Pierced by a Sword (27 page)

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The phone rang again. The answering machine popped on with Nathan's terse cynical message: "Yeah it's me; you know what to do," followed by a digital beep.

Joanie's voice came on, "Nathan? Are you there? I'm starting to really worry about you. They said you don't work at VV&B anymore." He heard the alarm in her voice. He tried to avoid a temporary blackout as he pushed himself
up from the modern leather and chrome couch.

"I love you, Mister. Do you hear me? I'm not going away. Please call and tell me what's going on." Then she left her number for the third time. He had not answered any of her previous calls.

I love you too, Joanie.

His emotions surged, amplified by the alcohol, as he moved toward the phone. By the time he reached the receiver, she had hung up.

The doorbell
buzzed. He looked toward the door. After the third buzz he decided to open it, and replaced the handset on the phone.

It can't be Joanie.

He opened the door and saw Jennifer Gower standing there dressed in overalls and a brown cotton turtleneck. She had tears streaming down her cheeks. Her short, almost oriental, jet black hair was in a mess. There was no lipstick on her full red lips.

"Jenny!
What are you doing here?"

"Jimmy let me come up when I explained my predicament, Nathan." Jimmy was the doorman of Nathan's building. Her trembling tone betrayed that she was very disturbed by something.

"Really, Jenny, it's not a good time right now–"

"Fine, I'll leave," she interrupted in a hurt voice, straightened her back and raised her chin as if preparing for a blow, "but I don't have anywhere
else to go. I need help. I need a friend. I know I haven't seen you in almost a year, but I'm not here about that. I'm completely over you romantically." She turned as if to leave, and broke out into a pathetic sob. Her shoulders shook.

Pascal's Wager,
Nathan thought with a heavy sense of obligation.

He stepped out into the hallway and grasped Jennifer's arm. She attempted to pull away but not
hard enough to cause Nathan to lose his grip. She allowed him to guide her into his apartment.

Nathan tried to clear the fog in his brain.

"What's the matter, Jenny? Can I help? Did somebody hurt you?" She was really crying now.

You really stuck it to her last year. At Christmas, no less! She didn't have a friend in the whole city. And she really fell hard for you, too.

"Hold me," she said, childlike.
He felt awkward but he held her anyway. Her sobs started to subside. He shook off a memory of holding Joanie at the lake at Notre Dame.

"I've lost everything," she began explaining, "I just got kicked out of my apartment today, and I haven't had a job in over three months. I'm afraid to go home to Oshkosh." There was something–fear–in her voice, when she spoke the word
Oshkosh.

"Why not?" Nathan
was genuinely concerned now.

"Can we sit on the couch?" she asked helplessly, raising her puppy dog eyes to his.

He led her to his couch. He swept off papers, an empty bag of Doritos, and crumpled clothes.

What a pig!
she thought.
Careful, you're Jane now. Jane doesn't care what's on his couch!

He sat first and she sat close to him, delicately placing her hand on his thigh as she faced him.

She
proceeded to feed him more lies about how she had been a total failure as a spokesmodel and how she lost her waitress job. She had been so depressed after her breakup with him that she sought therapy. Then Jenny's therapist, a woman in whom Jenny had invested all her trust and hundreds of dollars, had tried to seduce Jenny. Jenny told Nathan how she was so naïve when she came to Chicago, and that
no one except Nathan had treated her with any kindness. She told him that the way he broke up with her so severely had been an act of charity because he had been truthful with her–but she didn't make this last point with much conviction.

Almost all her lies were based on truth. Jennifer did have a female therapist but the therapist had not made a pass at her. Jenny had lost a waitress job–but
she had found a better job at the French restaurant two days later. She was using a classic acting technique. And she was not a bad actress.

This is too much fun! Am I laying it on too thick?
Jenny appraised her performance.
No, he's drunk. He's eating this up with a spoon. Maybe I should cry again?

Meanwhile Nathan was quick to blame himself for the troubles of this girl he barely knew.
Did I
help reduce her to this state? This poor, beautiful girl!

