting more difficult —and don’t forget these are high school students. “How did St Clement of Blois die?”—“He was slain by fanatics.” “How did fanatics slay St Clement of Blois?”—“They crushed him under a millstone.” Now a lot of ’em will give that answer to the previous question—“How did St Clement of Blois die?” They’d be right, of course, but it wouldn’t be the right answer. That’ll throw a lot of ’em, and some of the other questions are just as tricky. Well, that’s how it works. There are twenty
questions in all. There are twenty-one answers, however. One of the answers, H2O, has nothing to do with the questions. Now here’s how we grade the test. First we multiply the number of correct answers by ten, and then we subtract the number of minutes the student takes to complete the test. Let’s say a student gets eighteen right, and takes seven minutes. Ten times eighteen is a hundred and eighty. Subtract seven. That gives the student an I.Q. of 173. Now here’s what we’ll use to time them. Just an ordinary kitchen timer. I bought it today. Brother Harold’s been wanting one for some time, and when this is over, I’m going to let him have it. Well, what do you think? Father Urban?

  FR URBAN: Should make for conversation.

  RECTOR: That’s the idea, exactly—to get these kids talking and thinking about the Order. Even if they don’t do anything about it, they’ll learn a few facts they ought to know. You’d say it’s O.K. then?

  FR URBAN: Yes.

  RECTOR: Father John?

  FR JOHN: Yes.

  RECTOR: Good. I was afraid maybe you wouldn’t like it. Now then. As you know, since you voted, this was an election year. The outcome I now make known to you, as required by the Rule. Our Holy Founder, you’ll remember, was very clear on this point, and so we’ve never had the kind of situation that he aimed to prevent. Of course, communications are better nowadays. But be that as it may. The honor goes to one of our best men, as it should—and indeed as it always does, thanks be to God. About that I don’t think there’ll be much disagreement here. At least I hope not. I have the honor, then, the special honor, I might add . . .

  The Rector distributed copies of Regula S. Clementis necnon Rituale Ordinis Ejus.[1]

  RECTOR: Urbanus?[2]

  Urban?

  FR URBAN: Urbanus sum.

  I am Urban.

  RECTOR: Surge, Urbane. Si contigerit (quod Deus advertat) te carne esse depressum, peccato captivum, ignorantia caecum, exterioribus deditum, oremus: [Orant.]

  Rise Urban. [Urban does.] In the event (which God forbid) that you are depressed by the flesh, a prisoner to sin, blinded by ignorance, in bondage to creatures and things, let us pray: [They pray.]

  . . . utinam suaviter purgeris, ardenter afficiaris, misericors fias.

  That you be gently purged, ardently moved, and made merciful.

  FR URBAN: Amen.

  Let it be so.

  RECTOR: Scisne privatum dominum temerarios servos nutrire?

  Do you know that a familiar master breeds contemptuous servants?

  FR URBAN: Scio.

  I do.

  RECTOR: Num oportet me monere te de periculis in marsupiis latentibus?

  Need I speak to you of the dangers in pockets?

  FR URBAN: Non oportet. De marsupiis audivi, atque ea vitare volo tamquam occasiones peccatorum, etsi ipsa marsupia non sunt mala.

  No. Of them I have heard and will them avoid as occasions of sin, though in themselves they are not evil.

  RECTOR: Quae sunt tria angula veritatis?

  What are the three corners of truth?

  FR URBAN: Ratio, qua nos discutimus. Affectus, quo aliis miseremur. Puritas, qua ad invisibilia sublevamur.

  Reason, by which we examine ourselves. Love, by which we sympathize with others. Purity, by which we are lifted to invisible heights.

  RECTOR: Putas, primo homini profuit, licet ipse non libenter peccavit, quod se per uxorem, tanquam per carnis infirmitatem, defendit? Aut primi Martyris lapidatores, quoniam aures suas continuerunt, per ignorantiam excusabiles erunt?

  Did it profit the first man when he said he did not sin willingly, and advanced his wife, that is, the weakness of the flesh, in his defense? Will the stoners of the first martyr, because they would not listen, be pardoned for their ignorance?

