The Lords of Folly

by Gene Logsdon

  He pretended to study the cow. His silence told her plainly that the answer was no.

  “You don’t want to get married this summer?” she repeated, the rage rising in her voice again.

  “Well, um, in view of, um, the turn of events, wouldn’t it be better to wait awhile?” He still would not look at her.

  Marge suddenly realized something about Al that she had not noticed before. He was a little shifty. And crafty in a way that was repugnant to her.

  “Well, um,” she replied, her anger now beyond control, “While you’re, um, making up your mind, um, you can have this back.” And she wrenched the ring savagely from her finger and threw it at him. As she turned at the barn door for one last look, he was down on his hands and knees, trying to find the ring.

  For three days she hardly ate. She would not go back to college. She stated that she would not take final exams. She would not send out invitations to her graduation. “Now that we’re going to be so rich, Mother,” she said sarcastically, “Who needs a college degree?”

  Some nights she did not come into the house at all but sat out on her favorite thinking spot above the lake and cried. Occasionally her father came looking for her, calling her name, but she would not answer. She would never speak to him again, she told herself. Her home was going to become a country club, a golf course, a “new town” enclave of suburban homes for rich people from the Twin Cities. She gagged at the thought. One of the most efficient food production systems in the world was destined for a rich society’s playground while poor people starved. Blaze would appreciate that.

  The longer she sat there contemplating her stupidity, the smarter Blaze appeared in her mind’s eye. She had made a terrible mistake. But to go back to him, after breaking his heart, after telling him that he didn’t measure up to her notion of a husband, that would be even shiftier behavior than Al’s.

  “You stupid, crazy bitch,” she said out loud. Even that didn’t help because it reminded her of Blaze again, saying that when you realized that you were crazy, then you were the sanest.

  Meanwhile, at Seminary Two, Blaze, Gabe, Fen and their friends were throwing a party to end all parties—literally. No one would say the fateful words, but it was apparent to all that for the SBDC Boys, their life together was over. The passing needed to be marked on the calendar of memory. Also, the union of Fen and Kadie demanded special recognition. Kadie had brought her belongings to the farmhouse and announced that she would never leave unless Fen did.

  “Fen is the most insane Davy Crockett Boy of us all and that’s because he is the sanest,” Blaze said, standing on a chair in the kitchen, trying to get his breath back after a sip of Axel’s Best and a puff on one of Gabe’s homemade cigars. “And Mermaid is the second sanest for having recognized that.” All the SBDC Boys cheered except the Very Reverend Lukey who had only come to the party, he tried to tell himself, because he could not bear missing the insanities he was sure would transpire. He felt particularly smug anyway. He wondered if he should announce that he, not Gabe, was going to Rome.

  Then came another celebration. Mermaid, Jesse, Hasse, Kluntz, Axel, and Patroux, who were all present, were officially entered into the society of the SBDC Boys and given special plaques of recognition: dried cow pats.

  Wobbling dangerously on his chair, Blaze offered a toast: “From henceforth, let it go out to all the world that the SBDC Boys have passed into history. We are now officially ‘The Lords of Folly.’ We look out beyond the seminary and realize that we belong in the world as much as anyone because the whole human race is as insane as we are.” Another throaty cheer. “And to prove it, let us toast particularly Danny and Banana, the only two people ever crazy enough to, first, enter the seminary and then, second, to leave it to play baseball.”

  Melonhead, brandishing a Royal Bohemian, stood up to speak, but was wise enough not to mount a chair. “There are other distinguished members of this august assemblage to be recognized. Let us toast Oblate Clutch, the Engineer of Ascension, who has completed what he calls a monument to the salvation of modern man.” He paused, blinking unsteadily. “Oblate Clutch has built an alcohol still that converts corn to fuel. Never again will we have to depend on outside sources for gas. And—and—it is entirely legal. He got a special experimental license from good old Uncle Sam. Good old Uncle Hasse paid the fee. Of course Hasse made Clutch promise to provide him with free tractor gas.” Everyone howled. Inspired by the laughter, Jesse showed that he could still do his old trick of standing on his head without the support of his hands. And Brother Walt hopped up on the table, flapped his arms as if they were wings, crowed like a rooster and shouted: “I’m the best in the West.”

