“And I fell apart.” Marcus said the words simply, but Ballard knew it took superhuman effort to say them. The ghost of old pain lingered in his voice. He’d never met the boy Marcus had loved, but he knew so much about Kingsley from Marcus’s confessions that Ballard fancied he could identify the man in a police line-up if he had to. Getting the truth out of Marcus had been like prying a stone from a child’s hand only to force the fingers apart to see the diamond on his palm. Ballard remembered prying those diamonds from Marcus’s hand…
I never in my life dreamed I would want another boy. Then I saw him—his dark eyes, dark brown hair, and olive skin…
Father Ballard…what if I never see him again?
Kingsley kissed me first. I punished him for it, because I was too scared to kiss him back. I thought if I started kissing him, I would never stop.
What if I never kiss him again?
Kingsley used me as a pillow. I loved waking up to find his head on my chest or my stomach or my back. He has long dark hair and he laughs when I pull it. That’s how I’d wake him up, tugging on his hair. The best days were the days his laugh was the first sound I heard.
What if I never hear it again?
I was cruel to him because he liked it and because I loved it. When I told him he was beneath me, I only meant…I wanted him beneath me. Always.
He left me. And he never came back.
“I know you fell apart,” Ballard said, the echo of Marcus’s long-ago confessions still ringing in his ears. “I’m the one who put the pieces back together. I loved you then. I love you more now. I can’t bear the thought of seeing you go through that again. The only thing greater than your ability to inflict suffering is your capacity to experience it. You are taking a huge risk. I’m not talking about your career now. I’m talking about your heart.”
“What isn’t a risk? Birth comes with a death sentence. Every breath I take could be my last. I know loving her is a risk,” Marcus said, his strong jaw set and determined. “But I can’t walk away from her. No one is taking care of her right now. Someone has to.”
“So you are going to sleep with her?”
Marcus paused. “Not until she’s older.”
“Glad you’re thinking this through so thoroughly,” Father Ballard said. “I feel much better now. Let’s wrap this up and have tea.”
“You’re angry.”
“Of course I’m angry. You’re in love with a 16-year-old girl in your parish, and I’m not supposed to be angry?”
“That isn’t why you’re angry.”
Ballard turned and faced Marcus. “Don’t do this to me. Keep your eyes out of my head. I know you. I know what you are.”
“You know what I am because I told you what I am. And I can’t turn it on and off with a switch. I can read you the same way I can see the tree to our left and the graves on our right. You’re angry because I’m going through with it and you didn’t.”
“I’m not discussing her with you today,” Ballard said, meaning every word.
“You are, whether you mean to or not. She’s in everything you say to me. I hear her like you’re speaking with her voice. You loved her. She loved you. You chose the Church. She left. And you have never forgiven yourself. You can take your regret out on me if you want, but don’t pretend it’s your piety talking.”
Father Ballard prayed for a miracle. All he needed was eight more inches of height so he could properly finish Marcus off. They were in a cemetery already. Good place to commit murder.
“Was it really worth it?” Marcus asked and Ballard heard the compassion under the question. “Choosing your vows over the woman you loved?”
“No,” Ballard said. An easy answer to a hard question. “I thought it was the right decision at the time. Thirty years later…no. It wasn’t worth it. I could have married her, become a deacon. But I was scared. The Church was my home. It’s still my home.”
Marcus fell silent. Ballard had learned long ago to leave him be when silent. Whatever came after the silence was always worth the wait.
“I had a dream last night,” Marcus began at last. “I dreamt I was in a desert and I saw a man and a boy standing by a large rock. The man was the boy’s father. I don’t know how I knew it but I knew it, the way you know things in your dreams.”
Ballard nodded, not speaking, waiting for Marcus to go on.
“And the father was weeping because he had a knife in his hand and he was going to kill his son.”
“You were dreaming of Abraham and Isaac.”
“I was,” Marcus said. “But in the dream I didn’t know who they were. I didn’t realize I was in a Bible story. It felt real. The sun on my face, the sand in my eyes.”
“God commanded Abraham to kill his son. A hard passage for any believer.”
“I watched the man raise the knife over his son’s heart. I awoke with a start when he brought the knife down. I felt the knife in my own chest, Stuart.”
“That must have been terrifying.”
“It should have been, but it wasn’t.” Marcus shook his head, seemingly dumbfounded by the experience. “I felt this deep sense of joy. It was only a test… I heard those words ringing in my head like a bell. This has been a test.”
Ballard smiled. “It was a test. God ordered Abraham to kill his own son Isaac—‘whom you love.’ I never forgot those words. The moment Abraham is fully willing to kill his son for God, when he’s bringing the knife down, that’s when the angel stops his hand and saves Isaac. Or rather, he saves Abraham. Saves him from having to kill his own child. But Abraham proved he was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice by killing his only son. God proved He was willing to kill His only son too. But God went through with it.”
