by Tom Corbett
Yet, Josh recalled, even when he had embraced the truth of his world on a conscious level, he sensed doubt. The Irish Catholic church in the 1950s was particularly authoritarian. Bishops and priests were viewed, by the faithful at least, as demigods. Their word was law. And it was often a harsh law. The local pastoral authorities often argued that non-Catholics were doomed to hell or, if lenient, someplace called purgatory, which Josh concluded was a dismal holocaust where the temperature was a bit milder. That struck Josh as unfair. The Protestant and Jewish kids he ran across were no different than he. They played the same games, had similar dreams, fantasized the same fantasies about the same girls, used the same profanities. Yet they were doomed when he was not. What kind of God could create such an unfair system? He wondered about such things at night as he struggled to find sleep.
In his teens, he was a voracious reader and found Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, the Jesuit scientist who spent decades in China exploring the origins of man and society. The restless and inquisitive mind that was developing in Josh was fascinated by the expansive vision espoused by Chardin. In this world, humans were evolving, undergoing transformation, perhaps becoming something altogether new. Maybe even our very concept of a deity was best located in the process of creation, in the miracle of evolution. Josh marveled at the vision, so exciting next to the rigid and static world around him. But when he asked more well-read priests about his new favorite author, he was told to be careful. Chardin had fallen out of grace with Rome despite doing his best to accommodate evolution with his faith. The intellect, he was warned, could easily become the devil’s workshop, grave expressions on the messenger’s face. What, Josh recalled saying to himself, how can you be asked to think in order to be a success in life and, at the same time, fear thinking as the road to hell and damnation? It was all perplexing.
Josh now smiled as he drifted in and out of sleep. Yup, he recalled thinking early on, he would someday have to choose between the verities of his faith and the excitement within his restless intellect. Someday, he would no longer be able to escape such Faustian choices, the decisions that would etch the final lines of his character and fate.
Suddenly, his reveries jumped a few years forward. Now he had a new faith, not Christ or the Virgin Mary, but a vision of revolutionary justice. He and his compatriots would nibble at a corrupt and selfish system to erect something new and fresh. For Josh, this was not a rejection of his childlike faith but a truer expression of it. What was Christ? He was a revolutionary, attacking the old regime and proposing a new order. No longer would truth be framed by a set of rigid laws carried out by religious fanatics. The old God of vengeance and retribution would be replaced by a loving version who focused on love and compassion and justice. How we treated others, and not just the others who looked and believed like us, would be the new morality. That message had always appealed to Josh. He never could quite envision a God of this vast universe counting heads on Sunday or calculating the evil associated with eating a hamburger on Friday. But he could sympathize with those priests and nuns who preached a form of liberation theology where a pure form of Christ’s teachings would lead to a just and fair world. He adored the Berrigan brothers and Father Groppi of Milwaukee, priests who represented for Josh a pure and decent form of faith in which he could believe.
One day, he found Morris, just a few weeks after they had all taken a pledge to take things in their antiwar protests to the next level, whatever that meant. “Okay,” he recalled saying. “You mentioned you needed money for the cause. Here, take this.” He put a medium-size carry-on type bag onto the table in front of his friend who cautiously opened it up.
“What the…,” Morris whispered. In the bag was an impressive pile of cash. His friend counted a bit and then gave up, mentioning in a low voice, “There must be thousands here.”
“Over thirty thousand, maybe much more. I didn’t have time to count it. I could’ve taken more, but I hoped they wouldn’t miss this.”
Morris looked at him with a ‘are you completely whacked out’ look. “Where did you…”
“Don’t ask,” Josh interrupted. “I’ll have to kill you if you knew. And if I didn’t, there are others who would put a bullet in your head and bury you where no one would find you.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Morris said but without conviction.
“This one time,” Josh said without smiling. “This one time, I am deadly serious.”
“Okay then, I’m deadly serious. This weekend we break into a selective service office and destroy records. Pour blood on the files.”
Josh had looked at him long and hard at that moment. He recalled thinking back to the time they first met before responding. He was twelve or thirteen, playing a favorite stickball game in the local schoolyard. Here, you used a sawed-off broomstick as a bat and a tennis ball as a baseball. A rectangle was chalked into the school yard wall. If you did not swing at the pitch and it struck within the boundary of the rectangle, it was a strike. Arguments were fierce and commonplace. Hit it over the school yard fence, and it was a homer. There were other rules for singles and doubles.
Then Josh noticed a small group of kids picking on a boy who was small in stature but brave in behavior. He was not backing down from their taunts and threats. His problem, Josh thought, but then he stepped out of the batter’s box. He could not look away. This was unfair, and he hated things that were not fair. He knew the potential assailants from school but not well—just a few of the local toughs, and there were many of those, at least all trying to act tough. It was the only way to survive. “Hey,” he yelled over to the group, “leave him alone, you’re bothering my concentration. Lot on the line here.”
“Fuck you,” came the response. “We’re cleaning up the neighborhood of kikes.”
