But he was most troubled by the tortuous logic and twisted rationalizing so evident in Father Deutsch’s presentation. Given this self-serving thinking, what could be condemned? What could be justified? How much influence did Deutsch have over Nash? How much Nash over Deutsch?
Koesler had a feeling he would soon know the answers to these questions.
C H A P T E R
10
“ITE, MISSA EST,” Father Deutsch intoned.
“Deo gratias,” the voice-over responded.
After the final blessing and the reading from the opening of St. John’s Gospel, the Mass was completed. Slowly, the image faded and the screen became gray in death for the nonce.
Nash rose. Koesler followed.
“Wasn’t that grand?” Nash enthused. “The only thing, maybe it’s a little late in the day. Maybe we should schedule the Friday Mass at the start of the workday … say, eight o’clock. What do you think, Padre?”
The only time Koesler felt comfortable being addressed as “Padre” was when he happened to be in a Spanish-speaking country or group. Now, he swallowed his irritation. “I don’t know. You’ve probably had the Mass at noon for a long time. It may be a habit by now. But it does make more sense to me to start the day with prayer.”
Koesler had unspoken doubts about celebrating Mass throughout this corporate setting. Attendance likely was obligatory. And, of course, there was no way the audience could receive Communion. Sort of like being invited to a banquet and then not being offered anything to eat.
“Good idea, Father,” Nash said. “I think we’ll try it at eight for a few weeks. See how it works out. But first …” He again motioned Koesler to a chair near the superdesk. “… let’s hear the good news about Dad. Wait: It’s after noon. You want some lunch? I can send out. Or, if you want to go to my club …?”
“A sandwich might be nice.”
Nash nodded and addressed the intercom. “Loretta, have them send up a few sandwiches: combination cheese…” He looked across at Koesler. “That okay? It’s Friday, you know.”
Koesler nodded and wondered about this man. It had been many years since Catholics had been required to eschew meat on Fridays. There were a few who still abstained. But they were a distinct minority and, in almost all cases, extremely pious. How did any of this—putting a priest on the payroll, having Mass for employees, championing Catholic causes, still abstaining on Fridays—square with being an adulterer and a destroyer of the environment?
“Now …” Nash sat back in his chair and rubbed his hands together. “… tell me all about Dad. He asked to see you, you said? I can’t get over that.”
“Uh … he did call. And he did ask me to visit him. It sounded like a routine sick call. But when I got there, that didn’t seem to be the case.”
Nash’s expression froze. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your father had no intention of making a confession, receiving Communion or the Sacrament of the Sick.”
“But I thought …”
“So did I.”
“Then what …?”
Koesler took a deep breath, then exhaled. “Your father wanted me to somehow break up the affair between you and Brenda Monahan.”
“What!?”
“Specifically, he wanted me to talk my cousin into ending the affair.” Koesler almost felt like ducking.
“What affair? Who says I’m involved in an affair?”
“Well … your father, for starters.”
“He’s an old fool! I swear he’s getting senile.”
“I think he gives you credit for covering your tracks skillfully.”
“This is ridiculous. Just ridiculous.” Nash started to rise from his chair. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Wait a minute!” At the tone of Koesler’s voice, Nash hesitated, then sat back tensely.
Koesler was firm. “I’ve gone to considerable trouble to arrange this meeting. And I am not one to meddle in people’s private lives. I wouldn’t even be here today if it weren’t for Brenda.”
“Now see here.” Nash’s defense was beginning to break down. “What gives you the right to come in here and accuse me—”
“I’m not accusing you of anything. I want to talk to you about a fact. The fact of your relationship with my cousin.”
“You have no proof! I’m a married man. I have a wife and a family. I know who Brenda Monahan is. We’ve met at a few social functions. I know she lives alone in an apartment. We could scarcely meet in my home—my family, the servants, everyone would know. I know I’m followed from time to time by slime columnists. If ever I met Ms. Monahan at her apartment, we would have been found out and you’d see it on the evening news or in the next day’s paper. So—” a note of triumph—”what do you think? Are we part of NASA? Do we meet in outer space?”
“Mr. Nash, I’ve already noted that your father said you have been successful so far in covering your tracks. I haven’t the slightest idea how you do it. With mirrors? I suppose you have someplace where you can meet in secret. All I know is that your father’s allegation is true.”
“Now, really, Father, this is too much! One old man accuses me of something he thinks is wrong, and that’s it? All I need to do is simply deny it—which I do. It’s his word against mine. Now, if you don’t mind leaving. I hate to be abrupt but I have a busy—”
“I’m not taking your father’s word over yours. In fact, after speaking with your father, I had no intention of bringing up this matter with you. Something else happened that changed my mind.”
“Oh?”
“I assume you know the structure of Brenda’s pseudo-family.” Koesler didn’t wait for a reply. “She and Mary Lou were taken in and raised by my cousin Maureen, who has two sisters.”
There was no reaction from Nash. He was obviously not about to acknowledge or deny anything with regard to a woman he admitted knowing only casually.
