Then some pig-nosed kid asked him what all that had to do with Mary’s face showing up on the concrete down on Main Street. Mr. O’Connor answered in the same dry, stiff, dusty way that he talked about everything, except when it came to the periodic table and the theory of evolution, where he always got a little more excited.
“Science can tell us that the markings represent a stain or discoloration caused by water soaking into the concrete over an extended period of time, perhaps from rainfall or perhaps from a leaky drainage pipe. Beyond that it can’t tell us why the markings are there, or if the fact that they may resemble a woman’s face has any significance beyond the random chemical processes at work.”
But the kid’s forehead was still all crinkled up, so Mr. O’Connor decided to try again. I could tell he was getting bored though, because he kept looking at his watch.
“So if you believe that God or Jesus or Allah or Mary or Buddha or Zeus or the Fairy Queen or whatever other invisible being you can think of put the markings there, then the standard view is that science can neither prove it nor disprove it. Some scientists dispute that, of course, and say science can indeed disprove it, but you’ll have to judge their position for yourselves. If on the other hand you say it’s just a water stain and there’s nothing more to it than that, science likewise can’t really say if you’re right or you’re wrong, and in my personal opinion it shouldn’t try. That’s the province of religion, and philosophy too, I guess, although I’m no expert.”
“So I guess that means you really do think she looks like Mary,” the kid sneered.
Mr. O’Connor smiled a little but wouldn’t say one way or the other. It sounded to me that if something was really important, like Mary or Jesus or where you go after you die, then science wasn’t much help.
On my way home I was walking past St. Sebastian’s and saw Father Tom out shooting basketballs by himself. He waved me over and asked if I wanted a Sprite. I liked drinking Sprite a lot better than Diet Coke or Diet Pepsi, which was about all that Mom ever kept in our fridge anymore, so I told him sure. He led me into the church, where I’d never actually been before, and I started looking around at all the statues of Mary and Jesus they had piled up everywhere. They were all such pure white that they almost looked like snow, except for some of the ones of Jesus where somebody had slapped on red paint down along his ribs and up on his forehead.
They even had a huge picture of Mary way up on the front wall right behind a statue of Jesus hanging down from a cross with his legs bent. Mary’s arms were spread wide open and her face was shining like the sun, and she had a gold crown on her head full of pretty jewels and diamonds and stuff. I asked Father Tom if Mary had shown up here in the church right out of nowhere like she had down on Main Street.
“She was painted on the wall, Nate. But the artist is pretty famous.”
“So her picture’s a fake then.”
“Well, I guess you could say that.”
I stared up at it some more, while out of the corner of my eye I noticed Father Tom smiling at me.
“Mary lives mostly in our hearts. That’s where she does the most good.”
“That’s about the same thing as Pastor Mike says. Have you been talking with him or something?”
I waited for Father Tom to answer my question, but when he just stood there kind of grinning at me I decided to ask him something else.
“So she can show up in two places at once, I guess.”
“Probably in millions upon millions of places at once.”
That made me feel a little better, because even if we did end up moving to Erie, Mary might be able to follow me after all. Just then Mrs. Marcella dragged herself in and gave me a big wink, but her hips must have been bothering her because she didn’t try to come over and pat me on the head.
Father Tom scooted right over to her and said hello and helped her up to the front row, where she knelt down and started praying. Because Mary was closed for construction, I guessed that Mrs. Marcella had to do all her praying in church. When he came back I began to ask my questions, since I figured that being a priest he ought to know more about Mary than Carlos even.
“Why’d she show up on the concrete then if she can live in everybody’s heart at the same time? And why doesn’t she just come out and say who she is and make it a lot easier on everybody? My teachers at school are always saying that we shouldn’t believe in stuff until it’s proven, but if she started talking I don’t know how anybody could not believe in her.”
Father Tom had soft eyes, which looked even softer whenever he smiled.
“You might be surprised, Nate. People are quite inventive when they’re thinking up reasons not to believe.”
