The Greatest Evil (23 page)

They had so much in common. Not only were they Catholic and in “religious life,” but they were liberal and liberated people involved in social causes. It was only natural for friendship to grow. And that, in turn, again naturally led to affection. And thence, to an affair.

They were young, single, with raging hormones. Without, their religious commitment, they probably would’ve dated for a brief time, then married. Their families would have been proud of them. They would have moved into a small house in the suburbs and had children.

That was not to be. The obstacles were obvious.

So they were reduced to meeting in the most outlandish ways and places. At which times they were transformed from Sister Gratia and Father Thompson to Mary Lou and Greg.

In those days, few people were leaving the priesthood or the religious life. The deluge would come later.

So there was a special sort of disgrace attached to turning away from lifelong if not eternal vows. Leave-taking nuns were known to be smuggled out of the motherhouse completely covered by a blanket in the rear of the family car. Priests who left were pretty much shunned. Not a pleasant prospect in any case.

These thoughts took flight when the passenger door opened and Mary Lou slid in beside him. They kissed with banked passion. She wore a simple dress and a cotton coat. It was all she could do to hide this “lay” clothing in her room, which the nuns called a cell.

Greg had squirreled away enough to pay for a cheap motel room for the night—or most of the night.

They drove down Woodward until, in the vicinity of Highland Park, they came to a series of sleazy motels that catered to the poor, hookers, and one-night stands. As long as the money was delivered up front, the desk clerk didn’t care how many Mr. and Mrs. John Smiths registered.

Greg and Mary Lou, though they seldom patronized these flophouses, took pains not to use any one more than a few times. And then, with long intervals between each visit.

They registered as Mr. and Mrs. Harry Brown. (Greg was feeling creative.) Once inside their room de la nuit, they tore at each other’s, clothes until they wore none. Then it was into bed where they made wild but quiet love till they were exhausted.

They lay in each other’s arms, feeling completely relaxed. They would be able to repeat their performance after a while.

He thought: This is wonderful. This is marvelous. After experiencing erotic passion with Mary Lou, he knew he’d never again be governed by chastity. Maybe the others of his cloth could be without sexual expression until death, but not he. Not now that he was captured by the glories of sex. As far as he was concerned, taking all due precautions against the twin great threats, pregnancy and discovery, he and Mary Lou could go on until death did them part.

She thought: What now? Lying on her side, facing Greg, she fingered the sheet. How many people had ridden this bed? Insecure men attempting to prove their virility. Women seeking escape from a failed life. Hoping to find protection from a stronger person who did not exist. Women willing to become a seminal wastebasket for just a few-dollars. Was all this a foundation for what life would become for “Mr. and Mrs. Harry Brown”?

Greg traced an invisible line on her body from her shoulder around her breast to her thigh. It was a signal devised to indicate he was ready again.

She rolled over on her back. But as he was about to cover her, she pushed him away.

He was truly startled. “What’s wrong? What’s the matter?”

“We’ve got to talk.”

“Later.”

“Now.”

He pushed himself up and sat on the bed, leaning against the backboard. He lit a cigarette from the pack he’d placed on the nightstand. “Okay. We talk. About what?”

“About us.” She pulled the blanket up around her shoulders. The seriousness of what she was about to say seemed compromised as long as her body remained uncovered.

“What about us?” Cigarette smoke streamed from his nostrils.

“How long do you think we can go on like this?”

He grinned. “Till death do us part.”

“Really? Face it, Greg: This is terrible. And this is as good as it gets for us.”

“What’s so bad?”

“You can’t see? All we’ve got in this room is an uncomfortable bed and privacy. And the only reason we’ve got this much is because you were able to put aside a little money. I don’t get to keep any money at all. And you get little more than you absolutely need. Ordinarily, our “date” would be the backseat of your car, where we neck and pet and grope each other in a space that makes this room seem like a honeymoon suite.”

Greg snuffed his cigarette. “I know … I know. But I’ve got plans. I can make more money.”

