It’s Saturday night. As long as I live it will always feel special, even though at Our Lady of West Saugerties it's just another sundown. When I was a kid, my Grandmother and I would always watch Saturday Night Wrestling on television in the 1950’s. The entire charade bored me, frankly, but Grandma was a true fan. She would lunge back and forth in her rocking chair, cheering on her half naked champion while I listened with one ear and read ahead in my Geography textbook, “America’s World – from Washington to Peking.” What made the night special was the popcorn and soft drinks she allowed us while we watched Enrique Torres, Don Eagle, Whipper Watson and her all time favorite, Gorgeous George. She took me to see George when he came to town one snowy winter night. I’ll tell you the story sometime.
Did you do your homework regarding St. Jessica? You have no excuse if you failed to do your assignment, because these days it should take only a few clicks on the Internet. In fact, when my cousin Martha Rose and I were together at our last family funeral, she told me that a few clicks did a lot for her. They put her into a lifetime of debt!
Saint Jessica was the wife of Chuza, a steward to King Herod Antipas of Galilee. Did you remember when Mary Magdalen went to the tomb on Easter morning that she was not alone? That’s right, M.M. brought with her two other gals who had been cooking meals and presumably washing and ironing for Jesus and the Apostles. One of them was Jessica. I don’t know if Mr. Chuza knew of his wife’s activities, but for her efforts she became a saint and received perpetual care in heaven, so to speak. So you never know. You should be nice to anyone calling himself the Son of Man, especially if he's Jewish. I think my patron saint, Jessica, has a sense of humor, so I’m not worried about offending her. As for the Son of Man, there is no question he has a sense of humor, and I’ve learned it’s quite well developed.
There is ill feeling between Terd and Agnes. Like most of the Brothers, Terd joined in the whisperings and mild complaints about Agnes when the boat from Ireland hove to and deposited the new Abbot here in West Saugerties. But as the months wore on and most of us became used to the little Irishman and his peculiarities, Terd’s attitude worsened. Over the past few weeks his comments have at times been ugly. One might assume Terd’s attitude toward his abbot severely worsened when he was told by Agnes that I would be the new errand boy and driver. Terd said he was not bothered in the least, but I knew better.
At the hospital yesterday, I could see anger in the big man’s eyes as the policemen accosted him. But worse, when Agnes took charge of the melee, a cold hard fury burst across Terd’s face. I can understand the human aspect of a large and physically superior, as well as highly educated, man being annoyed when a chirping leprechaun steps in to save the day. But the depth of Terd’s contempt left me frightened. I have known the man for years and love him as a brother, but I am beginning to fear the person who may be emerging from his anger. And I do not understand why he so dislikes Agnes.
XIV. Emergency Room Harpo (Brother Father Saint Gertrude) fell down the steps into the cellar this morning when he came looking for me. I feel so bad because I ignored his call from the top of the stairs, hoping to avoid conversation with him. I’m allowed to ignore everyone except Abbot Agnes until evening, because our rule allows conversation only after supper and not during the day, when of course it would make more sense to allow communication, especially if we’re working on projects around the monastery. But as my Novice Master once told me long ago, “If God had wanted the world to make sense, He would have left out humans.”
We took Harpo down to the new emergency room in Kingston. We didn’t change our clothes, but went immediately in our work robes, Terd leading the way in through that giant revolving door. I can’t blame the lady for calling Security, who immediately called the Police. If you saw ten robed and bearded men carrying an eleventh into your lobby, led by a giant resembling that big fellow in the Harry Potter movies, you’d probably leak yourself into your boots too! (Yes, we’re all Harry Potter fans!)
Terd did not take too kindly to the little policemen as they bounced around him. Agnes stepped in to save Terd … a role reversal if there ever was one. Guns were about to be drawn and the poor lady behind the desk dropped down out of sight to sit on her soggy boots. Agnes shouted, “Vos adversus Deus,” in the words of the First Martyr St. Stephen. We dropped to our knees and held out our crucifixes, our standard group action when attacked by humans. (A crucifix doesn’t impress a bear. For that eventuality, we carry our illegal .357 in the woods.)
Most of us were directed by the police to return to the SUV while Agnes and Cat accompanied Harpo through his treatment. A sprain only, thank The Lord. Old Harpo should be as good as new in no time. And I’ll talk to him all he wants about his depressing thoughts and doubts.
