Anastasia's Grail

by Mary Pearson

liked the brightly-colored donuts.

  “You guys are so good to help out,” Rose said. “Sometimes I feel guilty that we ask so much of you.”

  “I don’t mind,” Arthur answered for the two of them. “It’s my church, too. This is little enough to contribute.”

  “Still,” she said, between squirting jam onto rolls. “You young folks should be out having fun on a Friday night.”

  “The night is yet young,” Zeke said, innuendo ripe in his tone.

  Rose smiled. Going by past experience, the guys would probably pray the family rosary, work out with Uncle George and watch a movie before calling it a night. “At least Stacy is enjoying herself,” she commented. “Who did you say she went with, Em?”

  Stacy’s sister looked up from sprinkling streusel in a pan. “Some guy called Darius,” she said.

  Arthur’s head shot up. “Did you say Darius?”

  “Yeah,” Emily looked at him curiously, “why?”

  “Never mind. I’ve gotta go,” he said, grabbing his jacket. To Zeke, “I should be back soon… I hope.” The swinging door slammed behind his hastily departing figure.

  Rose looked after him with concern.

  With much difficulty Stacy managed to pull herself through the narrow opening of the window. There were alarms and flashing red lights surrounding the house and an ever-growing group of half-clad teenagers standing in the spot light which was illuminating the entrance. She flattened herself against the building, vaguely wondering why she was even doing so. She began to sidle toward a stand of pine trees near one side of the house. She figured she might be able to slip away using the trees for cover. As she was in the process of melting into them, someone strong grabbed her firmly by the arm and pulled her toward the alley. Once they were far enough from the house to no longer be in danger of discovery, he stopped under a street lamp and she realized with shock that it was Arthur.

  “What are you doing here!” she demanded. “Were you spying on me?”

  “I was trying to save your butt,” was his irritated reply. “C’mon,” he took her arm more gently now. “I’ll explain on the way back to the shop.”

  She followed him to his SUV and climbed into the passenger seat. He shut the door for her and got in the driver’s seat. Before turning the key he faced her, “Do you know what kind of party that was?”

  Stacy really didn’t, so she remained silent.

  “Those guys had ecstasy. They were giving it to the girls.” He let this sink in. “Did you drink anything?”

  Stacy nodded, then shook her head. “I drank some soda but I opened the can myself.” She remembered watching Darius pour something into the can. What if that wasn’t alcohol, after all? Now it was Stacy’s turn to ask questions. She turned to face Arthur. “How do you happen to know about this?” she asked him.

  “You remember I said one of my brothers still lives here. Mark is a cop. He probably shouldn’t have, but he told me they got wind of Drake’s party this morning. They were planning a bust. When I heard your sister say “Darius” I figured you were at the same place. Some people are notorious. Stacy,” he took her hands in his, “I really wasn’t spying on you. I just figured you might need some help. Now let’s get out of here before I get my brother in trouble.” He turned the key and backed down the alley.

  Back at the bread shop, the family had cleaned up from the day’s work and the whole group was headed upstairs for what was a nightly ritual—the family rosary. Every night Grandma Annie, Rose, Reecie, George and Zeke would pray. Depending on homework and her personal schedule, sometimes Emily would join them. Lately more often than not, Arthur would be there, too. Stacy never prayed with the family, but tonight she was shaken from her close call and she didn’t want to be alone across the street. She was also feeling grateful and wanted to thank God for her near miss.

  There were makeshift pews and benches in the chapel upstairs and light played off of the Holy Spirit stained glass window against the back wall. Uncle George lit several candles and knelt on a prie-dieu. Making the sign of the cross, he began with the creed. Most of the others sat on softly padded benches. Ezekiel knelt and Reecie just ran around, dancing and tumbling, nevertheless managing to throw in the occasional “Holy Mary” or “Amen”. After the preliminary prayers came this evening’s petitions. George always said the same thing: ‘For all the things I prayed for last night and…’ (here he added anything new). He figured that way he would be sure never to forget anything important and, since God is omniscient the ever-growing list was of no significance to Him. Stacy’s mom always said the same thing, too: “I bind my children to the Sacred Heart of Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary.”