Her lip curled ever so slightly. “How?”

“I’m going to apply at our metro paper for a regular column. I can write pretty good. You’ve said so yourself. That could be a dependable source of extra money.”

“So we could … what? Spend more time in this hellhole?”

“No, in a better room. In a respectable hotel.”

“And increase our chances of being recognized? And then wouldn’t the local news media be grateful to us! We would be disgraced and we’d be forced into doing what we ought to do anyway.”

“Which is what?”

“Leave! Resign!” She rested on an elbow. The sheet fell away, exposing her breasts. He was always stirred by their resemblance to firm cups.

“We would start a new life. We could make it. I’ve got a master’s degree and teaching experience. You can write. You could get a job on a local paper or with a magazine. We could make it, Greg!” She was stoked by her own enthusiasm.

“I don’t know …” Fear gnawed at his courage. Deep down he had to agree that their life together, such as it was, was not much. Their relationship was not significantly removed from the early woes of teenagers. Making out in a car. Eagerly occupying any available room of whatever description.

But … leave! Each of them might be, in varying degrees, disgusted with their present lifestyle. But both of them enjoyed matchless security. The basics were guaranteed: food, clothing, shelter, even work. In his case, at least, he could do as much or as little as he chose.

All of that would be thrown to the winds by the simple procedure of resigning.

Of course, even resignation would not completely end it all. The security would be gone, totally. But sanctions would be imposed. Her community would undoubtedly disown her. He would be suspended. He would continue to be a priest into eternity, but he would be forbidden to act as a priest unless a life-threatening emergency demanded his ministration.

If they were to be married, they would be excommunicated. Married or not, they would be living in sin.

The cheesy motel room they were occupying began to look better and better.

They did not make love again that night. Nor did they sleep. Each lay shrouded in the questions that Mary Lou had raised.

Long before the dawn’s early light, they were dressed and on their way—she to her convent, he to his rectory.

The last words spoken before they parted were Mary Lou’s.

“Greg, I was never more serious than I was last night. Either we leave and make a normal life for ourselves, or we stop right now. It’s a decision that has to be made. As often as we continue with these trysts, we just put off the inevitable. Call me when you’re ready to go. Or …” She looked at him firmly. “… don’t call.”

If, over the next several days, parishioners, pastor, and peers thought Father Thompson seemed distracted, they were dead right. He could not get Mary Lou or her ultimatum out of his mind.

No doubt she had a valid point, particularly from her perspective. However, really, he thought he would be capable of continuing their affair, just the way it was, for the foreseeable future and beyond.

But, no, he would be on his own. Several times he had tried to phone her. But each time, after answering her question in the negative, he was left with an eloquent dial tone.

At length, after much anguished thought, prayer, rationalization, and many sleepless nights, he agreed to leave with her.

No point in going through legal or juridical red tape. They compared letters, hers to the Mother General of her order his to the chancery, mailed them, and left.

Once having arrived at their destination in a neighboring state, they wrote to their families. Those were the really difficult letters. Their loved ones, particularly his, were saddened if not crushed by the abrupt breaking away.

As for the principals, after all this they decided to take their time getting married. They had achieved their state of sin; marriage would only be its canonical imprint.

It didn’t take Mary Lou long to find a teaching job in a middle school. Her salary alone made it possible for them to live in a nice apartment and even enjoy a few extras—comfortable furniture, a color TV, and the luxury of eating out occasionally.

Greg got a job with the local newspaper—dividing his time between janitorial services and the switchboard. The managing editor could find nothing in Greg’s résumé that would qualify him for anything higher.

Mary Lou was happy. She did miss her religious habit, and the reverence the kids gave “’ster.” But not all that much. It was an unwonted thrill to receive a paycheck with her name on it. She could try different teaching methods in her classes without the admonition “This is the way we’ve always done it.” She even found it fun to flirt. The school’s male staff knew she was single. They gave her no trouble. All in all, she had never felt more feminine.