I kept waiting for him to answer my other questions. But they must have been too hard because instead he told me how well he thought I’d handled myself lately, what with all the commotion about Mary and me being kind of at the center of it. I told him that Mom was always on my case about not getting a big head out of it. He laughed a little and then asked me how my mom was doing. I said she was going after Pastor Mike pretty hard, but that I didn’t know for sure yet how it would all turn out.
“Pastor Mike seems friendly toward Mary,” I said. “Did you talk him into believing in her or something?”
“Mary’s all about grace. Pastor Mike understands that.”
I’d heard Mrs. Marcella say that word lots of mornings when she was praying to Mary, and sometimes she’d say that Mary was full of it. I asked him what it meant.
“Grace is helping people out when they don’t deserve it. It’s a gift from God, and Mary is a sign of that gift.”
While I was thinking it over, he led me down to the basement, where he bought me a can of Sprite from the machine. I started looking around for the ancient picture of Mary I figured they had stored down there, the one they’d copied from when they’d built the statue to her outside on the playground, but I didn’t see any. I decided it didn’t really matter, since Mary knew what she looked like and wouldn’t let people put up a bad statue of herself. Then I spotted Carlos sitting in a cramped little room off to the side behind the pool tables, where I guessed he lived because there was a cot jammed in there in the corner. He was talking to some short, skinny guy with his back to me. The guy was smoking so fierce and constant that the whole basement smelled like it was on fire.
Father Tom leaned down and scooped a gum wrapper off the floor and tossed it into a trash can, and I noticed how big and powerful his hands were. Then all of a sudden it hit me who Carlos was talking to. I guess I didn’t recognize him at first because he was wearing a nice green shirt and long pants without any smudges on them. His hair was cut shorter too, even since yesterday when I’d seen him beating up Mr. Grimes.
With Father Tom and Carlos right there to protect me, I didn’t figure he’d cuss me out again, so I walked over and asked him if he knew who I was. He shook his head and took another puff on his cigarette. Then Father Tom walked up behind me and put his hands on my shoulders, but not real rough or anything like how Dad used to.
“John’s a little shy.”
“He wasn’t too shy when he bawled me out the other morning.” I glared at him as hard as I could, because I didn’t want him thinking I was scared of him or anything, just in case he had any ideas of coming around later to hassle me. “How’d Mary do it anyway, close up your cut I mean? Did it hurt, like when you get stitches?”
The little guy just kept puffing on his cigarette. I looked up at Father Tom grinning at me.
“I saw him working over my English teacher, Mr. Grimes, down at Mary’s. I can’t blame him though. Mr. Grimes was trying to burn Mary’s face right off the concrete.”
Carlos got a big grin out of it too, which surprised me a little since Carlos seemed like such a peaceful fellow.
“We know all about that,” Carlos said. “John here keeps an eye out for Mary, just in case any troublemaker wants to do her harm. He show
ed up at the church a week or so ago asking if he could help. He wants to pay Mary back for saving his life.”
The little drunk snuffed out his cigarette in a tin ashtray and blew some smoke out of both nostrils. I watched it drift up toward the blank white ceiling and just sort of disappear. Then he squinted at me out of one eye, like he was trying to scare me or something. But I wasn’t scared, not with Father Tom and Carlos right there making sure he behaved himself.
“What were you doing, trying to kill yourself or something?”
“I was too drunk to kill myself.”
He sounded like he had mud in his throat. I figured it must have been from all those cigarettes.
“How’d you know Mary saved you then if you were so drunk?”
He took a few seconds to clear some of the gunk out so he could talk right.
“I could just feel it inside me somehow. I’ll never forget it either. It’s like being born when you’re already an old man.”
I’d heard folks talk that way at my church when they were giving their testimony up on stage, so it didn’t throw me off or anything. I was about to ask him some more questions when all of a sudden Father Tom spun me right around and led me back upstairs through the church and out to the playground like he was in some big hurry. I didn’t know what Father Tom was so antsy about, since I knew all about drunks from living with Dad for so long, but I didn’t squawk about it or anything.