Josh, was never sure why he did what he did next. He disliked violence. But he slowly walked over and punched the spokesperson in the nose. That set off a melee where he and this unknown kid were outnumbered two to one. But his unknown companion was a whirling dervish, and Josh was already well built and athletic. The fierce battle was over quickly enough as the bullies limped or ran away.
Josh didn’t even ask the boy’s name until they got to the Harp Bar where they would clean up. His dad laughed at the sight. “Let’s get you straight boy and, for Christ’s sake, don’t let Ora see you. By the way, how did the other side do?”
“I broke at least one nose, for sure. That kid must have been a Wop, his beak was substantial. In any case, they didn’t look very good at the end after my buddy here and I finished up. What’s your name by the way?”
“Morris…Mo Greenstein. But tell me, why did you do that, come to help a Jew like me?”
“I don’t know…they pissed me off. Besides, you fight great for a Jew,” Josh said with a broad smile that hurt his split lip.
Mo smiled and winced, his left eye turning black. “Thanks,” he said, sticking out his hand.
They had come a long way since that day. They had spent many hours defining and refining their worldview. “Mo, I am with you. But you must understand. No violence, no one gets hurt. That’s where I draw my line in the sand.”
“Trust me,” Mo responded with a broad smile.
Josh was now awake. He looked over at the dog snoring at his side. Too early for the morning walk. He listened carefully. Yes, there were soft sounds coming from the kitchen, or was it his study. Rachel is up, going through my stuff probably. He did some quick calculating. Did the joy of getting to know his sister better after all this time offset the pain she might feel by knowing him better? “Okay,” he said to Morris who rolled over onto his back, four paws extended into the air. “You get some more shut-eye. I’m off to see what mischief my sister is into.”
He crept up behind her as she intently reviewed the pictures in front of her. “Boo!”
“Shit,” she yelled, lifting off the chair. “Asshole!”
“My, my, you have developed a wicked tongue, and you were such a virtuo
us young girl.”
“Oh, bite me.” She smiled. “I should wear diapers around here, you scared the crap out of me.” After she got her breath back, she started in on what she had been struggling with. “Tell me, what did you learn from Mom and Dad about love, about sex? I was thinking about things last night, but even your pictures were better than my ruminations.”
“Well, based on what I saw, they had sex twice—you and I are the proof. But wait, there were those rumors, you know.”
“What rumors?” She eyed her brother suspiciously.
“Rumors in the old neighborhood,” Josh replied. “It is just that people thought you were too delicate to hear them. At the time I was born, there was a very handsome mailman working the block, a real Adonis that all the women loved. I am the living proof—”
“That you’re delusional, maybe.”
He went on. “Now, when you were born, I can remember this ragman who worked the streets. He was ugly as sin—stooped, terrible personality. Ora apparently felt bad for him. And voila, we have you.”
“Bite me again,” Rachel sniffed. “To be serious for a change, there was never any love in the house, never. Did you ever see them hug each other, hug us even? Yeah, I know, it was not the Irish thing. I guess it wasn’t whatever Mom was either. I craved that contact. Maybe that is why love has come so hard to me.”
“To us.”
Rachel looked at him with a soft expression. “To us. I used to wish Ora would spend time with me, like a real mother. I hoped she would share herself, her feelings, teach me things that every other girl seemed to know. The only hugs I ever got were from you, now that I think about it, but then you abandoned me. Maybe I spent so much time in books because I was so ignorant about life, so convinced that what life had to offer was on a page, not in people.”
“Wait,” he interjected, “you came out fine. As I used to tell my students all the time, don’t be in such a hurry to get out into the real word, it’s way overrated. The crap in books is way better.”
“Are you capable of love, Josh?” She wanted to stay on topic.
“Sure, there was Leni.”
“Leni, not an Irish lass.” Rachel whispered. “You must tell me more about her.”
“But first, let me tell you how I lost my virginity.”
“Was she expensive?” Rachel shot out as she realized that trying to get him back on point was useless. This was his go-to tactic when he was avoiding a topic.
“Remember the music teacher at school?” Josh had a big smile.
“Oh yeah, she wore too much makeup and always fussed around the boys in class.”
“And she also wore loose clothing but all us guys knew she had a great body. It was a matter of great speculation among us. One day, she asked me to help with some band equipment after school. She got up on a stool and asked me to hold on to her waist while she reached up to a high shelf. Okay, that was fine until she mentioned how strong my hands were. I am thinking, what is going on here? As she stepped back, she grabbed my hands and pulled them around to her front, to her breasts. All my fantasies were real.”
“You’re kidding! Tell me you’re making this up.” Rachel eyed her brother suspiciously.
“No, it gets better. She pulled me into a small room and locked the door. The next thing I knew, she was sitting on a table, skirt pulled up, panties off, legs apart. She whispered something about making a real man out of me. I almost crapped in my pants, but what the hell. I was getting nowhere with those freaking Irish Catholic lasses. She proved insatiable, and I found I was damn good at it after a little tutoring. My god, I cannot believe it now. We took all kinds of chances in the school, in her car, everywhere. I kept having nightmares about getting caught, but no one got caught screwing older teachers in those days. Why was that? Anyways, one day, when her husband was gone, she had me over and then she had me over, and over.”