“I’ve never told you this,” Marcus began, and Ballard had a feeling there was much Marcus had never told him. “But the night before my ordination I read that passage in Genesis. I was Abraham. Kingsley was Isaac. If I took my vows and became a priest, it would be like putting a knife through my love for Kingsley. And I had to be willing to do that. I invited him to my ordination. Did you know that?”
“Another thing you never told me.”
“I sent the letter to his grandparents’ address in Maine. I thought if anyone could find him, it would be them. Something told me he would be there at my ordination. He would come. I believed it so thoroughly I thought I saw him in the back of the church.”
“Why did you invite him? Hoping he’d stop the wedding this time like you wish he’d done the last time?”
Marcus laughed, a mirthless laugh but a laugh nonetheless.
“I needed to prove to myself I loved God more than Kingsley. When I took my vows, I was certain he was there, watching me. I made my vows anyway. I chose God over Kingsley. I brought down the knife.” Marcus stopped speaking again. Ballard saw his jaw clench. “The letter I sent came back to me the day after my ordination. Both his grandparents had died. Kingsley had left no forwarding address. He hadn’t been there after all.”
“But it doesn’t matter. You thought he was there. You could have walked away from the Church, from the priesthood that very day and you didn’t. You passed Abraham’s test.”
“It’s a sick, sadistic thing to order a father to kill his son, isn’t it?” Marcus asked. “I’ve played my share of mind games but I would never go so far. Even I have my limits.”
“Sadistic is the word for it. God in the Old Testament wasn’t anyone’s pal.”
“What if God’s still like that? What if He’s still playing games with us? What if the vows are a test? Will we give up wealth, freedom, marriage, and sex for His sake? What if we do and then along comes an angel with black hair and green eyes and green hair and black eyes and says, ‘This was only a test. You passed. Put the knife down.’ ”
“And come to bed?”
Marcus smiled. “She would say that.”
“You and I both know that’s wishful thinking. I’ve been a priest a long time, long enough to know the vows are far
more for the Church’s sake than God’s. It’s not a popular opinion but more of us believe that than we’re willing to admit. One century the sun revolves around the Earth. The next century the Earth revolves around the sun. We’re making it up as we go along.”
“So what do we do? The Church says the sun revolves around the Earth so we force ourselves to believe it?”
“Of course not. We believe what we know to be true. But we do so very quietly. If you truly believe you and her belong together…who am I say to you’re wrong? If you think you are no longer beholden to the vow you made, then break it. But…”
“Break it quietly.”
“For your sake, her sake, and the sake of the Church. Please no more scandals. My heart can’t take it.”
“Why do they do this to us?”
“Good reasons? They can send us anywhere without having to move whole families. We can get closer to people because there’s no wife or children at home to get jealous of how much time we’re spending with the sick or the scared. Bad reasons? The Church wants to control its clergy. Control the cock, control the man. We fall in love, get married, have children…suddenly we have something in our lives more important than the Church.”
“So much for being fruitful and multiplying.”
“You want to have children with her?”
“She’s the freest spirit I’ve ever encountered. I would never burden her with a child. She is a child and always will be. Child-like, not childish.”
“That’s not an answer to my question. You told me about her, not about you. Do you want to have children with her?”
“I have the standard male biological urge to father a child. Considering who and what my father is, who and what I am…”
“You would make a wonderful father.”
“I am a Father. That is enough for me.”
“And that girl you love is God’s child. Don’t ever forget that. She was His before she was yours, and she’ll be His during and after.”
“I won’t forget.”
They walked in silence for a time, past a hundred graves or more. Someday Ballard would be in a grave and all that would be left of him on this Earth would be the memory shared by those who knew him. Miriam…he’d leave her with too few memories. A thousand whispers. A hundred embraces. A dozen nervous phone calls. And not one single night together in his bed. He should have spent at least one night with her. It was all she’d asked. He’d made love to her a thousand times in his mind, taken her endlessly in his heart. Why hadn’t he had the courage to let his body go through with it? One night and he couldn’t give her that. He could have given her a good memory to cherish. Instead he’d only given them both a void in the shape of one night with the woman he loved.
“Tell me what she’s like,” Ballard said. “Convince me she’s worth you risking your entire vocation over.”
“What do you want to know? Height? Short. Hair color? Black.”
“What do you see in her?”
“She…she makes me laugh. I feel human with her. I don’t feel human very often, but I do with her.”
“You are human.”
“If I wasn’t sure I was human before, I am now. She makes me weak.”
“That’s why they call this sacrament ‘reconciliation.’ Yes, God and sinner are reconciled. But more than that, man is reconciled with himself. We are the most ourselves when giving our confession. ‘God have mercy on me a sinner.’ ”
“God have mercy on me a sinner,” Marcus said. “And God have mercy on me because I cannot repent of loving her.”
“Is she in love with you?”
“I have every reason to believe she is. Although she hasn’t said the words and neither have I.”
“Do you believe a 16-year-old has any idea what love is?”
“We’re Catholic priests, Stuart. We believe a 14-year-old girl gave birth to the Son of God. We believe God was incarnate as that infant child. And we believe children as young as seven can partake of Communion as they’ve reached the age of reason.”