He couldn't help but notice how pretty she was. He had been quite attracted to her from the first minute he saw her down on Rush Street. Hers was one of the erotic images that had been plaguing him during the past two days. He had also been attracted to her innocence when they dated, even if she was a bit self-absorbed. The alcohol was
wearing off some, but he told himself that the way she rested her hand on his leg and snuggled next to him was understandable, considering her state. He was beginning to be aroused but he tried to ignore it.

He told himself that hugging her so closely was helping her.

He whispered consoling words, telling her that it would be okay, that he was there for her, that she didn't need to worry.

"Why
can't you go back home to Oshkosh, Jen? Is there something wrong there?"

She hesitated.

Always hold a little back,
Jennifer thought wickedly.
Mystery is what holds an audience.

"I've never told anyone. I can't bring myself to talk about what happened to me in Oshkosh."

Was she abused as a child? By her father?
Nathan thought of his own abusive father and frowned darkly, feeling the pain of his
own childhood.

She hugged him closer. She raised her full lips to his, and began to kiss him.

9

Tuesday Evening
10 October
Tule River Indian Reservation, California

After several hours of questioning and two pots of tea, Father Rivera decided to grant Lee Washington's request for baptism and first Holy Communion. They sat in the kitchen. A Douay-Rheims Bible was open on the table.

"We can get
started tomorrow. I think you should find a bishop to confirm you, though. I don't believe you'll have much of a problem. You'll probably know more about the faith than he will."

Not only had Father Juan been impressed with Lee's knowledge of the Catholic faith, but Lee had also taught the old priest a few highly nuanced insights into the Scriptures–especially those passages regarding the sacraments.
But the scope of Lee's knowledge had not convinced the priest so much as the boy's sincerity and his ardent desire to join the Family of God. Lee openly desired above all things to take part in the sacramental life of the Catholic Church.

Father Juan had ruled out a hoax rather quickly.
Who would come to this godforsaken place to play a trick on an old man like me? Why? God works in mysterious
ways–but having this young man pull my leg is not one of them.

Lee had not told Father Rivera about his visit from Mary, although Lee did relate many of the sins of his life, including his failed attempt at suicide in the Motorman Motel. He attributed his extraordinary conversion simply to "the Mother of God."

"Before I could push down the plunger on the needle," Lee recounted, "something or somebody
stopped me. It's hard to explain."

"Perhaps it was your guardian angel," Father Rivera suggested. Lee raised his eyebrows. The priest continued, "Tell me, if you were such a godless person two days ago, how did you come to know the faith so well?"

"I just know it. It's a gift from God. When I picked up the Bible in Mr. Knott's car, I just knew what it meant." It was the truth–sort of. Lee might
have been changed but he was not naïve. His instincts told him that Father Rivera and others would find it hard to believe that he had been visited by the Mother of God–and the Archangel Raphael to boot! The brown-skinned lady had not commanded Lee to indiscriminately reveal the details of her visit.

Lee changed the subject, "Can we get some fresh air, Father?"

The old priest suspected Lee was
holding something back but decided to let it drop. It was obvious Lee was sincere. Why push it?

"Sure. There's only one major street on this reservation, but we can have a nice walk down it as long as a local doesn't run us over by accident with his pickup truck. I need to stop by Chief Roundrock's place again. His daughter Alisa is gravely ill."

The old man got up slowly and led Lee to the front
door. Father Rivera heard Lee speak excitedly behind him before they walked out.

"I know her!" Lee practically shouted. He was pointing to the picture next to the window.

"Oh yes, Lee, Our Lady of Guadalupe. How do you know her?"

I cried on her lap,
Lee thought.
She's the one I saw!

"I've seen her before." It was mostly the truth. "Is this the original?" he asked Father Juan.

The old priest laughed.

"The original is in Mexico City on Tepeyac Hill in a church built to honor where Mary appeared to an Indian named Juan Diego in the early 1500s. My mother named me after him. This copy has been in my family for over two hundred years.

"It's funny, I never considered myself an Indian like the ones I'm supposed to be ministering to here in Tule River, but at one time, my people were considered the
Indians. We all became Catholic because of this image."