  “And furthermore,” Melonhead continued, “my friend Dr. Armbuster (snorts and chuckles filled the room) has promised to commit a thousand dollars as the first contribution to the Center For Herbal Medicine which Gabe and I want to establish if we can get the Order to go along with it.”

  “What if the Order won’t?” Clutch asked. The room was suddenly quiet.

  “Then we’ll do it anyway.”

  Lusty cheers again. Jesse howled like a wolf and shouted what Walt had taught him: “I’m the beast from the East!”

  Blaze waited for the party to wear down before he got back on his chair. He was now strangely solemn. “As you know, our good Prior gave permission for this party, something he would not normally do. Even gave permission for the beer. He’s going to be here shortly. He says he has an announcement to make. Please refrain from Axel’s Best while he’s here.”

  A car pulled into the barnyard. The seminarians waited silently until Prior Robert entered the room and then saluted him with a cheer. He seemed surprised. He did not remember ever being applauded before by anyone and figured it would be the last time. “I’ve come here to say I’m sorry,” he said, when the room quieted. “I’m sorry because the Church is not ready for you guys and I can’t do anything about it. The ideas you have proposed strike me as exactly what the Josephian Order would do if its founders were starting out today instead of 400 years ago. I’ve come here to say I’m sorry because I don’t have the power or the courage to support you more. I’m too old to go where you are going. But I want you to know that I don’t think any of you,”—and here he looked directly at Fen—“have done wrong even if you may have violated the rules by which you promised to live as Josephians. You didn’t make those rules and you promised yourself to them before you had any idea what they would entail. I’m fairly sure that if you were starting the Josephian Order today, you’d propose different vows to profess.” Now he took another labored breath, almost panting in fact. “You would probably make rules more on the order of Oblate Blaise’s Eleven Theses.”

  Even Blaze gasped at that remark. Gabe was thunderstruck. Robert was openly professing heresy. Lukey tried to appear deeply shocked but only succeeded in looking slightly drunk. The priest did not give any of them time to react. “You must appreciate that what I’m doing here is very difficult for me,” he continued. “I am going against what I have always believed. I don’t know what will happen to me in this world or in the next.”

  Then he walked over to Fen, who was holding Mermaid’s hand. “I have judged you wrongly, Oblate Chris—er, Fen. I ask your forgiveness. I really thought that you had lost your mind. I am beginning to realize that I should start worrying about my own mind, not yours. But I would ask a favor of you. A sort of old fashioned favor, to please an old-fashioned man. Would you and your beloved companion allow me to bless your marriage?” He paused. “I do not do this out of concern that you are, in the old-fashioned cliché, living in sin. It would just be a comfort to me. I don’t know who’s living in sin and who isn’t anymore. I suppose we’re all living in sin by someone’s standard.”

  Fen bowed his head in embarrassment. Mermaid squeezed his hand. “I think it’s a great idea,” she said to him, then turned to the priest. “But, Father, maybe you should know something first. I’ve been a whore for five year
s.”

  The SBDC Boys were as quiet and motionless as fossils in a museum.

  Prior Robert, even to his own surprise, smiled. “We are all whores where money is concerned,” he said. The Very Reverend Lukey, who could hardly wait to report what was happening to Alexus whom everyone said was destined to be the next Provincial, caught his breath and proceeded to have a coughing fit. “Are you sorry for what you consider to be wrong in your past?” the priest asked her. “Do you promise to remain faithful to Fen from now on?”

  “Sure. I’ve been faithful to him for half a year without even knowing who he was, or even, for sure, if he existed. Lost me a helluva lot of money too.”

  Even Lukey had to chuckle.

  “I’m sure Fen feels the same way about you,” the priest said, frowning to hide a smile.

  And so the two were joined in what Lukey would always refer to as “unholy matrimony.” Blaze, looking on, felt his spirit sagging downward into even deeper despair. If only Marge and he could be as Fen and Mermaid were at that moment. If he had Fen’s courage or craziness, whatever it was, perhaps Marge would be standing beside him right now. Now he was the one about to commit suicide. He was going to try to kill his true spirit by going to Rome.

