Pierced by a Sword (50 page)

7

Saturday
Morning
27 July
Newark, New Jersey

Father Chet woke up. He prayed his morning offering:
Dear Lord, I don't know what will happen to me today. I only know that nothing will happen that was not foreseen by You and directed to my greater good from all eternity. I adore Your holy and unfathomable plans and submit to them with all my heart for love of You, the pope, and the Immaculate Heart of Mary.

Plaster chips from the ceiling littered the floor but the walls and roof were mostly intact. The old rectory was solid. Saint Agnes Church next-door was undamaged.

He wondered if there would be water in the shower today. He doubted it. Fortunately the pastor shared his clothes with Chet–almost a perfect fit. He couldn't avoid smelling badly in the confessional–but there was plenty of cologne left
in the medicine cabinet to help with that.

Maybe I'll see if I can get Donny Fabrizio to pull up Joe Jackson on the ham radio,
he thought. Donny was a local teenager who had been a ham radio junkie before the Quakes hit. Chet had already talked to Joe once since coming here. Chet smiled sadly. He missed his Kolbe Foundation friends.

He wondered whether there would be bread in the cupboard. He
doubted it. There was still some canned food left. Last night he had cherry pie filling for dinner. At least the gas was still on and the pie filling had been warmed up. Sometimes parishioners brought food. Most of the rectory's supply had been given away by the pastor, Father Montini, in the first few days after the Quakes.

And there was still plenty of soap. He could keep his hands clean using
the water dropped off by the National Guard a few days ago. Saying Mass with clean hands was a priority.

Chet would make the rounds in the neighborhood today, as he did every day. Maybe today he would spend a lot of time helping some of the Italian families rebuild their homes with broken bricks, split boards, and used nails. Maybe he would preach on a street corner. He always kept a small vial
of chrism oil, and another of holy water, in his pocket. Yesterday he had baptized twenty-five people.

Maybe he would do something else. He was certain to have the distant knot of hunger in his belly during most of the day. Saint Anthony would find him a meal. Chet had lost several pounds since the Quakes.

The weather had been cool lately, which was a blessing. Cool weather mitigated the smell
of dead bodies which sometimes hung like small pockets in the air as he made his rounds.

The pastor of Saint Agnes, old Father Montini, had agreed to "delay" informing the diocese that Chet had returned to Newark. That was fine with Chet.

The Ironbound Section was relatively safe. It was not safe. But it was relatively safe. There was a tacit agreement among the men in the neighborhood–many of
whom had connections with the Mob–that all bets were off concerning law enforcement. A Gatling gun on a tripod was set up on one of the iron lattice balconies overlooking most of the main street. It was manned twenty-four hours a day. Several looters had been shot after the first quake. Bad guys had their own grapevine and avoided the Ironbound Section.

Father Chet faced hunger, fatigue, and suffering.
Most of the suffering came from seeing the trials his people were undergoing. It was depressing at times–although many, many people seemed more open to receiving the sacraments and the Gospel than ever before. Another day. Another Cross. Father Chet wouldn't trade his for the world.
Your burden is light and your yoke is easy,
he repeated often.

Chet jumped out of bed toward Calvary.

Chapter Twenty-One

1

Sunday Evening
24 November
Salt Lake City, Utah

A man picked up a special phone. The line could not be traced. He punched in a memorized number.

At the other end of the line a phone rang in Chicago. A man with a thick Chicago-Italian accent answered.

The man in Utah gave an address. Then he said, "Fire. The big building only. Leave the church alone, for now."

"Got it. Fifty
grand. Half up front. Half after. You know the drill."

The man in Utah, a member of the Council of Fifty, hung up the phone. It was so much easier nowadays.
The Council of Fifty doesn't officially exist,
he thought.
And we don't have to do our own bidding. Thank God for the Mob. We'll teach Lanning and his friend Slinger and their precious Kolbe Foundation a lesson they won't soon forget...

