I’m a little sorry I ventured out in the SUV this afternoon. None of us at the monastery have any reason to keep track of the news or weather, but we keep a small portable radio with spare batteries for emergencies in the kitchen up on the shelf over the refrigerator. If the weather appears threatening and a trip on the roads is planned, I turn it on and listen for the forecast. Lance gave us the radio and it receives AM, FM and the weather bureau.
A light snowfall wasn’t due till tonight, according to the forecasters, but flakes are already falling as I head over the Rhinecliff Bridge on my way to Terd’s house for our visit. I absolutely hate to drive on roads slick with snow. After only five minutes I have a headache as my body and neck tenses up in readiness for the crash when I slide off the road into a ditch. And who will find me down there in the water and snow if I can’t get out of the car? And if I get out and crawl up to the road, who will stop for a snowman waving frantically in the middle of a storm? I’m already getting a headache and the road is bare! I worry too much!
This afternoon Red Hook’s sidewalks are sporting their decoration of students from Bard College, each dressed a little different and each having more of a spring in their young step than the musty old shopkeepers. Aside from the young tattoo artist with the dreadlocks, everyone else in the community complains about the young men and women while taking their money.
“So you’ve come back!” Terd says with a smile as he welcomes me at the front door and herds me through the tiny vestibule into the living room. He takes my parka and hangs the coat with a great deal of care in a closet near the door, as a store clerk might replace a garment I had just tried on.
In the kitchen we settle down at the table and immediately begin work on the coffee he’s made and the donuts I picked up on my way here.
“I have news,” he tells me.
“So, tell me about it,” I said. It was easy to see he was delighted about something. A smile was written broadly across his face.
“I’ve got a job!” he said. “I’ll be teaching this spring at Marist College down the road in Poughkeepsie. Jack recommended me.”
“That’s great,” I replied, but unsure I felt all that elated.
“Science and Religion,” he continued, “It's part time and not in its own curriculum, but the school has a concentration in that area.”
We talked about the various topics one might cover in the class, whether there would be oversight from college officials and the typical things that future college professors discuss.
“Jesse,” Terd said after half of an hour, “you don’t seem all that happy for me.”
“I’m disappointed you won’t be coming back to Our Lady’s,” I said.
“I’ve spoken to Agnes about this,” said Terd. “He wants me to return to the monastery. He said I could take the teaching job and commute from West Saugerties.”
“That would seem unusual,” I said, “to have an abbot invite you leave the cloister each day for a 9 to 5 job.”
“Some of the Bunders do it,” he said, “although it’s true they’re not a cloister.”
“And these are unusual times for Our Lady’s,” I said, “so we shouldn’t expect life as usual.”
“True,” said Terd, “our Brothers may be doing the same in the near future when the monastery closes.”
“You know,” I said, “if we all went out to work for paychecks and came home at night, maybe we could continue to live at Our Lady’s.”
“And if we had decent jobs, we could probably live better than subsisting on rice and beans, too,” said Terd.
“I think we could do it!” I said, my enthusiasm mounting. “I’ll bet only half of us working could support all of us in a decent style.”
“We wouldn’t be monks any more,” said Terd. “At least not the kind we’ve been.”
“I don’t see where we have a choice at the moment,” I said. “We’ll just be the kind of monks circumstances allow us to be now.”
“Nah, it won’t work,” said Terd after a moment.
“What the hell … why not?” I said.
“The Ardent Brothers in Fermoy want the cash from the sale of the monastery,” said Terd. “We might be able to support ourselves living there, but we don’t own the place and we don’t have the money to buy it.”
“Is robbing a bank a mortal sin?” I asked.
Terd laughed. “Maybe not if it’s to support a monastery,” he said.
Here's a song that's tough to find on the Internet, Steve Miller's "Take the JOKER and Run." It's an early version of "Take the MONEY and Run." I've uploaded the mp3 file to the following url and I'll keep it up there for a while, or until they arrest me. Just double click the url and your player should automatically play the song.
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