“That’s it, too much information, Josh. You, sir, are a pig.”
He had been enjoying her reaction. “Okay, I’m being bad here. But I am curious, when did you become a real woman? Surely not with Evan since he was hardly a real man.”
She stood up and walked across the room, as if she were deciding something. The way to get inside of Josh was to open herself up, she finally decided. “Okay, okay, it was in high school. I was so naïve, no surprise there. I think this was my third real date and the first one I was excited about at all. He seemed like a nice kid. I would see him in church, and in the library. Perfect, I thought. Then when we were alone, he started in on me. I tried saying no, but he said something about it being time I got with the program. What program, I thought? Later, I found out that he had bet his friends he could deflower the ice maiden.”
“You were raped?”
“No shit, Sherlock. To make matters worse, I got pregnant. I did not know what to do.”
“Damn, I wish I was there.” Josh felt awful about making fun of his early experiences.
“But you weren’t, were you?” There was venom in her words. “Sorry. Worse thing is that I got pregnant. First time and I get the brass ring.”
“Did you tell Dad?”
“Are you kidding me? He would have killed the kid and then thrown me out of the house. He was still mad about you, kept bitching about having kids was his biggest mistake in life. I went to Mom. It killed me, but she did not blink an eye. It was as if she had expected something like this. In any case, she arranged an abortion. It was just before Roe, so all this was illegal and in very Catholic Massachusetts. How she knew about such things is yet a mystery. I still have nightmares about this creepy guy and the pain and bleeding. I can remember sneaking down an alley and using a password at a nondescript door. It was the worst moment of my life, well, maybe the second worst. But she covered everything up, and dad never knew. After, she hugged me. It wasn’t warm, I don’t think she knew how to be warm. But she tried and said something about knowing what women must endure. Some lesson I thought at the time, but it stuck for a long time. That was my last date until college.”
Just then, Morris waddled into the room, stretching and looking a little confused. “Be with you in a minute, buddy.” Josh walked across the room and wrapped his arms around his sister. She breathed out deeply. “Listen, I have a plan. We have nothing planned for today, let’s go over to Victoria, one of my favorite places. Just the two of us.”
CHAPTER 5
DAY 3
The sun slipped in and out of clouds that moved quickly in a sharp wind. Josh and Rachel bundled up but decided to stay on the deck and watch Vancouver Island as the ferry approached the port. Neither said much as they completed their water journey. Soon, they had reached the disembarkation point adjacent to the harbor, the center of Victoria.
“I’ve always loved this place the best. Well, it is among my favorites at least,” Josh said. “It is so British. Oh, I hope Dad can’t hear me, he would be appalled.”
He gave her a quick tour of the area, through Beacon Hill Park and then along the coast to Beach Drive and to the Victoria Golf Club. He pointed out the men in their tweed coats and the signs indicating golfer crossing areas, like the Watch Out for Bears signs. “Remember when we saw the Deer Crossing signs when in the car with dad. He always used the same joke about whether the deer can really read. How do they know to cross where the signs are? Then he would chuckle at his little joke. As they toured the area, Josh pointed out that dogs were everywhere along with men in their tweed coats sporting pipes, both lit and unlit. The only thing missing were English bobbies and those red public phone booths.” He talked about the Georgia Strait, how the warm waters coming up from the South Pacific provided a temperate climate, even allowing for palm trees to survive.
After a tour of the University of Victoria, he headed back into the city center. It was a week or two before the primary tourist season would arrive. Finding a good place to park was not difficult. The crowds were light though a few street performers and vendors were setting up for the day. Numerous b
oats were found parked in their assigned spots. The wind was dying down, the water less choppy now. Perhaps some of them would enjoy some improvement later in the day. He pointed out the provincial government building, which seemed straight out of the British Raj, and the Empress Hotel.
“Really,” he enthused, “can you imagine any better example of the Victorian period? I would not be surprised if we found some poor Irish lasses in service to the elite here. Hey, we can have tea or lunch at the Empress later, but let’s walk along the edge of the harbor. There is a walkway that goes most of the way.”
“Tea at the Empress,” Rachel smirked. “You are tempting fate, you’ll probably burst into flames as you munch on one of those tiny cucumber sandwiches.”
“Cucumber sandwiches? You really don’t get out much.”
“No, I don’t. I have been working my ass off for the last hundred years or so. Sad, really,” she mused. “I’ve been so focused on my career that I never gave Cate the attention she deserved. I missed too many of her school events, didn’t just spend time listening to her. Sometimes I feel like such a failure as a mother.”
“More self-flagellation? Where is this coming from? Listen, Rachel, how many times have I told you not to be so hard on yourself? That’s my job. I’m good at shitting on people. I’ve had plenty of practice.”
