by John Fante
While I was fixing the wine, all of a sudden I got a hunch on how to get even. It did not make much difference then about another sin, the sin of getting even, because I had already committed a mortal sin when I wished evil to a priest. One mortal sin is just as bad as twenty. I mean if you commit one, you go to Hell just as quick as if you had twenty against you. It says so in the Catechism. I knew there was a bottle of red ink in the supply drawer, so I went there and got it. Nobody was looking, and I poured it into the wine bottle, about one-fifth, then I filled the rest with grape juice.
Mass started, and while I was kneeling at the altar I got to thinking about what I did. Father Andrew was moving softly back and forth on the altar, saying prayers in Latin, with his eyes shut, and I could see how holy he looked. The organ was playing sad, sacred music. Then it came to me all at once what I did. I committed a horrid sin because the ink I put in the bottle would be consecrated and changed into the body and blood of our Lord. I felt terrible to think that Jesus had been crucified for my sins, and there I was, kneeling at this sacrifice without even feeling ashamed.
Gosh, I was scared to death. I did not know what to do next. I could see how ungrateful I was to our Lord. I could see Him up in Heaven, with blood oozing out of His feet, and crying tears of blood for what I did. I kept saying over and over: “Sweet Jesus, forgive me! Sweet Jesus, forgive me! Sweet Jesus, forgive me!” I knew I deserved to burn forever for my sin, but I kept on begging our Lord for forgiveness anyhow, because it says in the Catechism that true contrition is sufficient for salvation, and I wanted to prove how really sad I was for my sin.
At the Consecration Allie gave Father the wine, and he gobbled it up without so much as blinking, so I guess he did not catch on. But all this time, there I was kneeling on the green carpet that covers the altar steps, and praying to beat the band for our Lord to forgive me. I prayed for all I was worth, trying to feel perfect contrition. Perfect contrition is just as good as Confession if you can’t go to Confession. If you get a tough grip on yourself, hold yourself real stiff, and think nothing but sorrow, sorrow, sorrow, pretty soon you do have real sorrow, and that is what I was wanting.
After Mass I made another Act of Contrition and said some Hail Marys to boot. Then I went into the sacristy, and Father Andrew smiled at me, because he likes to see holy guys, and when he smiled, his teeth were red like he had been eating cherries. I did not laugh or anything when I saw his red teeth. I was really scared, and if I did not know it was ink I would have swore it was our Lord’s blood. Miracles like that happen every now and then.
Father patted my shoulder, and I went around to the other side of the church and took off my cassock and surplice. Allie Saler was gone already. I hurried and ran outside and saw him a block away. The snow was starting to melt, getting ready for spring, and Allie went along kicking up slush.
I ran up to him, put my hand on his chest and my right leg back of his knees, and pushed him, jujitsu fashion. The trick worked swell. Allie sat down in the wettest, muddiest slush. That is how I got even with him. Nobody knew about the red ink except Father Joseph. I told him in Confession. For penance, he made me promise not to do it again, and I did, and to say five Our Fathers and five Hail Marys. So all in all, I got off pretty easy.
II
On the first of May, because May is the month of our Mother, and by that I mean the Blessed Virgin, everybody in the altar boys had to line up two at a time in a great big long line and go to the Blessed Virgin’s altar in the church to say the Rosary. We went in with our partners and knelt down in the aisle, and Harold Maguire, who was president of the altar boys, began to say the Rosary out loud. I mean like this. Here is what he said: “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” He stopped there, and the rest of us guys took it up, only we prayed like this: “Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”
Worms Kelley was my partner. Worms hated Maguire like the dickens, and so did everybody else, but Worms hated him most because Maguire was a snitch baby, and he had a suck with the nuns. What I mean by suck is that when Maguire wanted something off the nuns, like going to the washroom every few minutes, he got to go, and nobody else did, except maybe two or three girls with sucks, too. I did not like Maguire to look at. He was sissified, with thick eye-glasses made out of black celluloid. His hands were little bitty things. He used to stay on the steps at noon with his Bible Stories, so Sister Prefect could see him. He carried his lunch in a blue bucket, and the sandwiches were wrapped in the white tissue paper that you buy, instead of good old bread wrapper. His dessert every day was a big apple, or cake or pie or something like that. His mother came for him after school in a Studebaker. She was very tall, and looked like she had strong muscles. She was president of the Ladies’ Altar Society, and when she came after Harold she would lean out of the car door and talk awful courteous to Sister Marie, who was upstairs looking out the window, keeping an eye on us guys so we would not break ranks.