“Well,” Koesler continued, “a little while back we celebrated a birthday for Oona, one of the sisters. It was a brief party. It broke up when Mary Lou became abrasive—to put it extremely mildly. In no uncertain terms, she accused Brenda of adultery with you.
“Even then, it was not just the innuendo or gossip or the fact that both your father and her ‘sister’ raised the issue of adultery. It was Brenda’s reaction. I think under ordinary circumstances she could have braved her way through it. Maybe it was that she was under a lot of stress—but she broke down … caved in. I’ve never seen her that way before. And believe me, I know her very well. Her reaction to Mary Lou’s accusation betrayed in no uncertain terms that it was true.”
He was trapped. It didn’t matter how often or how fiercely he denied his relationship with Brenda, this priest was not about to believe him. Obviously Koesler knew Brenda extremely well, just as he claimed. Yet why hadn’t Brenda told him of the aborted birthday problem? He’d ask her later. For now, he had to deal with this priest. It was time for a little truth—though not the completely unvarnished variety.
“Suppose,” Nash began, “… just suppose—nothing more than that—suppose Brenda Monahan and I are more than casual friends. Now, I’m not admitting anything. But if we were, what business would it be of anyone’s—starting with my father?”
“You mean, is he concerned about the state of your soul? I wouldn’t think so. He doesn’t seem much concerned about his own soul. No, he’s worried about the business.”
“That does sound like Dad. But what do apples have to do with oranges?”
“He’s afraid that no matter how careful you are, you’ll be found out, and your reputation as a stellar Catholic will be destroyed. He doesn’t think you could survive that kind of publicity. And he’s ultimately afraid that if your reputation crumbles, so will Nash Enterprises. Now, some could laugh off a disclosure like this. But your father doesn’t think you could. And, frankly”—Koesler looked fixedly at Nash—“neither do I.”
There was no response. Nash seem
ed to be pondering his father’s projected scenario, perhaps for the first time.
“To be frank, still,” Koesler went on, “I don’t have any vital interest in Nash Enterprises. My prime concern is with Brenda. Of course, I’m also concerned with your spiritual welfare. But I realize I’m not ‘your priest.’”
Nash’s expression told Koesler he’d scored again.
“As far as I can tell,” Koesler resumed, “Brenda stands to gain almost nothing and to lose everything. She’s condemned to be the woman on the side. I can’t see any indication that you might get divorced. And even if you did, before you married Brenda—or anyone else for that matter—you’d have to get a declaration of nullity from the Church. There’s no guarantee that you’d be successful in that. In fact, even with all your money the odds are heavily against it. I want Brenda to have a life. The longer she stays in this arrangement with you, the more certain it is that she’s never going to have a decent life for herself.”
There was a knock at the door, and Nash’s secretary entered. She placed several tastefully wrapped packages on the desk and left the room, closing the door behind her.
The sandwiches. Koesler was hungry, but this was not the moment for munching. Besides, Nash had made no move toward the food. It would not have been polite to anticipate one’s host.
Nash sat looking at the table for what seemed a very long time.
At length, he spoke. “If anything … anything … that is said between us escapes this office, I would, of course, deny it and take appropriate action against you. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Mr. Nash, I’m very good at keeping secrets.”
“First, I want to know why you didn’t follow my father’s direction and take this matter up with Brenda. You said that’s what he told you: to take Brenda out of this relationship. Why didn’t you try this with her?”
“I’m too close to her. I know there is no actual blood relationship, but there might just as well be. I’ve watched her grow up. She was always my ‘cousin’ in practice if not in actual fact. Just as doctors are loath to operate on their own relatives, so it would be awkward for me to bring this up with Brenda. Besides, I think the prime responsibility is yours.
“On top of that,” Koesler continued, “—and I think I’m entitled to be somewhat personal here—how do you do it? How are you able to do it?”
“What?”
“Your religious activities and projects. You give a sizeable percent of your income to Catholic causes … far more, I would guess, than can be written off for tax deductions. You are perhaps the most identifiable lay Catholic, in this country at least. You have a priest on your payroll and a weekday Mass for your employees.
“That’s the question: How can you do all this and, at the same time, carry on an adulterous affair? As far as I know, adultery may be the principal fly in your pie. But it is a major league fly.”
Nash paused, then spread his hands, palms up. “You don’t understand. If you understood, it would look different.”
“Understand what?”
“Father Art understands.”
“He approves of this?!”
“He knows what’s going on.”
“If you tell me, maybe I’ll understand … though what’s to understand beats me.”
“It’s my wife. We no longer live together as husband and wife. It’s a sort of brother-sister relationship.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Nash.”
“Ted.”
“Okay, ‘Ted.’ Is this a Church-related ruling?” It was common knowledge among Catholics that the Church regularly demands that couples not canonically married live as brother and sister during the processing of their case or, if that fails, for life.
“No, no. It’s children. In the first four years we were married, we had three children. That was just fine for me, but not for her. We couldn’t agree on a form of family planning. Either I had a moral objection or the method was not sufficiently reliable for her. So we decided we would stay together for the children’s sake—and, of course, propriety.”