Greg’s situation was another case entirely. No one called him “Father.” No one did things for him. In effect, no one any longer did any part of his job for him. Not a single person would cover for him or excuse a failing.

He had gone from being “another Christ” to the guy who sweeps the floor and answers the phone. On top of it all, Mary Lou was making more money than he. Unbridled sex hardly made up for all that.

Meanwhile, back home, Jake and Mildred Helpern, Mary Lou’s parents, were getting used to the idea. Their daughter had been a nun. Now she wasn’t.

At first, Jake was angry. He thought he had closed the file on his only daughter. Safely locked in behind inescapable doors. The only practical consequence of her religious life, as far as he was concerned, was that she’d have no kids. He would not have any grandchildren from her. He could live with that. Besides, his only son might produce some legitimate progeny someday. If ever he stopped sowing his wild oats. Like father, like son.

Jake chuckled.

Mrs. Helpern drew a blank. She had tried to make it clear to her daughter that marriage was no bargain. All the silly girl had to do was consider her parents. Jake was one of those walking arguments for the theory of evolution. So much so that Mildred was uneasy about visiting the zoo. There simply was too much resemblance between her husband and the males in the orangutan exhibit.

Years ago, they had packed Mary Lou into the motherhouse on a bright and promising day. Their son hadn’t bothered to see his sister off. A heavy date.

Jake wore his blue serge suit. A bit warm for that season. But it was Jake’s sole evidence of civility.

Mildred had been so happy. Her daughter had climbed upon a pedestal much like the statuette of the Blessed Mother in their living room.

Where Mary Lou had ever gotten the idea to become a nun Mildred was at a loss to know. But there she was: pristine under yards and yards of religious habit.

And now she’d thrown it all away! To run off with a priest, of all things! What could a priest do to earn a living? In no time, Mildred just knew it, Mary Lou would be back on the Helpern doorstep. Probably bring the priest with her. Two more mouths to feed—or even more, if they had kids. Jake would be furious.

Mildred prayed for her daughter. Mildred prayed that her daughter would find happiness—countless miles from the Helpern family.

On the other hand, there were the Thompsons: mother, father, and sister of the once and—what they determined would be—future Father Thompson.

No sooner did the Thompsons receive Greg’s announcement than they made an appointment with a chancery priest. That was the first of many meetings with secretaries, information officers, priests, monsignors, and, at long last, the bishop.

As a result of their perseverance, they reached a tentative agreement with the diocese that (a) If Gregory Thompson had not attempted a civil marriage (b) If it was judged, after careful investigation, that his enterprise had not made him notorious in the diocese (c) If he were ready to blindly, totally, and completely follow the directives of his diocesan authorities, he might be permitted to once again function as a priest.

But, the bishop warned, those “ifs” were very iffy.

Thus armed with a tentative agreement, Harold, Joan, and Rose headed for Greg’s and Mary Lou’s apartment.

The Thompsons spent the better part of that evening arguing and pleading with Greg and Mary Lou. In the end, considering the small wave he had made in the worldly economy, Greg leaned toward returning to a life he really hadn’t wanted to leave in the first place.

It would, of course, be difficult to part from Mary Lou. But … she was the only woman with whom he had ever been sexually active. And who knew? With all the good intentions in the world, it might happen again. Except that if there were a next time, he would be much more cautious in his selection.

Mary Lou fought off the Thompsons far more forcefully than Greg did. How dare they meddle in the lives of two consenting adults!

However, as the hours passed that fateful evening, Mary Lou felt her hold on Greg slipping. He was wavering; she knew it. At first she was furious. Then she began to think of all those interesting men at school, as well as in the service station, the supermarket … well, just about everywhere.

The only man she knew in a complex, complete manner was Greg Thompson. And he clearly wanted out. More and more she thought she could get on very well without him.

There were so many others cut there to meet and experience.

Covering her true feelings carefully, at long last she agreed to the decision that had been reached by everyone but her.