“Nice speech. Now answer my question.”
Marcus sighed heavily. “Kingsley was 16 when he fell in love with me. He’s still in love with me eleven years later. If a 16-year-old can’t love, how do you explain that?”
“How do you know he’s still in love with you? Last time we talked you hadn’t seen him in months. And even then he was unconscious in a hospital bed.”
“I’ve seen him. I didn’t want to. No—that’s a lie. I didn’t want to want to see him. I was avoiding it although I knew where he lived. But I had to see him.”
“That must have hard for you.”
“It was agony.”
“Why did you do it?”
“I needed his help. We’re…friends? Working on that.”
“And now? Is it still agony?”
“Still and always.”
“Because you’re still in love with him.” It wasn’t a question.
Marcus nodded.
“So what you’re telling me is that you’re not only in love with this girl, but you’re still in love with Kingsley who is now back in your life? Anything else?”
“Nothing else. For now.”
“This is going to be a long confession.”
“It was your decision to go for the walk. In August. While wearing a cassock.”
“I make poor decisions sometimes,” Ballard said.
“You agreed to be my confessor eleven years ago.”
“And that was my first mistake.”
Marcus had the decency to at least attempt to look apologetic. He didn’t quite succeed but the effort was appreciated.
“I dreamed of her,” Marcus said as they walked under a stone arch and into a shadier, cooler part of the cemetery. “Years ago, Kingsley and I were—”
“I don’t want to hear the end of that sentence.”
“Talking.”
“Just talking? Good.”
“I waited until we were done talking to beat him and fuck him.”
“Oh God, you do this to me on purpose.” Ballard winced.
“Of course I do. I’m a sadist.”
“I’m the most open-minded priest I know but for God’s sake, don’t paint me a picture.”
“You know Kingsley and I were lovers when we were teenagers. None of this is news to you.”
“Knowing and picturing are two different things.” Ballard raised his hand to his eyes as if to block out the mental images.
Marcus only laughed. “If Kingsley were here he’d call you a close-minded homophobic vanilla bigot. In French.”
“I’m a sixty-year-old heterosexual Jesuit priest who has nothing but respect for monogamy, marriage, and the missionary position. Continue. Please.”
“As I was saying…years ago, Kingsley and I were talking. Dreaming out loud. We were at an all-boys school, so of course we were dreaming of girls.”
“Much better.”
“And we imagined a girl who had black hair like his but was pale like I am. Green eyes with black hair. Green hair with black eyes. Wilder than the both of us together.”
“Were you drunk?”
“Only on each other.”
“I walked right into that one.”
“Your own fault,” Marcus said, once more unapologetic.
“Keep talking.” Ballard waved his hand and tried to ignore the images in his head.
“As I was saying, we were dreaming out loud about this girl. An impossible dream. Only a dream. I thought that until I saw the dream standing in front of me waiting to take Holy Communion… Have you ever recognized someone you’ve never met before?”
Father Ballard smiled. “I did once. Yes.”
“When?”
Ballard smiled to himself. “The hour I first believed.”
“It was like that,” Marcus said, quieter now. “I was so shocked I almost forgot my lines.”
“It’s the liturgy,” Ballard said, glaring at Marcus. “Not ‘your lines.’ This i
s the Catholic Church, not Shakespeare in the Park.”
“It’s what Eleanor calls it. She asked me recently how I remember all my lines. I thought it was…”
“What?”
“It was cute.”
“Cute?”
“She also calls the narthex the ‘lobby.’ ”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph…” Father Ballard shook his head and crossed himself. He hadn’t felt this torn since Miriam left. He loved Marcus and it was a joy to see him so happy. And yet…
“Marcus, I swear—”
“Stuart, you know I hate it when you call me that.”
“Marcus is your name.”
“Marcus is my father’s name.”
“It’s your name too. Your issues with your father notwithstanding—”
“I have no issues with my father,” Marcus said. “I hate him. That’s not an issue. That is a fact.”
“No issues with your father? Do you know how many white male British Catholics there are? Double digits might be wishful thinking. You can count the number of English Jesuits living in American on one hand. And yet, you, the son of an Englishman, find the one English Jesuit in the entire province to be your confessor.”
“Coincidence.”
“We’re Catholics. We don’t believe in coincidence. Does this girl of yours have a good relationship with her father?”
“No. He’s a criminal. He abandoned her when she was arrested for committing a crime he forced her to commit. I’ve forbidden her from having any contact with him whatsoever.”
“And you have no contact with your father anymore either,” Ballard said. “And you’ve forbidden both your sisters from having any contact with him.”
“I’m twenty-nine years old, Stuart. I don’t have daddy issues.”
“You’re six-feet-four inches of daddy issues. Your father joined the English Army. You join God’s Army. Your father is a sadist. You’re a sadist. Your father raped an 18-year-old girl who worked for him while he was married to someone else. You’ve fallen in love with a 16-year-old girl who attends your church while under a vow of celibacy.”
“Are you telling me I’m becoming my father?”
The Confessions Page 2