"You've got to tell me more about her," Lee told the old priest.

Father Juan noticed the urgency in the boy's tone.
Ah! Something he doesn't know about the faith! He knows doctrine and the Bible, but he doesn't know history.

"All in good time, Lee. All in good time."

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Chief Roundrock answered the door. His face was ashen. He did not
look like a "movie" Indian to Lee, who had never been on a reservation in his life. Roundrock was dressed in clean blue jeans and a western shirt with a bolo tie. He was forty-two but looked younger. He was divorced. His ex-wife lived in Santa Monica where she taught windsurfing to suburban white kids.

"Who's this with you, Father?" Roundrock asked warily, looking at Lee.

"A new friend of mine.
Lee Washington, meet Chief Roundrock."

"Pleased to meet you, Chief, sir," Lee said in his most friendly "white" voice. He peered beyond the Chief to the living room of the small but nicely kept home. He saw two young children watching Barney on the television.

The Chief grunted and turned to the priest, saying, "They sent Alisa home to die. She's inside. There's no hope for her." Though his tone
was gruff, Roundrock's lower lip was trembling.

"For the love of God, man, let me baptize her!" Father Rivera urged passionately.

"I don't believe in your God or your baptism!" Roundrock shouted. "Go away and leave us in peace!" His voice cracked with emotion as he readied his hand to close the door. "I can get the council to kick you off this reservation if I want! Don't push me!"

"You don't
want to do that, Chief, sir," Lee's soft voice seemed to drift past the priest to the Chief.

"Lee, don't–" Father Rivera tried to protest, but Lee gently took hold of the priest's forearm, quelling his words.

There was power in Lee's gentleness. He looked at the Chief for what seemed like a full minute before speaking.

"Perhaps we should pray with
you,
sir. Can I pray with you? I know what it
feels like to lose someone you love," Lee said calmly, peacefully, seemingly unconcerned about whatever answer the Chief might give.

The Chief didn't reply. The anger lines on his forehead slowly disappeared. He looked back into the room where his two healthy children were docilely watching television. Roundrock opened the door without looking at his visitors. Lee put his hand on the back of Father
Rivera and gave a gentle push.

Lee followed the man to the kitchen, and without hesitating, put his hands on top of the Chief's head. Chief Roundrock flinched slightly but didn't resist. Lee began to pray silently, his eyes closed. Father Rivera watched in utter surprise for two or three minutes while the young black man prayed over the Chief. After a moment Father Rivera began to silently pray
to Mary in Spanish.

Roundrock felt nothing. No heat. No sensation–only the ordinary warmth of Lee's hands on his head. He waited patiently with his eyes closed while Lee prayed. Lee finally removed his hands, finished. He had not said a word since stepping through the front door.

"There are no words for the suffering we share with Jesus," Lee said finally, compassionately, tears forming in his
eyes.

The Chief nodded solemnly.

"We'll go now," Lee said, meaning every word, not fishing for Roundrock to ask him and Rivera to stay.

There was no reaction from the Chief, so Lee turned to Father Rivera and said, "Come with me, Father, we're done for today."

Still stunned, Father Rivera took a step with Lee toward the front door.

"Wait," Roundrock called after them.

They turned.

The Chief pursed
his lips, then looked from one man to the other.

"Alisa is upstairs, sleeping. She's only seven. Please pray for her, too?" His tone was filled with uncertainty. Then, glaring at the priest, he added firmly, "But no baptism."

"Of course," Lee said quietly. "Of course."

The two men followed the worried father to his dying daughter.

Two weeks after Lee left Tule River, Chief Roundrock called Father
Rivera and asked him to baptize Alisa. One month later, Alisa died. One month after Alisa died, the rest of the Roundrocks of Tule River became Catholics. A small but significant portion of the tribe followed Chief Roundrock's example over the next six months. Father Rivera desperately wanted to write to Lee to inform him of the wonderful news but he didn't have Lee's address.

Sometimes, late
at night, when Father Rivera was most likely to feel the loneliness of his exile, he reminded himself of the soft-spoken black stranger who came to Tule River bearing Christ in his soul.