The Lords of Folly
Page 28
To Robert’s continued questioning about what had happened to the other SBDC Boys, Blaze beckoned. “Come. Let me show you the cemetery.”
He drove the priest to a little knoll on the far end of the farm. Over the entrance to the cemetery was a wrought iron sign that read: Final Home of the Lords of Folly. It was a strange graveyard indeed. Dominating the plot was an ancient tractor permanently resting on a slab of concrete. A copper sign read: “The Farm Zephyr. In memory of the beginning.”
Next to it was a real tombstone with the inscription: “All hail to Gabe Roodman, who died to make it all happen.”
Nearby stood a huge rock quarried from one of the fields, into which was carved: “In memory of Ed Hasse, one of the founding fathers of Folly Farm.”
An ancient copper still marked the spot where one Axel Barnt was buried. An old manure spreader, kept well painted like the tractor, recalled another founding father of Folly Farm, Ed Kluntz. A cowboy hat in bronze rested on a stone pillar with lettering that said: “In memory of Jesse James the Second, one of Carver County’s sanest men.” Two large crosses formed by aluminum ball bats fused together memorialized Danny and Banana.
“So they’re both gone,” The old priest said.
“Very tragic,” Blaze said. “Danny made baseball his whole life and when age forced him to quit, he took up slow-pitch softball. He actually became much better known for that than for the years he played minor league baseball. He was still going strong at age sixty when he had a heart attack going around second base. He made it home anyway, crawling the last ten feet, and died right on home plate, so the story goes. They say he knew his heart was bad but kept on playing anyway.” He paused. “I presume you know about Banana.”
“No. Should I?”
Blaze showed surprise. “Wow. When the Josephians want to forget someone, they sure can do it. You don’t really know?”
Robert shook his head.
“Didn’t you ever wonder why the seminary buildings were allowed to fall into ruins?”
“As a matter of fact, I did wonder about that. I had not known till I saw it just today.”
“Well, this is just a theory. Marge will tell you that I’m just fantasizing as usual. But after what happened, tell me what you think. All the stories that emmanated from the seminary when Gabe got killed had people wondering about the place exceedingly. You know that most people around here believe that he was trying to escape from the seminary when he wrecked the tractor. You can’t get that notion of escaping the monastery out of peoples’ heads even to this day. And there were long-held rumors that a naked man was once seen running out of the barn and across the road.” Blaze paused, relishing that anecdote. Robert smiled too. He knew. “Well, anyway, the property changed hands twice but was never used for anything. Just sat there. Probably a tax write-off or something. Then about fifteen years ago Banana showed up here at Folly Farm one day. He was in bad shape. Admitted he was an alcoholic. Said he had not long to live anyway, but would not explain. He never made it as a ballplayer and the woman he married left him. He really didn’t ask for help from us but I now think he wanted us to take him in. Sat up all night with him while he told all the old seminary stories again and got hopelessly drunk. He was gone in the morning and we didn’t think much more about him.”
Blaze paused. “But about a month later, here was this article in the paper. The body of a man was found in the old seminary slaughterhouse, hanging from a rope. There was a note pencilled on the wall: ‘In memory of the Sonuvabitchin’ Davy Crockett Boys who gave me the only truly happy years of my life.’ The authorities were having a hard time identifying him but I knew right away of course. Since then I think there’s an unspoken fear of the place in peoples’ minds. Like it was haunted. And you know, it really is haunted. I still get chills every time I pass there.”
Robert started to cry again.
“Look, Robert, it wasn’t your fault what happened. A million times I’ve condemned myself for all that nonsense about going to Rome. If I had just faced the truth about myself, if we all had, Gabe would be here today. And when Banana stopped here, he was asking for help and I didn’t want to admit it. He was, well, you know, our lives were established with family and all. What were we going to do with him? I wasn’t generous enough and he didn’t give me time enough to get generous. I’ve come to think we can’t blame ourselves for misfortunes like that. Luck has a lot to do with what happens. You would say God, but God didn’t make Banana hang himself or throw the Farm Zephyr into the swamp or force Danny to overemphasize sports. Sooner or later we would have all left the Order anyway. Not your fault. Surely you must know that. You couldn’t have stopped us from blundering on our blundering ways. Why it turned out right for Fen and Melonhead and me, I don’t know. Just plain luck, I tell you.”
“You’d never admit that God had anything to do with it, would you?” The priest countered.
For answer, Blaze pointed to the large copper tablet at the very center of the cemetery. “There’s the Eleven Theses, and that’s still what I believe. I think you do too but won’t admit it.”
For answer Robert said: “Do you know what happened to Oblate Luke?”
Blaze shook his head.
“He went to Africa as a missionary and was killed by insurgent guerillas while he was trying to protect the women and children of his little parish. He was a martyr. A brave, fearless, and generous man in the end. Knowing Lukey like you did, won’t you admit that the hand of God had to be at work there?”
Blaze was first amazed by that revelation. But then, as usual, he turned it to his own advantage. “For Lukey to become a brave, fearless and generous man would be a tall order for your God of power and might, but something that my God of human love could do without half trying.”
The priest smiled, unwilling to counter Blaze’s remark. He’d settle for that. They left the cemetery to visit Fen and Mermaid. They rang the bell at the entrance to their property. The couple, not quite nude, were weeding their garden. Robert, who had fancied himself quite a gardener in Broken Bow, was amazed at the lushness and variety of their plants.
“Yes, we raise all our own food. And drink, thanks to Axel’s teachings,” Fen explained. “No, I do not sing publicly anymore. What little money we need comes from Social Security and from wages that Blaze and Marge pay us for helping with the herbs, sheep and and chickens. Mermaid’s woven wool rugs and dried flower arrangements are in great demand locally. We don’t own a car. Why should we? We rarely go anywhere we can’t walk to.”
“A little money just drops out of the skies, seems like, every time we need it,” Mermaid said. “We only had to spend a little over $9000 last year, on everything.”
“We don’t have health insurance,” Fen explained. “That’s a huge savings. We’ve had rather good luck with natural medicines. Don’t know if we can make it all the way without hospitals and retirement homes, but we might. I hope to be like Scott Nearing. At age one hundred, he split one more cord of wood and laid down and died.”
Robert prepared to leave. Blaze watched him climb painfully into his car. “You’re too old to drive to Chicago,” he said. “Why don’t you just stay here? We’ll take care of you.”
Robert smiled. “I told you a long time ago I was too afraid to change.” He paused. “But I’ve got a favor to ask. If I can work it out with the Provincial, can I be buried in your cemetery?”
“Hey, we’ll put up a monument for you for sure even if they won’t give up your bones,” Blaze said. Then as usual his quicksilver mood went to playful teasing. “Who cares where the actual flesh and bones rot away? Doesn’t matter. When you’re dead, you’re dead, you know. It’s the memories that never die.”
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