  “There’s one more thing to celebrate, although I doubt that’s the right word,” Blaze said, after Fen and Mermaid had been properly toasted. “I’ve … I’ve volunteered to go to Rome to complete my studies.” He kept staring at the floor. “I’ll be leaving for Chicago day after tomorrow. And on to Rome shortly afterwards. Lukey is going too, to keep an eye on me.” He paused for the titter he knew would follow. Then he looked at Gabe. “Tough luck, ole’ buddy,” he said. “I knew you wanted to go so bad and I just hated to take the opportunity away from you.”

  That brought on a few laughs too, but they dwindled away to silence. Lukey, who had not been told about Blaze, looked thunderstruck. Gabe appeared to have hit himself with a fence post.

  CHAPTER 33

  Gabe pondered his dilemma through the night, slicing all the facts and suppositions at his disposal into tiny fragments of possibility and studying them under the microscope of plausibility. Blaze would not volunteer to go to Rome under any circumstances that he could fathom. Although they were best friends and although Blaze had a ridiculous weakness for wanting to help people, he would not volunteer to take Gabe’s place in Rome. Blaze had already admitted that he thought going to Rome would kill him, at least spiritually. Nor was Blaze so enamoured of his fantasies that he would volunteer to go to Rome to undermine present Church policy with his Eleven Theses crap. Blaze was way too smart to do anything as smart as that.

  Gabe continued in anxious thought throughout much of the next day without coming to a conclusion. He tried to talk to Blaze, but Blaze would not answer his questions, would not in fact speak to him at all. He just kept jamming clothes and keepsakes into his suitcases, woodenly, as if he were preparing for his execution. Confronted with insanity, Gabe decided to speak to the resident expert.

  “Jesse, do you have any idea why Blaze wants to go to Rome?”

  “I know why he leaving.”

  “You do?” Gabe was stunned.

  “Yep.” Jesse made no attempt to continue. If he knew, surely it was plain to everyone.

  “Well, hell, Jesse, spit it out.”

  “Blaze in love with Miss Puckett and she turn him down.”

  Gabe’s hand flew to cover his open mouth. “How do you know that?”

  “Little bird told me.”

  If Gabe looked stunned, his mind was not. It was crackling through every bit of information he possessed about Blaze with the speed of nerve impulses sparking across the neurons of his brain. “By God, that figures,” he finally muttered. “Jesse, you’re not witless; I am.”

  “Hee hee hee. I know that.”

  “I’ve got to stop him,” Gabe said, not really talking to Jesse. “If he goes to Rome he really will go off the deep end.” There was no time to lose. He turned back to Jesse. “I don’t suppose you know the Puckett phone number?”

  “Miss Puckett’s car license is AM404T. Her papa’s is 54TX77. His truck is …”

  “That won’t help, Jesse. But you are really, really, something.”

  Jesse beamed. Maybe Gabe not so crazy after all.

  There was no formal farewell for the Rome-bound oblates. That had taken place at Seminary Two. But as soon as the Prior drove off to the train station with Blaze and Lukey, Gabe went into action. All the other priests were away for Saturday parish work as usual, so Gabe had easy access to the telephone in the Prior’s office. There was only one Puckett listed in Grass Prairie in the phone book. He realized suddenly that he had rarely ever used a telephone. Phones were off limits. And before he entered the seminary he was too young to do much calling either. He could count on his fingers the number of times he remembered calling anyone in his whole life. He had to follow the directions in the phone book to call long distance. He listened to the phone ring at the other end of the line. Jesse was leaning over his shoulder, trembling with the nervous tension he dreaded.

  “Hello. Puckett residence.”

  The voice sounded like an older woman. “This is Oblate Gabriel, calling from Ascension Seminary. I need to talk to Marge Puckett, please.” His voice was strained. It seemed to him to come from somewhere other than his vocal chords.

  A pause. “Just a minute.”

  This was going to be easy. He had expected that he would have to get a number for her apartment at the university.

  “Hello. This is Marge Puckett.”

  She had a soft voice, full of curiosity. Gabe thought he could maybe fall in love with her too.