Koesler knew exactly to what Nash was alluding. Officially, there were only two methods approved by the Church for family planning: the rhythm method and continence. Rhythm would be far too chancy for Mrs. Nash. And abstinence would hold no attraction for her husband. As for the rest of the methods of contraception: one or another might have been appealing to the wife, but all of them were condemned by the official Church. And Nash stood with the Church. No doubt, it was a problem. But …
“So,” Koesler said, “you and your wife voluntarily agreed to this brother-sister arrangement.”
“That’s right.”
“That’s a pity. A real pity. But how does Brenda fit into this picture?”
“You don’t see?” Nash’s tone connoted genuine amazement at Koesler’s ignorance of the next logical step.
Koesler shook his head.
“God didn’t intend that I should live as a celibate!” Nash exclaimed.
“He didn’t?”
“Of course not! I have no calling for that life whatsoever. If I had, I might have given serious thought to becoming a priest. But the idea never crossed my mind. For the simple reason that I am a sexually active man. Always have been, always will be.”
“So?”
“So, that’s where Brenda comes in.”
“Where Brenda comes in?”
“I don’t think it’s the gentlemanly thing to do, so I won’t go into any detail. But trust me, Brenda and I have really great sex together.” He looked expectantly at Koesler as if hoping the priest would be able to put together the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle.
Koesler returned the gaze, wondering what came next. Gradually, he realized there was nothing more. It occurred to him that it was a case now of seeing the forest for the trees.
Finally, although no further word was spoken, the two men understood each other.
“You mean …?” Koesler ventured.
“Yes.”
“Brenda supplies the sex that is no longer a part of your marriage?” Smiling broadly, Nash nodded.
“You mean Brenda is in effect half a wife?”
“What you’ve got to keep in mind, Padre, is that God did not will me to be a monk.”
“So you’ve mentioned.”
“But my wife refuses to have sex with me … at least in any way approved by the Church. So, you see, it’s an impossible situation. If I keep God’s law I can’t have sex with my wife. I might just as well be a celibate. But God doesn’t want that. A vicious circle. However—” Nash grew quite intense, “as one of the characters in The Sound of Music says, God never closes a door without opening a window.”
“You’re getting your theology from The Sound of Music?”
“No, no. Of course not. Serious and complicated questions like these I check out with Father Art.”
“Father Deutsch came up with this solution?”
“No, no. We sort of arrived at it simultaneously, by working it out.”
“Would you mind explaining the theology of this thing to me?”
Nash checked his watch and frowned. “I am running late. But, okay, since Brenda is—or might just as well be—your cousin … But I must be brief. Basically, I’ve already explained it to you. It has to do with God’s will …” He looked sharply at Koesler. “I assume you have no objection to obeying God’s will.”
“None. I think we often have problems determining what God’s will is.”
“Exactly.” Nash nodded. “But it’s so clear here. I got married in the eyes of God and His Church for many reasons, not the least being the procreation and education of children.”
It had been many years since Koesler had heard the phrase “the procreation and education of children.” At least before the Second Vatican Council, Catholic children in parochial schools or catechism classes were routinely taught that the primary purpose of marriage was the procreation and education of children. Catholics appro
aching marriage were specifically asked if they understood that the primary purpose of marriage was the procreation and education of children. If anyone getting married in a Catholic ceremony were not to agree to that statement, marriage would be denied. Indeed, one of the few reasons a spouse could challenge the validity of a Catholic marriage and seek a declaration of nullity was if one’s partner were to refuse the opportunity of having children.
Technically it was “contra bonum prolis”—deliberately creating a childless marriage. In fact, it was Detroit’s Cardinal archbishop, Mark Boyle, who managed to introduce into a conciliar document language stating that among the purposes of marriage there was none that was “primary.”
Thus, the phrase from Nash rang a distant but by no means foreign bell with Koesler.
“So,” Nash continued, “I was in perfect agreement with God’s will as I entered marriage.” He looked at Koesler searchingly, imploringly. “For God’s sake, man, we had three kids.”
“Mmmm.”
“Great Scott, man, don’t you see yet!? It’s God’s will that I marry and thus keep within moral bounds my raging testosterone, my concupiscence. So I did. It is God’s will that I do nothing within my marriage to artificially prevent conception. So I didn’t. It’s my wife’s refusal to cooperate with me in natural intercourse that is frustrating God’s will. It is Brenda who provides my escape from this vicious circle. Clear now?”
“Not quite. For one thing, in the situation you describe—we’ll forget for the moment all those ‘God’s wills’—you probably could get a divorce, possibly even a declaration of nullity.”
“Won’t do. Would never do. Melissa was a perfect mate: old money, society connections. She’s still the perfect mate. Through her and her family I can have doors opened that I couldn’t get through in any other way. Divorce her and Nash Enterprises would lose a healthy portion of its power. Lose that power and many of the Catholic projects would lose our funding. That certainly is not God’s will.” He shook his head. “No, I could not divorce Melissa, let alone have our marriage annulled by the Church. That would not be God’s will.”
Dead Wrong Page 10