As he was patting me on the shoulder and telling me that he’d see me around, I finally got up my nerve and asked him if he could teach me how to fight. I told him I needed lessons on account of how that big red-haired kid had got the best of me. After giving out this long breathy sigh, Father Tom asked me if I was right-handed or left-handed. I was embarrassed to have to think about it for a few seconds.
“Left-handed.”
He lined me up in front of him, moved my fists in front of my face and kicked my feet around until they were in the right position. Then he showed me how to throw a quick jab, which I got the hang of pretty fast.
“Next time maybe I’ll show you how to follow it up with a knockout punch.”
“Why don’t you show me now?”
“You just keep working on your jab.”
He whirled right around and rushed back inside before I could ask him what the real story was with that little drunk. Mom was always saying how drunks were always liars, and I wondered what he was up to and whether I ought to warn Carlos and Father Tom about him. But I figured they probably knew what they were doing. And if they didn’t, Mary was around to look out for them, just like Chewy was always there to look out for me.
When I got home Mom was pounding her fist off our old stereo, where she liked to play her rock-and-roll records from when she was a little girl. I told her that it wouldn’t do any good beating on it, and that she’d have to call somebody to come over and fix it. She said she didn’t have the money for some overpriced repairman, but that she wanted the stereo to sound good because Pastor Mike was coming for supper. She said he’d just called her up that morning right out of the blue.
I told her what Father Tom had said about Mary being full of grace. But Mom didn’t seem too interested and started beating on the stereo again. Chewy must have gotten tired of all Mom’s griping and whining, because she went downstairs where she liked to curl up behind the washing machine and take a nap.
A few minutes later Pastor Mike showed up with two bottles of wine. I was a little surprised too because Pastor Bob was always preaching that we should stay away from drinks like that. Mom liked seeing the wine though and grabbed both bottles and took them out to the kitchen, where right away she poured out two glasses all the way to the rim.
Mom yelled in that she was sorry for not having any music, but Pastor Mike crawled right back behind the stereo and yanked off the ply-board cover like he knew what he was doing. After fiddling with some little orange and green wires, he got the thing to playing better than ever. I asked him if he could fix our leaky bathroom faucet while he was at it. I told him that it had gotten so bad that we just used the cold water, because if we turned the hot spigot on, water would go shooting out everywhere.
Mom got pretty red and flustered and told me to pipe down, but Pastor Mike seemed ready to go back home and get his tools. Then Mom snorted that supper was almost ready and that the faucet could wait for another day. While she was hollering in at us, I started imagining what it would feel like having a preacher for a dad, even if he was just a fake dad.
I hurried up and showed Pastor Mike my right jab that Father Tom had taught me. He said it looked pretty sweet, but that I ought to keep my left hand up too so I didn’t get punched in the face while I was throwing it. I asked him if he could show me how to land a knockout punch, and he lined up my left arm and taught me how to snap my fist right at the end of the punch to get the most power out of it.
“Watch your footwork too,” he said, but then Mom came back in and we had to quit.
We were having ribs and garlic mashed potatoes, all except Mom, of course, who was eating this green flowery-looking stuff and a few baby carrots. Mom didn’t make enough ribs either, and I had to gnarl mine right down to the bone to get enough to fill me. I was mostly too busy chewing to listen to what they were talking about. But as I wiped the barbecue sauce off my mouth Mom started griping about how it was too bad that some people were counting on Mary to heal them, instead of going to the hospital to be looked after the right way. I wasn’t sure if Pastor Mike had the guts to go up against Mom like Aunt Helen did, so I took Mary’s side.