  “Miss Puckett, this is Oblate Gabriel at Ascension Seminary. I don’t think we’ve met formally. Perhaps Blaze has spoken of me. I’m his friend.” He realized that he had never admitted that before.

  “Is something the matter? Is he okay?”

  “Well, maybe, maybe not. He is doing something he will regret, and I think it’s because of you.”

  Silence. He could hear the phone line humming. Finally she replied: “Oh? How would you reach that conclusion?”

  “A little bird told me.”

  “What’s he doing?”

  “He volunteered to go to Rome to finish his studies for the priesthood.”

  There was another long pause on the Puckett end of the phone. “That’s hardly likely,” she finally said. “Then again, I’m not too surprised.”

  “Believe me, Miss Puckett, he does not want to go. He’s out of his mind. Because he loves you. I am going to try to stop him, but I think you could do it better. He is taking the train from Shakopee at 8:12 PM tonight and then changing trains in St. Paul for Chicago. There’s time to get to the station before he leaves, or if not, to catch him at the Savage station or in St. Paul. Look, even if you don’t love him, won’t you help me stop him. He saved your life, you know.”

  Another long silence. Then Marge hung up.

  So, Gabe thought. Just like a woman. Not to be trusted. It was going to be up to him. He knew how to do it. He would tell Blaze that Marge Puckett wanted him back.

  With all the cars gone because the priests were all out on weekend parish work, he ran to the garage and tried to start the old farm truck. Battery dead again. That left only the Farm Zephyr. At forty miles per hour, he still had time to get to the Shakopee station. As he backed the tractor out of the barn, he saw Jesse, trembling with dread, watching him. “I’m going after Blaze,” he yelled above the roaring motor. “Tell Fen.”

  Jesse was not trembling only because of the fear he felt for the Zephyr. The realization that Jack was actually leaving him was finally sinking in. His pal was abandoning him. He would be put in an institution without Jack to protect him. He had to stop that from happening. He thought he knew how to do that.

  He waited until Gabe had pulled out on the road and disappeared into the twilight. Then he ran to his room, rooted around in the suitcase of trea
sures he kept under his bed, found his bedraggled Frank James costume and hastily donned it. He had to leave the waist unbuttoned because it no longer fit around his stomach. The zipper on the fly would not go all the way up either. He hitched the belt and holster over it, two holes down from its usual place. He hurried back to the barn, climbed astride his old horse, and galloped away. He was not headed for Lake Wassermensch to tell Fen however, but for the Western Range to borrow a pistol that worked. Rescuing Blaze was something not to be entrusted to a crazy nut like Gabe.

  Marge had gone to her room after Gabe’s phone call. She stood looking at herself in the mirror in great perturbation. “Damned if you do, damned if you don’t,” she spat at her reflection. “If he had the guts of a real man, he’d have run that damn Al away and taken you.” But she knew that was folly. She’d never let anyone “take” her, and Blaze knew that as well as she did. But if he truly loved her, he’d come back from his stupid flight to Rome on his own and she’d be waiting and then she’d know. And he’d know. But that was folly too. She had refused him and only a slobbering wimp would come crawling back after that. And why would she be waiting if he did come back? Only if she really did love him. Did she? Oh, hell yes, she did. She pulled off her barn clothes, threw them at the mirror, and put on the dress she had been wearing the day she had told Blaze of her engagement to Al. She’d have to hurry. “I’m going back to my apartment to study for finals,” she told her mother as she flashed through the kitchen. Her mother smiled. The girl was finally coming to her senses.

  Gabe had rarely driven the Farm Zephyr and never at high speeds on the highway. That was Blaze’s department. Moreover, he lacked the experience of growing up driving tractors, as Blaze had. He did not understand the intricacies of handling tricycle-type models with the two small front wheels together. As he throttled up the Zephyr, those tires went into their usual worn-bearing wobble. The tractor shook as if it were about to fly apart. Terrified, Gabe slowed down. But he’d never get to the station in time this way. To hell with it. He jerked the throttle wide open again and clenched the steering wheel in mortal fear. The Zephyr worked up to top speed and the wobbling ceased. Gabe sighed with relief. A miracle, surely. God must be looking out for him.