The Soul of the Matter

by Bruce Buff

  “I understand,” Dan said.

  It was now 9 p.m., time for the final prayers. It would be the last time Dan would see Stephen’s face. He walked over to Nancy, who was talking with Stephen’s parents. They greeted him tenderly, as they had earlier in the day, and then Nancy said, “We’ve been talking about it, and we’d like you to say the first reading at the funeral tomorrow. We can pick it together.”

  Despite his discomfort, there was only one answer: “I would be honored to do it.”

  Stephen’s mother said, “Thank you. Stephen would have appreciated it.” Looking across the room, she added, “And I’m so glad Kevin Collins was able to make it. With his responsibilities, I wasn’t sure he’d be able to get here. Did you two have a chance to catch up?”

  Dan was confused. He hadn’t seen Kevin, hadn’t even thought of him in years. In high school, Kevin had been good friends with Dan and Stephen. He was always more of an instigator than Dan and Stephen, the one mostly likely to stir things up just to see what could happen, the first to pull a risky prank. But the biggest shock Kevin had up his sleeve was graduating with top honors from the Air Force Academy and becoming a pilot. After that, he pursued a military career that took him across the world and away from old friends. Dan hadn’t heard anything about him in over a dozen years.

  “When was he here? I never saw him,” a still surprised Dan asked.

  “He got here a few minutes ago,” Nancy said.

  Confused, Dan looked across the room. “I still don’t see him. What’s he wearing?”

  Nancy replied, “Black, with a white collar, of course. Even though he has a high position in the Church in Rome, even before Francis, he always wanted to dress more humbly.”

  Dan’s already shocked systems were rattled further. With disbelief, he looked at the priest standing nearby and saw his face for the first time. Sure enough, an older and more worn Kevin Collins looked back at him.

  Dan said, “Kevin? You—a priest? How? When?”

  Grabbing Dan’s hand, shaking it, then nodding toward Stephen’s casket, Kevin said, “You holding up okay?”

  “It’s devastating,” Dan said.

  “It’s hard to believe this will be the last time the three of us will be together in this life.”

  “As much as I’d like to right now, I don’t believe in an afterlife. You didn’t once, either. What happened?” Dan replied politely, staring at Kevin’s clerical collar, bewildered.

  “I have to say the closing prayers now. How about dinner afterward?”

  “I don’t have much of an appetite, but I’ll join you,” Dan said.

  “Good.” With that Kevin stood next to Stephen’s casket, looked at the room, blessed himself and Stephen’s remains, then started reading from the Bible.

  All Dan could think about was the surprises that kept coming and he wondered what possibly could be next.

  Chapter 42

  They sat in a dimly lit wood booth in a small, mostly empty, restaurant. Dan was drinking an India pale ale, while Kevin sipped from a glass of cabernet.

  They had already exhausted basic small talk and were now sitting in silence. Perhaps Kevin was reluctant to say anything more, or perhaps it was his training in hearing confessions that told him to listen, but he seemed to be waiting for Dan to reveal something meaningful first.

  It wasn’t as though Dan lacked for things to say or ask. And the clerical collar wasn’t an impediment. Dan was just worn out and felt like he was being beaten back down just as he had pulled himself off the canvas.

  Finally breaking the quiet, Dan asked, “Were you in touch with Stephen much since college? He didn’t mention you in our last talks.”

  “Not for a while. I had fallen off the beaten path for a long time, and when I reemerged, my new life was focused around contemplation and solitude. Once I reentered the everyday world, we did touch base every now and then.”

  “Falling off the beaten path is an interesting way of putting going from an Air Force pilot to a priest. It’s going to be hard for me to call you Father Kevin.”

  “Actually, I go by Father Michael now. I wanted a completely fresh start and, to prepare for what I expected to face, I picked Michael as my new name. It’s not a common practice, except for the Pope, but it’s done.”

  “What made you change?” Dan asked. Whatever had happened to the man now known as Father Michael, it must have been traumatic.

  “A lot. As you probably recall, I was a rather adventurous, worldly young man.”

  “I’d say that you made the pre-conversion Augustine seem like an Eagle Scout,” Dan said with a smile that had a hint of a smirk.

  “Thanks for the flattering reminder. As I recall, you weren’t much different.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t become a priest,” Dan retorted.

  “You’re still young. No telling what you may become.”

  “There are some things I’d bet everything against.”

  “Perhaps. Still, it may not be wise to take too strong a stand. You may neither know nor understand your adversary nor what you are wagering,” Kevin replied.

  “I know myself and what’s real,” Dan replied.

  “Do you?” Kevin said in a calm, knowing, soft voice.

  “Weren’t you supposed to be telling me about yourself? After that we can talk about me, if that’s what you really want to do,” Dan said, irritated.

