No Greater Love (14 page)

Cody nodded. “He's got just a few more months till ordination.” He gazed fixedly at Koesler. “I know all about the priests who defected. But I consider the priesthood something that goes beyond the grave. That's the way I've raised my son. It's certainly no secret to Al that I would be the happiest guy in the world if he became a priest.

“I've prepared him for this from the beginning. By the time he got to college, he was ready. I knew he could make it academically. I knew he had the self-discipline. I saw that he dated during high school. But I warned him that women and the priesthood don't mix.

“He is the most important thing in my life.”

Koesler had long been aware of, and disturbed by, Cody's monopolization of Al's upbringing and training. Not once had Bill mentioned his wife, Eileen, and the powerful influence she must have had on the boy.

But Koesler quickly decided to let Bill set the direction for this meeting.

“The point I'm making, Father, is that Al is ready for the call.” His expression was grim. “I do not intend for anyone to block his path or turn him aside.”

Koesler had never heard any comparable statement from a parent of any seminarian. Was it a threat? A challenge?

Koesler returned to a prior point. “Are you concerned whether Al will be happy in the priesthood?”

“To a degree, yes. In my opinion, you're a good priest.”

Koesler almost blushed. “Thank you.”

“You do your job as a priest and you do it pretty well,” Cody said. “Considering that—well, coming from the pre-Council Church and living through this plastic age of the Church, as far as I can see, you're a good priest.

“And you just confirmed my opinion that you're happy being the kind of priest you are.

“That's what I want for Al. I want him to be a good and a happy priest. That's what I've formed in him. And I will not appreciate it if anyone gets in the way of Al's being a good and happy priest.”

Koesler leaned forward in obvious concern. “You speak as if you know of someone who might do that.”

Cody's brow knitted. “This rector!” His tone was that of a physician identifying the location of a cancer. “I've had my eye on him for five years—since the day he became a bishop. And from some of the things Al tells me he's said … well, I'm telling you, Father: Bishop McNiff is
suspect”

Koesler was unsure how to respond. He decided to take Cody seriously. “Bill, don't worry about Bishop McNiff. He's a classmate of mine, and he's very conscientious.”

“I wish I could be as convinced as you are. But I've heard that McNiff is soft on things like liberation theology and easy divorce and annulments … a whole shopping list of things condemned by the Pope—”

“Wait, Bill. I doubt the Pope has a more faithful follower than Pat McNiff. I know him well, and I can assure you that the last thing on Pat McNiff's mind and agenda is a return to the days following the Council—when it didn't seem possible for things to change any faster than they were.”

Cody nodded once acceptingly “I'll take your word on that, Father. But I should tell you that if it were completely up to me, Al would be joining the Jesuits.”

“Really!” Koesler thought he could make an educated guess as to why the Jesuits.

“I wasn't so interested in them as teachers or missionaries, but—”

“That special vow of fealty they make to the Pope … right?”

“Yes. That's it. Although lately, it seems even
they
are cutting corners on their obedience to the Holy Father. So I suppose Al is just as well off here in this diocesan seminary. Over the years I've checked things out. And there are only a few teachers here that are at all suspect. Which is not a bad average. Then this Bishop McNiff comes from out of nowhere. And I'm just not sure …”

“For one thing, Bill, the rector is only one person.”

“I know. I know. But a rector has a lot of clout.”

Koesler had no reason to argue over the role McNiff continued to play in the orderly transformation of this seminary. Bill Cody feared that the rector was a crashing liberal. But whatever Bishop McNiff was, he was
not
that. “Has Al said anything to you about this?”

Cody shook his head. “No. Neither of us has broached the matter.”

“How about Eileen? Is it possible he's talked to her about it?”

Cody's jaw clenched, then just as quickly relaxed. “No. He's not as close to his mother as he is with me.”

“But, Bill, you just said neither you nor Al have talked about the new rector. How would you know whether he and Eileen did or didn't discuss it?”

“I'd know!” The matter was closed.

“I accept your evaluation of this matter, Father,” Cody said after a moment. “There's just one more thing that troubles me about this place.”

“What would that be?”

“There's another deacon here who I think exercises quite a bit of influence over Al.”

“Oh?”

“A William Page. He's an older man.”

“So many in this seminary are.”

“This guy is a graduate of Notre Dame University. He had a career in advertising. Now he's about to become a priest.”

“There's a lot of that going around, Bill. Some of the better sources for vocations are older men. Call it a mid-career change. Whatever. There are quite a few who are bankers, architects, technicians, lawyers like yourself, even travel agents. You never know where they'll be coming from. If it hasn't already happened, I think it will happen soon that people Al's age—which used to be the norm for seminarians—are going to be in the vast minority.”

“Do you mind if I walk around a bit?” Cody anticipated no problem; he was already standing.

“Sure. Go ahead. I'm just sorry I can't provide more room for pacing.”

“It's all right.” Cody was not long on the light touch. “I understand about the delayed vocations. And I think the jury's still out on that one. But I was interested in Page particularly … only because Al seemed so taken with him.”

“Did you come up with anything?”

“I think so. I have some friends in various agencies. I asked around.”

“And?”

“And, it turns out that William Page started strong—as most Notre Dame graduates do. Then things got tough. He was losing more accounts than he was selling. In short, he was headed for bankruptcy.

“Then he started talking about how he'd always wanted to go to the seminary and become a priest. Bottom line: He talked a great seminary but never went to one.

“So, he joined this seminary for a six-year course—the minimum training required for a delayed vocation. Six years! Hell, when I was a kid it was twelve years—through high school, college, and the theologate.”

“Me too, Bill. But even in my day, when young men were ordained ordinarily at about twenty-five, give or take a year or two, there were still delayed vocations, some of whom made it every bit as well as the rest of us.”