2

Sunday Evening
1 December
Mishawaka, Indiana

Becky found herself woolgathering as she looked at Amy, who was sleeping peacefully in a baby hammock on the kitchen table. She looked out the window of her home toward the Kolbe Center. Joanie sat next to her, chopping away.

Joanie put the knife down on the table. She was preparing carrots which her mother had given her for a new kind of cake she knew
would not taste very good: carrot corn cake. Indiana didn't have much sugar, but it had plenty of corn. Joanie noticed that Becky had lost some weight in the past few months. There was an added dimension of starkness to her beauty.

Joanie was due in less than two weeks. Her slight frame was dominated by the baby in her womb. Her back had a permanent, dull ache.

"Penny for your thoughts," Joanie
asked.

"Oh," Becky said, shaking her head. "Nothing. Well, I mean, I was just thinking that for better or for worse, little Amy is never going to know what it was like for us. Either they'll kill us all or it'll turn out great like Joe says it will, and she'll grow up happy. Anything is better than this limbo. I shouldn't complain. At least we still have freedom in the good old Hoosier state–for
now. But I miss hot showers." Becky looked from Amy to Joanie, and back to Amy. "Isn't that right, Amy Girl?"

"I miss hot showers, too, Beck. And I miss my favorite shampoo. I miss chopped meat. I miss Taco Bell. I miss that feeling that wasn't a feeling..." she trailed off.

"Huh?" Becky asked, putting her hand on Joanie's. She noticed that Joanie's hand was getting rough. Farmer's hands. Joanie
had been doing a lot of gardening. There had not been many vegetables on the table the past couple of months.

"You know–that feeling that's not a feeling," Joanie tried to explain, her tone distant. "It's the feeling you used to get when you woke up in the morning and you know that today would be like yesterday. And that tomorrow would be like today. That's gone."

"Yeah, I get it–" Becky stopped
for a second while she picked up Amy, and gently attached the baby to a breast. Nursing had become second nature, and a godsend, because baby formula was no longer available, except on the black market. "I remember thinking every night when I went to bed with Joe that life was going to be great as long as he was there next to me. Now I think: Oh, I better hold on tight. We might get some World
Union paratroopers in the backyard tomorrow and they'll take Joe away to some prison and pull his fingernails out one by one like they did to those Jesuit priests in New York–"

"That's disgusting, Beck," Joanie made a face. Becky was liable to come out with a graphic image in any conversation.

"Sorry," Becky apologized. "I guess I just got carried away. Click your shoes together three times and
repeat after me, Becky Jackson: Don't be so macabre. Don't be so macabre.

"Anyway, I hold on tight to my man at night. I just don't know if Joe...if Joe..." Her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

They held each other's hands more tightly. Becky pulled herself together. "I'm such a mess. You know, Joanie, sometimes the best part about having a good man in bed isn't the sex. It's the company. The
warmth. The having and holding. Not being alone. That kind of security isn't there any more. I have nightmares." Becky sniffled one final time as she finished speaking.

"I know, Becky, I know," Joanie said softly, sympathetically. "I have nightmares, too. I feel the same way. I feel selfish. I don't know how Mom was able to live with Daddy away in Korea for two years. You want to hear something
weird?"

"Me, wanna hear something weird? Do you really have to ask my permission, Joanie?"

They shared a nervous laugh.

"When the depression first started, I was glad–because I was able to spend more time with Nathan. He was really working long hours after the Quakes. I don't know how many times he slipped into bed at three in the morning and put his arms around me while I was half asleep. You
know what I mean, Beck. Joe and Nathan burned the midnight oil together. When the money dried up and it became practically impossible to send out stuff, it was like a strange, stay-at-home vacation. We'd go on long walks, and sometimes he would talk to me like he never did before–"

"We both married the strong silent types, didn't we?"

"Yeah," Joanie replied. "We married the mute brothers."