  “As you wish. Despite my behavior as a young man, I was accepted to the Academy. I studied hard, and I was happy in my service and sure of my mission. Then I flew a number of sorties in Serbia and Kosovo. One of my missiles went astray and killed innocent villagers. It was a malfunction, nothing I caused, but still I felt incredible guilt. I couldn’t sleep. My flying became erratic. I was grounded, spent a lot of time with the chaplain, and then received an early honorable discharge. Still disturbed about what I had done, I volunteered for the Peace Corps. First I went to Kosovo to try to make amends. I lived quietly among people of the Islamic faith. Then I went to places in Africa where the poverty and conditions are like nothing you can imagine. The brutality of warring factions was worse than anything I had seen: young children taken and turned into vengeful creatures, people slaughtered like animals. God seemed completely absent. Then I met missionaries serving the destitute without regard for their own safety. The charity and love they demonstrated were inspiring, and somehow they were happy in the midst of all of this. After a few months there, I felt an incredible choice presented to me. I was being called. It seemed to me that God’s will was clear. There was only one thing that I needed to do: decide whether I would heed the call or not. I did, and it brought me the peace and humanity I had desperately sought. I started learning how to forgive and how to accept forgiveness, how to suffer and sacrifice, how to humbly serve others. Few things are more powerful and yet more difficult to achieve than these, especially forgiveness.”

  Dan thought that he, too, would have struggled mightily with the enormous guilt from killing innocent people, especially children. He was sorry for Kevin and hoped that becoming Father Michael had helped him with the guilt.

  “While I am very sorry about what happened to you, I’m surprised that becoming a priest in a religion with so many troubles is that helpful,” Dan said, then wondered whether he had said too much to someone he hadn’t seen in so long and didn’t expect to see much of again.

  “Yes, there are problems in the Church, and part of my job is to help deal with them. Because of my background, I’ve became what’s known as a ‘Vatican fixer,’ sent to deal with pressing issues whatever, and wherever, they may be. What people don’t realize is that the Church is not an organization with strong management oversight and control; certainly it issues edicts, but it lacks knowledge and power over local affairs and clergy. I’m helping to bridge that gap.”

  “You make it sound like you’re the head of th
e Church’s Special Forces unit. Is that what you became a priest to do, cover up its problems?”

  “I don’t cover up; I deal with and fix them,” Father Michael said, with a flash of anger. “And that is only part of my job. I also lead ecumenical missions, reaching out to other faiths. And who are you to judge me? What authority do you appeal to in your life?”

  “I prefer being an atheist with no authority rather than someone who causes suffering in the name of religion.”

  “I know lots of atheists who are great people. There is no doubt they do wonderful things for others without being told to do so by any religion. And I agree that lots of supposedly religious people use religion as a shield to justify themselves and harm others. The question isn’t whether a person can be good without religion, but can they be good without God? It isn’t the same thing.” He took a sip of his wine. “Why are you so antagonistic toward religion, anyway?”

  “I don’t like the idea that others think religion gives them authority over me,” Dan said. He had considered sharing his own spiritual struggles, but he wasn’t sure where those were headed and wasn’t ready to talk about them yet.

  “Yeah, I get that. Not that some atheists’ claims aren’t a form of authority over others. But let’s save the philosophical discussions for another day. We haven’t seen each other in a very long time, and I’d like this to be nice enough so that we want to get together again, under much happier circumstances.” Father Michael smiled then raised his glass, as if making a toast.

  Dan raised his beer bottle and clinked it lightly against the wineglass. “That’s a good idea. As you can probably tell, I have things—I won’t call them issues—that I’m working through, and on top of them, Stephen’s death has been a real blow.”

  Father Michael nodded wanly as dinner arrived.

  After discussing and laughing over days gone by and adventures they’d since had, and catching up on goings-on with each other’s families, Dan asked, “Do you know much about Stephen’s work?”

  “Only what was public knowledge. I read about it with interest, but we rarely talked about it. It was well over my head, though I found what little I did understand fascinating.”

  “You two kept enough in touch to fly over once you heard he’d died? Or did you happen to be here?”

  “Nancy contacted me, and I came right away.”

  “You’re concelebrating the funeral Mass, I presume.”

  “Of course.”

  “When did you last talk with him?” Dan asked.

  “Several months ago. It was brief. Mostly about faith and science.”

  “What about faith and science? That’s not been one of the Church’s strong points,” Dan said. Was Father Michael’s statement an allusion to Galileo?

  “Nothing that would be surprising to you. Just the age-old questions of the boundaries and relationship between them. He did mention that you two were estranged. What happened?”

  Dan’s expression of discomfort alone was enough to signal to Father Michael that Dan wasn’t ready to talk about that. Quickly changing the subject, Father Michael asked, “How about you? What do you know about Stephen’s work?”

  “Not much, though I know he thought it would shed insight into human origin and what he considered God’s role in that. Quite frankly, it concerned me, and made me think that he was having trouble reconciling science and religion. He also seemed to have been getting spiritual guidance. Do you know anything about that?” Dan was probing for any hint, as unlikely as he thought it was, due to the lack of his science background, that the man now known as Father Michael might be Stephen’s Galileo.

  “You know you can’t ask a priest what someone confides in them,” Father Michael said, smiling. Was he intentionally obscuring the important difference between regular conversation and the confessional? “Still, I will say that, outwardly, Stephen didn’t seem to be spiritually troubled.”