  FR URBAN: Non erunt. Qui studio et amore peccandi a veritate se sentiunt alienatos, et infirmitate et ignorantia pressos, studium in gemitum, amorem in moerorem convertant, infirmitatem carnis fervore justitiae vincant, ignorantiam liberalitate repellant.

  Those who are estranged from truth by passion and pleasure in sinning, and who are overcome by weakness and ignorance, must surrender their passion to regret, their pleasure to sorrow, and conquer the infirmities of the flesh with the fire of justice, and meet ignorance with liberality.

  RECTOR: Cur?

  Why?

  FR URBAN: Ne si nunc egentem, nudam, infirmam veritatem ignorant, cum potestate magna et virtute venientem, terrentem, arguentem, sero cum rubore cognoscant, frustra cum tremore respondeant: Quando te vidimus esurientem, aut sitientem, aut hospitem, aut nudum, aut infirmum, aut in carcere, et non ministravimus tibi? Cognoscetur certe Dominus judicia faciens, qui nunc ignoratur misericordiam quaerens. Denique videbunt in quem transfixerunt: similiter et avari quem contempserunt. Beati enim mundo corde, quoniam ipsi Deum videbunt.

  Otherwise, if they fail to recognize truth as it appears now, needy, naked, and weak, they may not know it until it comes with great power and glory, terrible and indicting, and they may then redden and in vain answer in trembling voices: When did we see thee hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison and did not minister to thee? The Lord shall be known when he judges, if he is not known when he seeks mercy. Then they shall look on him whom they pierced with a lance, and likewise the avaricious on him whom they despised in their hearts. Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.

  RECTOR: Quomodo?

  How?

  FR URBAN: Per laborem humilitatis, per affectum compassionis, per excessum contemplationis. In primo veritas reperitur severa; in secundo pia; in tertio, pura. Ad primum ratio ducit. Ad secundum affectus perducit. Ad tertium puritas rapit.

  By the toil of humility, by the emotion of compassion, by the ecstasy of contemplation. In the first, truth is found harsh, in the second, loving, in the third, pure. Reason leads us to the first, Love brings us to the second, Purity carries us up to the third.

  RECTOR: Domine, abscondisti haec a sapientibus, et revelasti ea nobis.

  O, Lord, you have hid these things from the sapient and revealed them to us.

  FR URBAN: Amen.

  Verily.

  RECTOR: Num remanet ullum spei refugium, ubi oratio non invenit locum?

  Is there any safe harbor for hope where prayer finds no place?

  FR URBAN: Non remanet. Et si contigerit (quod Deus avertat) aliquem de nostris fratribus, non in corpore, sed in anima mori; quamdiu adhuc inter nos erit, pulsabo et ego meis qualiscumque peccator, pulsabo et fratrum precibus Salvatorem.

  No, and if it should happen (which God forbid) that any of our brethren should die, not in body, but in soul, so long as he is still among us I will besiege the Saviour, both with my own prayers, whatever a sinner can avail, and with those of the brethren.

  RECTOR: Visne, pro Dei amore omni obedientia te subjicere superioribus tuis?

  And will you, for the love of God, with all obedience, submit yourself to your superiors?

  FR URBAN: Volo.

  I will.

  RECTOR: Deinde ego, Wilfridus, voluntate Dei (in quantum cognosci potest a nobis) et voluntate fratrum tuorum constituo te Provincialem Ordinis S. Clementis, Provinciae Chicagiensis.

  Then I, Wilfrid, declare you, Urban, by the will of God (so far as we can know it) and by the will of your brethren, Provincial of the Order of St Clement of the Province of Chicago.

  FR URBAN: Amen.

  So be it.

  [1] The Rule of St Clement and the Rites of the Order.

  [2] From this point on the Rector and Father Urban spoke Latin.

  DIRGE

  SO, LATE IN November, Father Urban returned to the Novitiate as Father Provincial, and discovered what was expected of him there.