Harold got going good on the Rosary and everything was all right when all of a sudden Worms started to make noises with his mouth. Sister Cecilia was in the first pew. She did not look up right away, but every one of the guys except Harold kept turning around, looking straight at Worms and me because we were kneeling close together. We were all snickering to beat the band, so Worms got nervier and nervier. He made noises louder and louder. Sister Cecilia moved a little, like she was itching all over, so Worms stopped the noises. I was glad because Worms was my partner, and I might get the blame.
We got to the Fifth Joyful Mystery, that is the last part of the Rosary, when for no good reason Worms made a noise that was the funniest yet. You could hear it echo away up behind the organ-pipes. All of us except Maguire sat back on our heels and just busted out laughing. Maguire turned around to Sister like he was asking for help. It was awful. I wanted to stop laughing because it is a grievous sin to be disrespectful in church, but I could not, I just could not. I laughed and laughed, and so did Worms, and so did everybody else.
Sister Cecilia was redder than a beet. She put up her hand for silence, the way Mussolini does in Pathé News.
She said: “No one leaves this church until I find the pig who did that.”
Nobody said anything. We were just as quiet as can be.
“Very well,” she said. “You’ll stay until I find out.”
We had to kneel up straight and it got pretty tough on the knees. Away back in the vestibule you could hear a clock ticking. After a half-hour the ticking sounded like heavy rocks hitting a slate roof. The guys started to look at Worms as if to tell him to go ahead and admit it, but the longer he kept still the worse it got, until finally he did not dare to talk. Then old Maguire turned around and saw all the guys looking at us, and after a minute he got up and went to where Sister was. He was snitching, that is what he was doing. It was as plain as day.
We started to hiss: “Snitch baby! Snitch baby! Snitch baby!” And Maguire was sure in for a walloping from us guys.
Sister looked straight at me and Worms, and said: “Will you please follow me into the sacristy?”
I nearly keeled over. I held my breath and blinked my eyes and wondered what the heck. The only thing to do was to take it on the cheek for Worms. The guys whispered: “That’s the boy!” and that was pretty good to hear, but it did not help much. I knew I was in for it. I gave Maguire a dirty look when I went by, and I bet he knew I was going to ruin him when I got him alone, because I sure was. Sister Cecilia was ready for me.
I was holding a rosary, fooling with it, standing in front of Sister Cecilia, waiting for her to do what she was going to do.
“Put the rosary away,” she said. I did it.
She rolled up her black sleeves, sort of got her distance, made a moaning sound, and with all her might she let me have one smack on the cheek. The sting was something fierce and I started crying a little, but not much. The g
uys must have heard the smack, because it sounded just like when a cottonwood cracks and falls. I felt awful cheap. My cheek was very hot. I rubbed it. Sister Cecilia was crying too, and I thought she was sure nuts, because I was getting hit, not her. But I felt sorry for her and I did not know why, either.
She said: “Go back and kneel down, you little heathen. I’ll see you later.”
The guys saw my face, which was very red. It made me feel very cheap. I gave Maguire another dirty look. He was going to get it. The guys would get him tomorrow. Me and the guys would. We could not get him after Rosary because his mother would be there in her Studebaker to take the sissy home.
All the guys went home, and of course I had to go to our room, and of course I had to write “I must not be disrespectful in church” five hundred times. I did not get through until seven o’clock. After the sun went behind the peaks, there was no light except the street lamps. I was scared and lonesome. When I got through, I put the papers on Sister’s desk and went home.