“The last time I went to the hospital I ended up catching the flu. It wasn’t my fault either, because I washed my hands with soap before I ate and brushed my teeth before I went to bed. Hospitals are awful places if you ask me. And so are doctor’s offices. They smell like mouthwash and you can hear every little noise. I’d rather be outside in the fresh air with Mary.” I figured that would shut her up, but Mom was in no mood to give in so easy. She barely looked at me too, like she was trying to pretend I wasn’t even there. Pastor Mike shot me a quick grin though.
“I’m not arguing that the town shouldn’t build its little shrine, or whatever you want to call it, to raise some money,” Mom said. “But it shouldn’t try and give people false hope.”
Pastor Mike must have really been trying to get in good with Mom, because he just sat there like a dope nodding his head and pretending that she was making sense. I was tired of Mom winning all the arguments, and while I was lining up the right words in my head I wiped the rib sauce off my lips so I wouldn’t splatter it on anybody.
“Mary’s all about grace and that’s the important thing, whether you believe in the miracles or not.”
I must have said something pretty smart, because Pastor Mike reached over and patted me on the head. I just wished he’d have wiped the rib sauce off his hand first. Mom frowned and shook her head at me. But I decided that if she was too dumb to understand what I was saying, that was her problem.
Meanwhile, Chewy had trudged back upstairs from taking her little nap. Chewy still seemed to like food, although I’d never actually seen her eat anything while she was invisible. I bent down under the table and offered her a rib bone, but she didn’t take it and instead laid down on her back and lifted up her front paws like she wanted me to give her a belly rub.
I couldn’t exactly duck under the table and start scratching her belly with Mom sitting right there, so I sat up straight and got ready to start arguing with Mom again. By then Mom and Pastor Mike were leaning in toward each other real close and chattering about silly stuff, like what their favorite colors were, and what they thought about real late at night, and which movies they liked the best. I decided to finish off the mashed potatoes and the rolls before Pastor Mike could beat me to them, since he seemed like a pretty good eater too.
After supper Pastor Mike and Mom sat on the couch right up against each other while I squatted on the floor
watching TV. I forget what was on because I was keeping a close eye on them. There wasn’t any hugging or kissing yet though, just a little hand holding. After her third glass of wine, Mom started slurring her words a little. I wondered if Pastor Mike would mind, him being a preacher and all, but he was starting to talk a little garbled up too.
“What if it really is all just a carefully orchestrated plot? And they exploited my sweet innocent little boy to get some publicity for it.”
I’d never heard Mom call me sweet and innocent before, at least not out in public, and I wondered what she was up to.
“I doubt if there’s anything underhanded going on,” Pastor Mike said real quick. “The police conducted a thorough investigation from what I’m told.”
“But what if the mayor’s in on it too?” Mom slurped. “Father Tom and the mayor are big pals from what I understand.”
Finally I figured out what Mom was getting at.
“That’s crazy,” I said. “Father Tom and Carlos had no way of knowing that I’d be down there at the abandoned lot the morning I discovered her. I didn’t even know it myself until it happened.”
Finally Pastor Mike got some backbone and stood up for Mary. Maybe it was because Mom was so drunk by then that he didn’t think she’d remember any of it.
“I just can’t see Father Tom participating in such a thing. I don’t really know much about the mayor though.”
“Carlos wouldn’t cheat anybody either,” I kind of mumbled.
I expected Mom to give him trouble for talking back to her, like she was always doing to me, but instead she snuggled up right onto Pastor Mike’s shoulder. Then she started asking him what sign he was, and what his hobbies were, and what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. They talked for a long time and Pastor Mike must have passed all Mom’s stupid little tests, because when he was getting ready to leave Mom let him peck her on the cheek.
Next day Mr. Grimes handed us back our final tests. My plan to blackmail him must have paid off because I passed his dumb class with a D-minus, even though I’d only answered three questions out of twenty, and they were all marked wrong. Mr. Grimes gave me a few nasty looks but didn’t say anything to me, and I didn’t say anything to him either because I didn’t want to push my luck.
An Imperfect Miracle Page 9
