A Beautiful Sin (15 page)

“Yes. Can you come to the rectory?”

“Um, I can be there in about a half hour. Will that work?” he asked.

“That will be fine.”

Mary was getting ready to leave for the day, which was usual, so I told her to leave the office door unlocked. Thirty minutes later, Mr. Clark walked in.

After the introductions, he said, “I remember you. I went to Holy Cross. I think we both served as altar boys at one point.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Clark. I have to admit, I don’t remember. I was such a bookworm back then, and so focused on the church that I didn’t socialize much. Please forgive me.”

He waved a hand. “You were focused on becoming a priest, and I was focused on…other things.”

As we spoke, I ushered him to my office. I noted his rather disheveled appearance. His clothes looked like he’d slept in them for days. His hair was rumpled, and he was sporting a few days of unshaven beard. Clearly, the man needed to talk about something important.

Since we were alone, I didn’t bother to close the office door. I indicated that he should take a seat, and rather than sit at my desk, I sat in the chair next to him and angled it so we faced each other.

“Now tell me how it is I can help you, Mr. Clark.”

“Please, call me Greg.” Then he dropped his head in his hands momentarily and rubbed his forehead. When he looked back up, he asked, “This may be a bit unusual, but do you have anything to drink?”

“Oh, sorry. What can I get you? Water, tea?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have something a bit stronger? Maybe bourbon or scotch”

He must really have something bad he needed to get off his chest.

“I have both or vodka, if you prefer that.”

“Scotch, please.”

“Neat or on the rocks?” I asked.

“Neat.”

The church didn’t condemn drinking as long as it wasn’t abused. And Bill kept quite an array of liquor, so I went to grab the scotch. I was more of a beer or vodka guy myself, but if he needed a drink, I wouldn’t let him have one alone. I also grabbed some ice for myself, and a couple of glasses. Then I rejoined him and poured us a couple. Handing him one, I nodded. “Go easy on that now.”

He took a good swallow and then another.

“So, what brings you here today?”

Without any preamble, he said, “My wife.”

“I see. And why is she not with you?”

His hand shook as he picked up his glass before he took another heavy swallow. “I wouldn’t let her come. There’s something…there’s this…thing.” He stared holes into the floor for a while, and I gave him all the time he needed. I knew better than to put words into his mind or mouth or nudge him to speak. He finally filled his chest with air and met my eyes. “She said if I didn’t come here and speak with you, she was leaving me. That our marriage was…”

It rattled me. It wasn’t just that his wife wanted to end their marriage. It was the way he said it. It was the haunted pain in his eyes.

“I see. But I’m going to need a little more than that, Greg.”

He snorted out a derisive laugh. “You sound like her.”

He wasn’t the first husband I’d counseled in my short time.

“Are you having an affair?”

The absolute look of horror on his face answered my question before his words did.

“Oh, God, no! I would never cheat on her. She’s my life. But she doesn’t believe me.”

“Believe what?”

He opened his mouth to say more, but then stopped. I’d learned not to interrupt, so I sat there waiting.

“Believe that I’m being faithful to her.”

“Why is that?” I gently prodded.

He downed the glass of scotch and stood, his back toward me. Then he sat back down. “She’s pregnant with our second child. She said if I don’t get help, she’s leaving me.”

His response wasn’t an answer to my question.

“Okay, so, what is it then? If you’re faithful to her, there has to be a reason she’s saying this.”

He stared into the bottom of his empty glass. “I haven’t touched her in…months. Most likely since she got pregnant.” He trailed off.

“My understanding is that sexual relations during pregnancy are fine. Did you have this problem with your first child?” He shook his head. “What’s different?”

“I’ve been having nightmares. I don’t sleep or eat the way I should. I’m depressed and drinking a lot. Yelling at our son and her. Taking my anger out on them.”

“Can you tell me why you’re angry?” I asked.

I watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as his face took on a haunted appearance. “We both grew up here, you see, and when she became pregnant four years ago, she wanted to move back. To get closer to our families and all that. I tried to talk her out of it, but you know how women are, right?”

