Page 221 - What They Did to the Kid
P. 221

What They Did to the Kid                                  209

                  Finally Karg called me to his suite.
                  He was prepared to torture me, and I was prepared to play mar-
              tyr to ensure my vocation, like centuries of seminarians and priests
              before me.
                  “I don’t like you,” he said. He sat behind a carved mahogany
              desk. On it lay a prayer book, a letter opener, and a manila folder.
              Long ago when he first was made rector, he had inherited the room
              as his quarters. Nothing in it matched his personality. If anything,
              the room defied him completely. Misery’s antique German wooden
              pieces, the brocade draperies, the ornamental carvings spoke of lush
              medieval days that had enjoyed the meadhall but had not yet learned
              of Port Royal and its doctrine of Jansenism that stripped art and
              images from the churches. The hot blast of his personal asceti cism
              was too obedient, too institutionalized, too ’umble to assert itself to
              a point of exterior expression in his rooms, so he turned his insane
              discipline hard in on his own soul. He could not bring himself to
              empty his sumptuous suite that Rome had years before assigned
              him. He tolerated its luxury as another cross to bear. Deep back the
              small human part of him was strictly Inquisition.
                  He opened the folder, obviously mine, and paged through it. He
              had spent the night scrupulously examining the little he knew of me
              officially: my Baptismal Certificate; my parents’ marriage license,
              because no bastard could be ordained a priest; my grade sheets, all
              more than satisfactory, even if ten points less than at Ohio State;
              a few letters of official correspondence with my bishop concern-
              ing Ordination of each of my four minor orders as Lector, Porter,
              Acolyte, and Exorcist. I felt strength that before him I stood, an
              exorcist, ordained by the Church to cast out demons.
                  It wasn’t working.
                  He reached for another sheet of paper.
                  “I don’t like you,” he repeated.
                  “I love you,” I said. “In Christ’s name.”
                  “I also hold you...in charity.”
                  “Thank you, Rector.”
                  “You’ve been taking Librium.”
                  “No more than I was given by my spiritual director, Rector. It’s
              like an aspirin for nerves.”


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