My old man was waiting when I got there. I should say he was waiting. He knew all about it. Sister Cecilia had snitched, just like Maguire. My father made a run for me as soon as I got in the house. What he did to me was more than what Sister did to me, but I did not cry or anything. I took it like a real guy. The reason is, I knew he was my father, and he would stop hitting before he hurt me too serious. He kept saying he was going to kill me, but he is my father, and he does not scare me with that stuff.
Next day at school the altar boys got out at noon so we could go up to the foothills to pick flowers for the Blessed Virgin’s altar. The main reason I pray to the Blessed Virgin is because we get out of a lot of school on account of her. We started out in a bunch, two at a time, and had to walk clear through town, with Sister Cecilia leading us like we were a bunch of convicts or something. Like we were dangerous. I do not like it at all. The Protestants stop every time to look at us as if we are freaks. And the Sisters look funny with their funny dresses.
We walked clear through town to the edge of the foothills. They were full of yellow anemones and wild daisies and violets. Anemones and daisies are easy to pick. Violets smell swell, but they are the nuts to pick. It takes a whole bushel to make a bouquet.
We broke ranks, and my partner Worms showed me a brand new package of Camels. Worms smoked all the time. He even inhaled. Sister Cecilia went looking for flowers, and me and Worms sneaked behind some sagebrush and crawled on our hands and knees into a gulch that used to be a creek. We lit up and took it easy.
Pretty soon we finished our snipes and crawled out of the gulch. We saw the guys scattered all over the hills. They were very far away from us. Some of them were in bunches, some were alone, carrying armloads of flowers. We could barely see who they were, they were so far off. We could see Sister Cecilia in black and white. She was walking crosswise from us, and taking it easy. The day was awfully pretty and calm. There was not a cloud or a breeze, and it was warm. Me and Worms wanted to go fishing.
All at once, who should walk into us from behind the sagebrush? No one else but Harold Maguire. He was carrying flowers in his cap. He was so surprised he was scared to death. We were surprised too, but we were not scared. We were just surprised.
This was our chance to get even, and we knew it, and so did he. It was just like our Lord had planned it out for him to meet us. But I do not know if our Lord had planned it out for us to get even, because that is a grievous sin. I do not think our Lord had anything to do with that. I guess that was the Devil.
“Let’s ding-bump him,” Worms said.
“Let’s,” I said.
It takes two to ding-bump a man. You get him on his back, and one of you grab his arms, and the other his legs, and you lift him up and down as hard as you can, so that his seat bumps the ground.
Harold was so scared he did not fight back. We told him to get on his back, and he did it. We told him to take off his specs, and he did it. We told him we would teach him not to snitch, and he said he would not any more. He started to cry. That made me want to hurry up.
After we bumped him the first time, he yelled as loud as he could. The guys and Sister heard him, because they came running from everywhere. It is too bad the guys were not closer. They would of got a big kick out of it. Sister Cecilia was nearly running. She was almost half a mile away.
I saw a cactus plant with short thorns, not even half an inch long.
“Let’s sit him in that, and then beat it,” I said.
We did it. We sat him in the cactus and ran away.
They nearly kicked us out of school for what we did. I mean the nuns.
We had to apologize to them and to Father Andrew and to the whole school. We got lickings at home and in school. We had to stay every night until five for a month. We did not get to go to the altar boy banquet.
But we did not care a bit. We got even. You can ask any of the guys about Harold Maguire now. They will tell you he used to be a snitch baby, but he is not one now. He is a swell guy now.
III
Bill Shafer is the worst altar boy in the bunch. He swipes stuff, and he chews gum before Communion. I do not see how he does it. I do not think his mother cares, because I saw him eat meat on Friday. It was a sandwich. His mother makes his lunch. If she cared, she would make him eat fish. Bill says it is not his sin if he eats meat. It is her sin. She put it in. Bill has four Sunday suits. He wears them to school a lot. His mother is sure keen-looking. If my mother was as keen-looking as she is, I would sure feel good. I do not mean that my mother is not good-looking. I mean that Bill’s mother is sure good-looking.