A smile ghosted my lips. “Actually, I don’t. But I’ll take your word for it.”

He looked confused for a moment, but then the corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Well, anyway, she got her way, and that’s when it all started—after we moved back here a few months ago.”

“You’re being relatively cryptic here.”

He dropped his head again and clasped his hands together.

“The thing that’s pulling us apart. That’s what started.”

“Yes, but what is
that thing
?”

He drained his second glass and got to his feet again. He paced the small room for a few steps, stopped, stared at me, and paced some more. Clearly he was weighing his options.

“I have to be honest here. It’s kind of strange talking to you,” he said. He noticed my confusion so he rushed to add, “Don’t take this personally, but we were altar boys together, and I’m getting ready to spill my guts to you.”

Then an idea came to me. “Will it help if we move to the confessional? Whatever you tell me in there, even though it’s not a true confession, is sacred, and I cannot, under my vows as a priest, disclose it to anyone else. You would also have privacy in there, you know, behind the screen. So it would afford you the feeling of anonymity. Even though I’ll know it’s you, it would give the illusion of secrecy. Does that make sense?”

I was met with silence.

Then I had another idea. “How important is your marriage to you?” His stare was fierce, forcing me to believe his next words.

“Let me put it to you this way. I would lay down my life for my wife.”

My decision was made. “Then come with me, Greg.”

We left my office and I locked up the rectory before we walked over to the church. I told him I would meet him in the confessional. I would wait until either he spoke his piece or let me know he simply couldn’t tell me.

“Mind you, Greg, this is not a confession. This is just a safe place for you to talk. What you say to me in there won’t go beyond those doors. Understood?”

I was not prepared for what I was about to hear. As I sat waiting, I wasn’t sure what he would do. 

When the door opened, and he knelt, I slid the partition back. “Are you ready to talk?”

“I think so, Father.”

“Whenever you’re ready, I’m here to listen and guide.”

I heard him take a deep breath and then slow and steady, the words dripped from his lips. If they were painful for him to say, they were like acid as they corroded and ate away at me. “I was sexually molested as a teenager.”

I hadn’t expected that at all. I knew this unfortunate thing happened to children all over the world. No one expects it to happen to themselves or someone they know.

“And moving back here triggered the memories,” I said as calmly as possible. This wasn’t about me. It was about someone else.

“Yes. Being here”—he paused—“it happened when I was an altar boy here. It was Father O’Brien. He raped me.”

My breath was ripped away like my innocence that long ago day. I had a strong inclination to run. But I was gripped to that chair by invisible bands called guilt and shame.

“Father…”

Somehow I managed to exhale the words, “I’m here.”

“I’m telling the truth. I know you may not want to believe me.”

Nothing was further from the truth. I wanted to give peace to this poor man. I also felt pulled in two different directions. I wanted to cling to the information that let me know I wasn’t alone. I also felt horror for the same reason. But mostly I wanted to know the answer to the question that had haunted me…that still haunted me. But I didn’t ask. Couldn’t ask. Would never ask because my sin would go to the grave with me. Had he paid the price for my silence?

His own made me realize my duties. I couldn’t share my pain. My job was to free him from his own.

“Greg, that was not your burden to bear alone. You were young, I would imagine.”

I knew the answers before I asked the questions.

“Yes, fourteen when it first started. You believe me?”

“I don’t think you came here to spread lies.”

“I didn’t. He did this to me.”

His choking sobs hid my own shuddering breaths.

“I suppose you feared Father O’Brien. He was quite stern at times.”
And more than vicious with his punishments
.

“Yes.” His answer was little more than a whisper.

“You had no control over this.”

“No.”

His meek response was almost childlike.

My hands wrapped around the wooden arms of the chair in which I sat. The way I was gripping them, I wondered if I was going to crush them with my bare fingers. Seething anger simmered inside of me, threatening to gush out, but I contained it.