"Yeah,"
Becky said. "It's funny, but I'd rather starve to death than not have Joe. It looks like I may get that chance. If corn stops growing in Indiana, that is." She smiled slightly, releasing the baby from her breast and holding her up for a burp. "But I'm sure those carrots are going to help make corn bread all the more delicious," she added with the perfect kind of sarcasm–completely false sincerity.

"I hate corn bread, too," Joanie admitted. "And cold showers. But I love warm beds. Corn breads for warm beds. Hey, Beckmeister, I made a pun, or a rhyme! Or whatever."

"Cool, Joanie. We'll make you a city girl, yet. First puns and rhymes, then, biting jibes and quips. Stage one, which I'm already working on, is to wring all that farm girl wholesomeness outta ya. That takes time. It's especially
hard for Hoosier women, who seem to be infested–"

Becky stopped when Joanie started to laugh. The baby burped.

"Can I practice?" Joanie asked, looking at the baby.

"Sure," Becky replied, raising an eyebrow as she passed Amy over to Joanie, "but only if you promise to not make me eat carrot corn bread tonight at dinner.

"Deal!" Joanie said, playing along, cuddling the child. She had come to cherish
the quirky back and forth of conversations with Becky.
It's another one of those things that might not be here tomorrow if the paratroopers land in the backyard tonight,
she thought sadly, hugging Amy a little bit tighter.

Becky leaned over and gave Amy and Joanie a little kiss on the cheek. She grabbed a few carrots and the knife, and began to chop.

3

Early Monday Morning
2 December
Mishawaka,
Indiana

Joe slept, cradling his wife in his arms. Baby Amy was next to Becky, having an early morning snack of breast milk while Becky dozed lightly.

Joe Jackson's dream was lucid. He found himself in Saint Joseph Church during Sunday Mass. The church was packed with people whom he knew personally, but didn't know personally, in that strange paradoxical way of dreams. The order of the rites in
the Mass were all out of sync, and Joe found himself unable to concentrate on the readings. He couldn't hear the readings. He turned to take Becky's hand, but she wasn't there. He heard a crying baby...

...the Mass ended and a smartly dressed woman with "cat's eye" sunglasses and huge calves slowly walked up to the podium carrying a bright red knapsack...

...she was speaking and Joe heard every
word distinctly. She said, "As you know, the Future Church is now. Starting next Sunday, attendance at Mass will be optional. Come if you want to. I'll be the priest, reader, printer, and candlestick maker. It doesn't really matter. All that matters is that we have a good time. If it feels good, then feel it. Whatever floats your boat digs your moat."

Joe tried to call out "No!" but he couldn't
find his voice. He looked to the man sitting next to him. The man was wearing a nice Brooks Brothers suit which had lottery tickets in all the pockets. The man was smiling in a copacetic trance–as if the woman at the podium were making great sense...

"From now on, Joe Jackson," the woman with the huge calves (Joe could see her calves through the glass podium...) continued, "the new ways are the
old ways. You want to use condoms–fine by me and McGee," she smiled with good humor. "You want to stuff your face? Fine with me. Whatever you be, don't say pope to me. No confession. Snow confession. Blow confession..."

The whole congregation was eating it up, except for the mute Joe. They loved what this woman was saying! He felt paralyzed as he struggled to stand up. With all his considerable
might he willed his legs to stand! To no avail.

"Are there any objections? Any questions? Any extra fish in your pockets, people?" The fat-calved woman's face melted into a blank with no features as she kept babbling.

No one had questions. Joe was finally able to stand but he still could not speak...

Why don't they object? Why don't they speak up? Nooooo!

"Then great. See you next week–if you
come! So long and thanks for all the fish..."

Joe looked around the congregation and every face had turned to a blank, sickening beige (beige was a sickening color in this dream).

Joe found his voice and began to croak, "Lukewarm! Lukewarm! God will spit you out! Lukewarm! Believe me I love you. Lukewarm...lukewarm! I'm not lying–she's lying!" But no one paid attention to him. They stood in unison
and laughed–cackled–with one huge voice and applauded...