  “I’m trying to help Nancy through this. Let me know if you think of something that could be useful. Stephen’s death is mysterious, and helping to clear that up would surely help her,” Dan said.

  “Definitely. Why don’t you come see me sometime in Rome?”

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll have a lot to do here for a long time.”

  “I could give you a great tour, show you things the public doesn’t get to see.”

  Dan studied him. Was he offering more than he seemed to be? Did the secret of Galileo lay in Rome? But just as Dan was about to ask, Father Michael reached out toward the waiter and signaled for the check. “Tomorrow is going to be a tough day, and it’s best we try to get some rest tonight.”

  “Yes, and I still have to prepare to give a reading,” Dan said. He insisted on paying the check, and as they left, Dan thought he’d better keep an eye on Father Michael. There was much more than met the eye there. Who knew what his experiences had done to him and what side of the Galileo equation he was really on?

  Chapter 43

  DAY 9

  SATURDAY MIDDAY

  Remember, man, you are dust and unto dust you shall return,” said Father Michael, standing graveside at the head of Stephen’s casket. People stood rows deep in all directions.

  The sky was blue, the mourners subdued. The air was unusually crisp. On the grounds of the cemetery, the sounds of everyday life were too remote to be heard. Everything felt deadened.

  Dan had awoken with the emptiness that had plagued him until recently. He fought it off by focusing on the vows he had made when he had found Stephen’s body. And there were other people to care for. He had to concentrate on these things.

  As Father Michael continued with the rite, Dan looked discreetly at the mourners for any sign of the mysterious Galileo. Up the hill, Dan saw a white van with a small antennae dish on top. One government authority or another was checking out the mourners, while using their visible presence as low-level security. It also confirmed that, as he expected, more than the police were now involved.

  Soon enough, the authorities would complete their preliminary investigations. Before then, Dan knew, more substantial agencies than the regular police would question him at length about the connections between Viktor, Stephen, and himself. Already his mind was trying to anticipate lines of questioning and how he would respond.

  Dan’s focus snapped back on the funeral when Father Michael made the sign of the cross. Nancy and Ava each placed a single flower on the coffin; Stephen’s parents did the same. Dan followed, looking hard at the highly polished walnut coffin, thinking, Is this ­really it?

  They all stood there until everyone who had a flower had placed it. Trish placed hers last.

  The service concluded, Nancy and Ava, along with Stephen’s parents, walked toward the limo awaiting them. A small group, Dan included, would soon gather at the Bishop house for a small meal and subdued talk.

  As Dan turned to walk toward his car, Father Michael put his hand on Dan’s arm and said, “You did an excellent job with the reading. I don’t think I ever heard anyone read that passage with as much feeling and desire. I believe your prayer will be answered.”

  Nancy and Dan had picked the reading together, from Ecclesiastes: There is an appointed time for everything, and a time for every affair under the heavens. A time to give birth, and a time to die; a time to plant, a time to uproot the plant. A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to tear down, and a time to build up. A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.

  Dan stared at Father Michael and said, “I don’t pray. I read it for Nancy.”

  “I heard a heart searching for an answer that would make things right.”

  “Kevin, I think everyone is searching today, including you. No one likes to think that ‘the fate of the sons of men and the fate of beasts is the same; as one dies, so dies the other. They all have the same breath, and man has no advantage over the be
asts; for all is vanity,’ as all of this shows,” Dan answered while sweeping his arm across the vista of the cemetery.

  Father Michael replied, “You remember your Ecclesiastes well. What about ‘Sorrow is better than laughter. When the face is sad, the heart grows wise’?”

  “Then why are so few wise? Why is wisdom better than happiness?” Dan said quietly.

  “You know what I would say to that. But not today. What are you going to do now?”

  “I have a lot to make good on.”

  “I know you will,” Father Michael replied.

  “Now, that is an act of extreme faith.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Father Michael said, extending his hand.

  After shaking hands, Dan headed toward his car. He briefly considered walking up the hill to the van, check out its occupants, and get the preliminary discussions out of the way.

  He decided against it. Now was the time for action. Dan had to get to Stephen’s work before others did.

  Chapter 44

  DAY 10

  EARLY SUNDAY AFTERNOON

  Agent Evans surveyed the region around the blackened, flattened remnants of MIT’s Plasma Science and Fusion Center. Buildings that had once flanked the sides of the center were now charred hulks. Dozens of personnel from various government agencies were carefully sorting and cataloging the debris. Vehicles from the FBI, the atomic energy commission, other unnamed national agencies, police department, and city morgue were scattered about. Medical examiners stood among the wreckage, listless. All that remained of those caught in the blast were scorched bone fragments, and it would take a long time to find them.

  Walking within the path that had been cleared, Agent Evans approached three men in white environmental suits standing on a pile of masonry and twisted metal where the entrance to the reactor room had once stood. A large tent had been erected over the reactor area. An armband on one of the men identified him as Brooker, the ranking FBI agent on-site and leader of the forensic efforts.