Bill showed me how to swipe agates at the ten-cent store. You open your waist, and then you lean away over the counter. When the girl is not looking, you roll the migs into your waist. It is a good way. It works every time. I do not think Bill told his in Confession, but I told Father Andrew mine.
Father Andrew said I had to return the migs or pay for them. He sure was sore. He almost hollered at me. Bill won all my migs, so I will have to pay for them with money sometime. I will do it when I get bigger. I bet Bill never does pay for his.
One time I was walking home from school with Bill. He had a dime, so we went to Drake’s to get Eskimo pies.
When we were in there, he said: “Hey, do you want a fountain-pen?”
I said: “Sure.”
He said: “Wait a minute.”
He said to Mr. Drake: “Hey, Mr. Drake, can I use your phone?”
Mr. Drake said: “Sure.”
So Bill went to the phone in back. At first I wondered what the heck. Then I knew he was going to swipe a pen for me. I did not snitch, though; I am not a snitch baby. I did not watch, because Old Man Drake might catch on. He was piling Eskimo pies, and I looked at his bald head. His neck was real little. I started to think maybe somebody would come into the store. Maybe somebody would, then we would get caught and get sent to Golden. The big reform school is in Golden. Sister says there is not a Catholic boy in there. There never has been. If we were caught, we would be the first Catholics. I did not want to get caught. I thought I better pray that we would not get caught.
I looked at old Drake’s bald head and prayed to myself. In my head, I mean.
I said: “Hail Mary, please do not let anybody come in. Please do not let anybody come in.”
The Blessed Virgin heard my prayer, because just then Bill came back.
When we got outside, he said: “Hey, come on. Run like hell.” Hell is not swearing. Hell is on every page of the Catechism. You can say it.
We did not stop until we got to the Twelfth Street bridge. We crawled under it.
Bill said: “Hey, that was sure easy as pie.”
I said: “Gee, Bill, you sure swipe stuff!” He did not say anything. We knew he committed a mortal sin, but we did not say anything.
He opened his waist and showed me. I thought he swiped one, but he swiped fifteen. They were in a box made out of velvet. They were pens that cost a whole lot. One of
them had a ticket. It said: “$18.” I got scared to death.
Bill said: “Hey, which one do you want?”
I did not want Bill to think I was chicken or scared or yellow.
I said: “Oh, I will take this one.” I took the cheapest. It was five dollars.
He took the eighteen-dollar one and said: “Hey, what will we do with the rest?”
I said: “I do not know.”
He said: “Well, here goes.” He threw them into the water. It was a sandy bottom. You could see the pens.
I wanted to run. I am not goofy, and a fountain-pen does not scare me, but I wanted to run away. I did not want to go to Confession, because the last time I confessed stealing migs, and Father Andrew got sore. I mean he talked real loud. If I told him I swiped a five-dollar pen, I bet he would yell. The holy people outside would hear him.
Bill said: “Hey, we better beat it. Let me go first. You wait five minutes.”
He crawled away and left me all alone with the pens.
The pens did not scare me or anything, but I was scared about something. I got some rocks and mud and covered up the pens. It made the water muddy-looking. There was a long streak of muddy water. It made me feel like a thief. But Bill did it.
All of a sudden I felt like running. I crawled out and started in. I ran and ran. I forgot where I was going until I got right in front of Drake’s. I nearly keeled over when I saw where I was. I was winded, but I started in again. I ran all the harder. Pretty soon I was right in front of the church. The church and school are right next to each other. I thought it was funny as heck to be there again, because it was pretty near five o’clock, and a school is a punk place to be at five. I thought how come, and so I started for home.
I got a block away, and then I thought I better go back and say an Act of Contrition. Then I saw I was in a heck of a fix, because it says in the catechism that an Act of Contrition is good only if Confession cannot be had, and there I was only a block away from the priests’ house. The priest would hear my Confession if I asked him. I thought I better go ahead and have it over with. Father Andrew would sure be sore.