The ghost of Father O’Brien and his admonishments of my sins floated in my head. What had he told Greg were the reasons for his so-called chastisements?

Unclenching my jaws, I asked in a barely controlled tone, “Did you tell anyone?”

He didn’t speak. I looked over through the small window and watched the dark shadow swing his head side to side while rocking himself.

“And now it’s affecting your marriage. Is that correct?”

“Coming back here triggered all those old emotions I thought I had finally shed. And then when he died, it was such a r-relief. You wouldn’t believe how liberating it was.”

Oh, yes, I would.

I could hear him sniff as his sobs subsided. I wanted to weep myself. “I’m sure it was. The man who hurt you so deeply was no longer a threat, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of, Greg.”

“I’m not ashamed of that. That’s not it at all. I wanted him to die. For years, I prayed for it—asked God to take him from this Earth. But now…”

“Now what?” I knew exactly where this was going. My body shook as if he were reciting my own story. And I abhorred listening to it.

“It’s like coming back here has awakened this awful spirit or something, and the nightmares keep coming. And my poor wife. I can’t tell her. She thought he walked on water. She’ll never believe me.”

There were times I questioned God and why bad things happened to good people. I didn’t believe myself good. Some of what Father O’Brien said to me was true. I was temptation. Haven had proved that. She’d kissed me knowing I’d given myself to God and him alone. But that hadn’t stopped her.

“Father, are you there?”

I closed my eyes, remembering what I was supposed to be doing. I would need heavy prayer tonight for my selfish thoughts. This man needed me.

“Greg, listen to me. Your wife pushed you to talk to me because she wants to make this work. When someone loves you that much, she could never hate you. ”

“It’s one thing to tell your husband to talk to his priest. But it’s another to find out he was molested for years.”

The flavor of rust made me realize I’d bitten my tongue. It wasn’t the pain of the flesh I felt, but the pain of the soul. How many, I wondered? How many boys did he take? How many people did he deem candidates for his punishment? And how much fault did I bear for not speaking out? Could I have saved some like Greg? Had I been the first? But certainly not the last. Guilt poured down upon me like sheets of rain in a summer storm.

“Father Canaan? Did you hear me?”

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“She won’t want me near her after this. She won’t want me to touch her. I’m dirty. I’m a dirty, little boy. That’s what he used to say to me.”

You’re a sinner, Canaan. Your flesh makes even the strongest person weak.

His voice was like an ice pick chiseling a path to my psyche.

As much as this killed me and as much as I had no idea how I’d get through it, I asked, “Do you want me to meet with the two of you?”

“I don’t know if I can tell her.”

Filling my lungs, though they burned with hatred, I said, “Greg, why did you come to me for help?”

“My wife said she would leave me if I didn’t.”

“So, if you’re not going to open up to her, then what will you tell her?”

“How can I begin to…?”

As much as these words choked me, I knew they needed to be said. “I can be there with you.”

“Maybe that would help. Maybe I could tell her with you present. Could you be there?”

“Of course I can.” I had no idea how, but I sure would try. The man never deserved what was forced upon him, even if I had. I’d been guilty of temptation but also of weakness. I’d kept quiet and others had suffered. My atonement would be never ending. Nevertheless, I had to somehow try in my own way to undo what pain he’d endured.

“Greg, you understand I’ll have to recommend therapy for you and maybe even the both of you.”

“Can you do that when she’s here?”

“Yes,” I said absently. I was giving advice on something I should have done myself years ago.

We arranged to meet the following week. Greg said he needed that time to prepare himself. I didn’t think it was a good idea, but he said he couldn’t tell her before then. So he compromised and we agreed to meet on Monday evening.

“Father, one last thing before we go. Can you absolve me from my sin?”

“I can, but I want to reassure you, there was no sin on your part, Greg. You did nothing wrong. I absolve you from your
sins
in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.” I made the sign of the cross with my hand and blessed him as I said the words. I emphasized the word “sins,” so he knew I was absolving all his sins, and not the one that was forced on him.