Cody nodded throughout Koesler's statement. There was something more to be said, and Cody was going to say it.

“My point, Father, is that I believe this Page fellow is looking for a life preserver in rough waters. He wants to be a priest for the only reason that will motivate him—financial security. And he thinks he'll find it in the priesthood. That spells out the kind of priest he'll be … mark my word.”

“That's quite a charge, Bill.”

“I know. And I know that it's hearsay. And I know that hearsay is not allowed in a court of law. But we're not in a court of law. This is your room and I trust you with what's said in here.”

Koesler nodded. “There's nothing I could do about what you've said. Precisely because it
is
hearsay … whose, by the way?”

“Some of these agents I mentioned. Seems Page likes to talk. He also likes to brag. They opened up to me because I asked them directly … and because they are my friends.”

Koesler's fingers built a pyramid. “What, if anything, do you expect me to do about this?”

“Just be aware of it. Didn't you say you'd soon be talking with Al?”

“Yes.”

“See if you can find out how much influence this Page has with my boy. I'm not asking that any sort of charges be brought against Page. What this faculty does about Page—whom I consider to be a featherbedder and a fraud—well, that's their business. I just want to protect my boy.” Cody ceased pacing and stood, almost menacingly, over Koesler. “And, by damn, I will!”

Koesler was somewhat taken aback by Cody's vehemence. But before he could say anything, Cody, still standing, continued. “There's one more thing I found out about Page. And I'm telling you this because I don't want you wasting your time questioning it.”

Koesler nodded, and listened intently.

“Whatever screening procedure you have for candidates to the seminary, I'm sure you didn't go into Page's background as thoroughly and carefully as I have.”

“I'm not sure what the procedure is now, but it's got to be more thorough than we went through,” Koesler pointed out. “In our day, we took a standard test. Brought in some documentation—a copy of our parents' Church wedding certificate, our baptism and confirmation records. We had a brief interview with one of the faculty members. That was about it. On the strength of the test and the interview we were accepted or rejected.

“I'm sure we go into the candidate's life a lot more deeply than that nowadays.”

Cody started pacing again. “Yeah, the interview is more thorough, I'll give you that. But you don't go checking to get an actual report on the guy's lifestyle.”

“What—?”

“My antenna went up several degrees when I found out that Page was in his forties when he applied here. And he'd never married. He's willing to live a celibate life among men.”

“You thought he might be gay? That's a condition they look into in the screening—that I know.”

“But they don't go out and check into it. I
did
! It's true he's never married. It's also true he's had something like the girl-of-the-month. He's not gay. He might be trying to become the father of our country.”

“Even if this is true—”

“It's true!”

“Okay, it's true. But that's not to say a person can't change or mature.”

“Oh, I'll admit change can happen. But for Page to give up his seduction of women would be like Larry King becoming a Trappist monk.”

Koesler was about to respond when, uncharacteristically, Cody held up a silencing hand. “Don't get me wrong, Father. I'm not entirely concerned that Page is a womanizer. At least he's not trying to enter into a gay relationship with my son. If there was a chance in hell of that happening, well …”

Koesler, of course, understood the uncompleted ultimate threat, but shuddered to contemplate it.

“But I would be concerned if Page were to infect Al with the physical side of sex—even if it was heterosexual.

“My boy, Father, is right where I want him to be. The only threat I can see to Al's becoming a happy and fulfilled priest for a lifetime of service comes at this moment from William Page.

“Your paths may cross, Father. I mean you and Page. If you sense there is any trouble that he is making for Al … I want you to threaten his ordination.”

“But—”

“No.” Cody would not be contradicted. “Trust me, Father. Page wants one thing above everything else—including women—and that's to float through life, free of worry, as a priest. Trust me on this one: He will do anything to get ordained. After that …?” Cody shrugged. “After that … well, once he's a priest, all bets are off.

“The big thing for me, anyway, is that whatever Page does
after
he's ordained likely will not influence Al. But for now till their ordination day, if Page wants to get there in one piece, he'd better stay the hell away from my son.

“And that's about all I want to say about that!”

On that unequivocal note, Koesler felt sure this matter was concluded. Cody could scarcely have been more explicit. Koesler would make contact with Al Cody, befriend him if he seemed to feel in need of a friend.

As for Bill Page, the water was murkier. At this juncture, Koesler quite possibly knew more about the Reverend Mr. Page than did any faculty member. Whether or not the senior Cody's appraisal would prove accurate only time would tell. Meanwhile, Koesler would keep a weather eye out for developments.

In any case, for the moment it seemed that all of Bill Cody's concerns had been addressed. “Okay,” Koesler said. “I would have seen Al in the course of events anyway. After all, he is a former parishioner. I'll just make our visit sooner rather than later. Thanks for coming in and telling me about all this.” He was getting to his feet when Cody motioned him back down. “Please bear with me some more. I wanted to tell you about Al, but that's not the main reason I'm here.”

Thirteen

Father Koesler was reminded of a story told by a priest-professor from his seminary days.

That priest had related that there were times when one or another seminarian would request an appointment, during which the student would go on and on, rambling from topic to topic: war to sports to politics and the like.

Then, after the first hour or so, the priest-professor, unable to pinpoint what in this unholy mess was bothering the student, would be on the verge of concluding the tête-à-tête. At which point, the student would announce, “By the way, I'm quitting.” Presenting a topic worth several more hours of study and counseling.

He wanted to talk to me about Al, Koesler reflected, and only now he gets to the main point.

Even Cody's body language was eloquent. While talking about his son, he had first sat quietly in his chair, then gotten up and paced, which showed disquiet.