122. Half A Loaf

For a while everything seemed to be going along smoothly at the monastery, except for a bit of discord among us Brothers over whether we should be what one could call a safe house. Given the truckload of food, which we could eat immediately or when the rice and beans ran out, we did not have an immediate need for the entire amount of money paid to us by Alfred, so I felt duty bound to offer half of it to Fermoy to help with their debts. But I would do so on my terms.

“M&M,” I said into the phone, “this is Abbot Jessica in America calling. Will you please put Brother Saint Anne on the line?”

“He’s busy at the moment,” replied M&M. His voice didn’t sound very warm.

“I hope he’s not too busy to accept a lot of money that I’m about to send him,” I said.

There was the sound of M&M jumping up and Saint Anne’s voice could be heard almost immediately on the phone.’

“Jessica, you sold the monastery!” Saint Anne boomed.

“No,” I replied. “But we have come into some money and I want to send you $5,000.”

“How much did you receive and from where?” he asked.

I had anticipated his question and had given it some thought. Although my initial reaction would have been to tell him it was none of his business, he was in fact my superior and I had to tell him.

“A guest was so thrilled with his stay here, he gave us $10,000. I need half for our operations here and I’m sending you the other half.”

“I’m afraid I have to ask you for the entire $10,000, Abbot Jessica,” said Saint Anne. "I just got off the phone with our banker and he specified ten thousand as the minimum he would take this week if we expect to keep our campus here in Fermoy.”

I resisted the temptation to congratulate Saint Anne for being a better liar than myself. He knew what I was thinking about his banker story and he knew I wouldn’t challenge him. But he couldn’t possibly believe that the first paying guest we ever had at Our Lady’s had been so thrilled with the rice and beans that he gave us ten thousand dollars!

“Once again,” I continued, “I am sorry to be insubordinate, but $5,000 is all you’re getting, so please tell me how you’d like me to send it.”

A silence ensued and I could almost hear Saint Anne thinking. Finally, he pulled out the gun.

“Jesse,” he said with fake warmth, “I have not threatened a Brother in many years, but if you are unwilling to send the full ten thousand, I am afraid I will have to begin proceedings to discharge Our Lady’s at West Saugerties from the Order.”

“Rome has to approve,” I interjected.

“And that Congregation has never refused a lawful proceeding by this Order,” he said.

“$5,000 or nothing,” I said.

“I hope you realize that when you are discharged from the Order your work as scholar assistants will be tainted, even calling into question the scholarly works published by Universities around the world.  Your work, though largely menial, will no longer be requested by most of the antiquities men and women. Plus, our lawyers will begin the necessary steps to have all of you evicted. You will lose the monastery you are trying to save, Jesse.”

“St. Anne, I do not wish to disobey you, but I am responsible for the men here under my care.”

“I will take care of all you,” he said, “I am the Provincial.”

I could stand his bullshit no longer. 

“St. Anne,” I said. “I think you would throw us all out of an airplane to save fuel if you had the chance.”

There was a moment of silence at Saint Anne’s end of the line. Finally he spoke in a voice that sounded as if someone else had come on the phone.

“I am an attorney as well as the Provincial In Charge of this Order,” said Saint Anne, and I could hear the heat building in his voice. He was getting pissed off. “I am licensed to practice law in Ireland and also in the United States. And so let me speak to you as an attorney, David.”

To be called by my given name produced the shock it was meant to.

“If you do not send the full $10,000, I will ensure that a local court places an order against you personally and your local district attorney will bring criminal charges against you for the mishandling of funds received in care of the Order of the Holy Varlet!”

This was serious. I had no doubt he could do it. There were rumors of a similar money argument years ago between Fermoy and a monk who at the time was assigned to the U.S as a solitary in Massachusetts. The man spent time in jail in Boston.

But I was finished with this game. I wasn’t trying to cheat anyone or steal their money. I wanted to remain a contemplative monk, and although my admiration for the Ardent Brothers of the Holy Varlet had dwindled down to practically nothingness, I wanted to honor my vows and remain in the fold. I wanted to die a monk. Still, I wouldn’t give in to his bullying. My answer would be clear and I would have liked to have given it at that moment: “You can take your Order and shove it!” However, I could not speak for my brothers and I had to go to them for their answer.