...the side of the church (which was now Immaculate Conception Church and not Saint Joseph Church) turned into glass. Joe saw the Kolbe Foundation building and had a sudden horrible foreboding.
I'm too lukewarm and too late...

+  +  +

A thin man opened a briefcase. His car had Illinois plates. He was sitting in his Cadillac Seville on the
shoulder of a back road less than two miles from the Kolbe Foundation. He pulled a small remote control from the briefcase and extended the antenna out twenty inches. The remote had one button. He pressed the button. A second later he saw the explosion in the rearview mirror. A few seconds after that he heard the explosion. He put the car in gear and drove off.

+  +  +

Becky and Joe woke up together
when the Kolbe Center blew up. The window panes in the side of their little home facing the center instantly shattered. The Jackson's bedroom was on the opposite side of the house.

Like many new wives, Becky was amazed at how quickly her husband was up and out of the bed and across the hallway to the window. Lady was barking loudly in the living room downstairs.

"Joe, what happened!" she cried,
sitting up in the bed. Amy began to cry.

"The Kolbe Center's gone," he said evenly. He came back to the bedroom and called the fire department using the memory dial.

+  +  +

The rectory was closer to the Kolbe Center than Joe and Becky's house. Fortunately, the rectory and the Jackson's home were upwind from the center, or else fiery ash might have carried in the brisk winter wind and burned the
two ancient wooden structures to the ground. There was more explosion than fire. Lee Washington's ears would ring for days.

+  +  +

Lee was watching the fire from his bedroom window when he heard the doorbell ring. When he opened the door less than two minutes after the explosion, he saw Joe, wearing pajamas, towering before him.

"It's gone," Joe said.

Lee said nothing.
No kidding,
he thought.

"Do you have the computer backups?" Joe asked, squinting in the light from Lee's tiny foyer.

"Sure. The CD's in my room. We've got an extra in the Salt Lake City office, too."

"Good," Joe said calmly. "We'll find a place to rent in town tomorrow. You can do it better than I can. I wish Father Chet were here."

"Me too," Lee said softly. Then, "Aren't you upset, Joe?"

"Why? Should I be?" Joe said
with a pleasant smile.

"Well I might be upset if somebody jus' blew up my foundation," he observed. The conversation was becoming surreal. The Kolbe Center was in flames behind Joe as Lee spoke.

"Oh, that. Yeah, it's disappointing. But it's not my building. It's Mary's. If she let somebody blow it up, then there must be a good reason. I'd like to say that we'd talk about it in the morning, and
I'd tell you to go back to bed, but with the fire department coming, we'll be up all night."

Lee stepped outside, tilted his head and gave Joe a skeptical look.

"Are you acting or something? Should I get ticked off for you?"

"I'm not acting. We'll start rebuilding in the morning. Or whatever. I'll give Karl a call," Joe said. "It's just a building and we have the computer backup."

"What about
Becky and Amy? Aren't you worried about them?"

That seemed to give Joe pause for thought.

"I'll have to think about that," was all he said.

Becky was dressed by now and out the front door, watching the Kolbe Center burn from the porch that circled three quarters of the farmhouse. She had Amy in one arm, still crying. Lady was at her side barking like mad. Becky shook her fist in the air.

"I don't
know who you are but you're a bunch of bastards and I'll personally rip your hearts out if I ever find you!" she screamed at the top of her lungs at the wind and the fire. Lady started barking even louder.

"I don't know what she sees in you, Joe," Lee observed, before yelling to Becky, "Right on, Sister Becky! Right on!"

4

Sunday Evening
8 December
South Bend, Indiana

The whole gang was back together
again to celebrate the first wedding anniversary of the Paynes and the Jacksons, as well as the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. Denny had flown Slinger up from Dallas that morning. The atmosphere was not festive.

A fire burned in Bruno's fireplace. Delivery of heating oil had been spotty for months. There was talk of trading food for oil with the Nation of Texas, but it was just talk.