  Following the rest of the petitions, George announced the mysteries for that night. It was Friday, so they would pray the Sorrowful ones. (Monday and Saturday were Joyful mystery days, Tuesday and Friday were Sorrowful, Wednesday and Sunday were Glorious, Thursday were the Mysteries of Light, or Luminous. They were brand new, instituted by Pope JPll.)

  The Sorrowful Mysteries recalled the Passion and Crucifixion of Jesus. They included the Agony in Gethsemani, the Scourging, the Crowning with Thorns, the Carrying of the Cross and the Crucifixion itself. Ever since she had been reading the Shroud of Turin book, Stacy had developed much more appreciation for what these mysteries entailed. It had been years since she had bothered to pray with the family, except on the occasion when George would waltz into the work room, arbitrarily declaring it a Day of Atonement and inducing the others to join him in in a reparatory rosary. Stacy wasn’t sure if she had ever meditated a rosary properly, or possibly at all, until now. But this evening as they prayed, she couldn’t help visualizing the sweat which fell as drops of blood, the one hundred twenty lashes of the whip (scientists had counted them) with the barbarous flagrum, a torture device that had been used in scourgings of the period. Mosaic Law prohibited anyone receiving more than forty lashes with this whip, as it could cause death, but Jesus had been given over to Roman officials for His flogging, thus receiving three times that number. It was amazing He didn’t die from the scourging alone.

  She knew from shroud studies that the crown of thorns was more of a cap, and that the thorns were several inches long and vicious. There were numerous puncture wounds all over the shroud man’s skull. She also knew that the cross which He carried was only the horizontal beam. There was evidence that the man of the shroud had fallen and was unable to protect himself. The cartilage of his nose was broken and his knees were full of abrasions. The dirt in these wounds was traceable to Jerusalem, as was the dirt on His feet. The evidence was that he had been nailed using one nail through both feet and that, in order to be able to breath he needed to push himself up with his wounded feet. Usually a crucifixion victim would have his legs broken to bring on death, as the victim would no longer be able to lift himself to breathe, but the Shroud man’s legs were intact. There was one blow of a Roman lancea to the Shroud man’s side. This, too, had slipped between ribs without breaking any bones. And so it was that no bones were broken, noted as unusual in a crucifixion, and a fulfillment of a prophecy for the Christ.

  After possibly the first rosary that Stacy had ever prayed properly, she headed with Uncle George and the other young people to lift weights and work out for about an hour. Tonight Stacy did some weights and ran for about twenty minutes on the treadmill. They all were feeling pretty sweaty when they went to George’s apartment room to bake a ready-made pizza and get sodas. Stacy’s uncle George was a complicated person. A decorated hero of the Korean war--George had received a Purple Heart—he had retired young from a lifetime in the Armed Forces, returning to live with his sister, Stacy and Emily’s grandmother, when their grandfather died. This was ten years ago when the girls were still little. George’s room was bedless, seeming more like a living room with its long low couch, loveseat, bean bag chair and big screen TV. Friday was movie night. George would rent new releases at Rupert’s Video Emporium. He would call and reserve whatever th
e kids wanted to watch (within reason) Monday morning. They had been doing this ritual since Stacy and Emily had moved here when their dad died. Lately, though, Stacy had more and more frequently chosen to spend Fridays with friends from school, rather than with George and the others.

  Tonight’s choice was a horror film, but it was of the sort that was so unbelievable that it bordered on being comical. Depending on whether he had the remote handy, George would either fast-forward over questionable (usually sexual) content, or sometimes he would just dance in front of the screen until the offensive portion was past. The young people had gotten quite used to this practice over the years and would sometimes imitate the Uncle George dance—Emily was quite good at it, really. Tonight Stacy really enjoyed being with the family, and she cast glances at Arthur when she thought he wouldn’t notice. He wasn’t like Darius but in his own way, he was good-looking. You could lose yourself in eyes like his. In truth Stacy wouldn’t have minded staying all night, just casting surreptitious glances at Arthur, but when the movie was over they all headed out to give Uncle George his space. He needed to sleep, too.

  Hospitality Sunday began early with loading and hauling all of the