Snow Globes and Hand Grenades (12 page)

Sister Mathilda closed her eyes tight and ripped off her bandages taking a few thick white eyebrow hairs with them. The room air was cool on her naked eyelids. She cupped her hands over her face and slowly opened her eyes. Light from the window and bedside lamp seeped through her fingers. Thunder rumbled. In sweet defiance to her doctor's orders, she slowly spread her fingers open all the way. Her pupils constricted. The window and rainy day outside came into view. She opened a drawer and got out six pair of old eyeglasses, trying on several until the trees sharpened into crisp focus. The operation had worked. She could see again as good as a young girl.

“Nursing home, my ass,” she mumbled. Sister Mathilda moved closer to the window and watched the raindrops plopping in the mud puddles by the trees and the branches of bright green leaves bending in the wind, and the headlights of cars curving past the nunnery. There was a living world out there. After a while she went to the closet and got out her suitcase and packed it with an extra habit and some fresh stockings and underwear. Then she closed the suitcase and hid it under her bed. She put her eyeglasses back in the drawer, and put the bandages back on her eyes and smoothed out
the adhesive tape to make it look undisturbed. Soon it would be time for lunch in the nunnery and she would count the steps to the kitchen and make herself a bologna sandwich with a glass of milk and some grapes to eat with the other nuns, and ask them to please describe what the outside world looks like today.

TONY SAT DOWN in the interrogation chair. Father Ernst shut the door and once again took his seat on the sofa bench. Detective Kurtz turned the light in Tony's eyes, just like he'd done to Mimi. Tony squinted to get used to the light. He was a little nervous, but not like he would've been if he didn't have his love for Mimi. His love for Mimi was calming like the hot wine his parents let him sip once on Christmas Eve. Lately, he'd been thinking about her so much—even writing her name on scraps of paper—that he'd almost forgot he put the snow globe in Mary's hand. Mimi had told him to make up something for when they asked him who did it, and the night before, while reading his dad's copy of
The Godfather
, he had decided to blame the whole thing on the Mafia.

“Tony Vivamano, that's Italian,” Father Ernst began.

“Yes, sir.”

“Your ancestors came from Italy, and that is also where the Holy Roman Catholic Church is headquartered. Have you been to Rome?”

“No, sir.”

“It's quite beautiful, the history, the art, the feeling of being close to God on earth.”

“We went to the Wisconsin Dells over the summer. Have you ever been?

“I have not.”

“Oh, you'd like it. They've got these bluffs that shoot out of the water and
you can go on boat rides and see it all.”

“I mentioned Rome only to remind you that your family, no doubt, has for generations been Catholic.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So, you no doubt, must feel a strong sense of faith, a strong sense of obligation to obey and support the church.”

Tony shifted around a little. His parents and grandparents were all Catholic, and probably everybody going back to the boat and beyond. Sometimes his prayers worked, like when the hand grenade didn't blow up. But sometimes they didn't work, like when Brando died. So he wasn't sure what he felt toward the church, only that it was connected to the school and he was ready to move on to summer with Mimi and hanging out at the swimming pool. He was eager to shake off the hold that Mary Queen of Our Hearts had on his future. “I believe in God,” he said.

“Tell us then, did you have anything to do with this snow globe getting up into the hand of Mary?”

“No, sir.”

“Then why did you raise your hand?” said Detective Kurtz, leaning back in the creaking chair. Tony looked over at him and could see his badge shining behind the glare of the lamplight, but only the outline of his face was visible.

“Why did I raise my hand? That's a question I've been asking myself a lot lately.”

“Tell us the truth,” Father Ernst said reaching out to pat Tony on the knee. “All we want is the truth, right from your heart.” Father Ernst got out a Pall Mall and lit it.

The room fell silent for a stretch. Tony smelled the smoke and thought about the truth, how he put the snow globe up there to offer up his troubles to Mary like a prayer. But that didn't have anything to do with why he raised his hand. He was thinking about a different truth. He decided it would look good, and come out easy, to share
that
truth with them.

“Father, have you ever been in love with a woman?”

Father Ernst coughed out all his smoke, and kept on coughing, thumping his chest to reset his entire system. Detective Kurtz looked over at him and waited. Tony waited. It was like a lung symphony, on and on. Finally, Father Ernst got his breath back, but spoke hoarsely. “Well, as you know, I have taken my vows, but I can say that as a younger man—”

“I don't see what this has to do with anything,” Detective Kurtz interrupted. “Just answer the question. Why'd you raise your hand?”

“I did it for love,” Tony said. The words in his mouth brought his feelings for Mimi gushing out in a tumble, like the scenic waterfall he had seen at the Wisconsin Dells. “I did it because I think I'm in love with Mimi Maloney, and I didn't want her to be in trouble alone.”

Father Ernst and Detective Kurtz were quiet for a few seconds, exchanging investigative glances.

“That's a noble thing you did, to offer yourself up for her,” Father Ernst said.

“Well, I can't stop thinking about her. I hope you won't tell anybody, but I can even see marrying her some day.”

“Did she do it?” Detective Kurtz asked.

“Do what?”

Detective Kurtz shouted: “DID SHE PUT THE DAMNED SNOW GLOBE IN MARY'S HAND? YES OR NO?”

Tony leaned back in his chair. “I have no idea. I mean I don't think so.” His voice was a little shaky from getting yelled at, but he thought of Mimi and calmed down.

“Well, what did she tell you about it?” Father Ernst asked gently.

“Not much. We didn't really discuss it. Oh, wait, I think she did say she thought it was a miracle. I don't know if I believe that. But who knows.” Tony looked over at Detective Kurtz to see if he was going to yell again.

Detective Kurtz let out a gut sigh and slapped his Number Two pencil on the desktop. “Let's talk about what
you
think happened, Mr. Vivamano. How would you explain that snow globe getting up there?”

Tony took a breath and thought about the part of
The Godfather
in which the mob put a bloody horse head in someone's bed to send a warning. “Well, I have a theory,” Tony said rubbing his hands together, “What if it has something to do with the archbishop? I mean, wasn't he at church the day it turned up?”

“The archbishop was there,” said Father Ernst, “But surely you don't think he had anything to do with it.”

“I don't know. I mean, I don't
think
he did it. For one, from what I've seen, he's not athletic enough. But what I'm thinking is maybe the archbishop is in some kind of trouble, maybe someone is out to get him, or at least send
a warning to him that they know his schedule and they can reach out and touch him anytime they want.”

“What are you saying?” Detective Kurtz said, “Who's out to get him?”

“The Mafia.”

“That's ridiculous,” Detective Kurtz said, “Why would the Mafia be after the archbishop?”

Tony turned to Father Ernst. “Father, have you ever heard the confession of somebody who was a criminal or maybe even killed somebody?”

“I can't say. It's forbidden for us to speak of such things.”

“That's my point. Maybe the archbishop heard the confession of somebody the Mafia was after, and he told him all kinds of secrets, secrets the higher ups in the Mafia wanted to find out. But the archbishop refuses to tell them. Maybe the Mafia made a phone call and said, ‘You think you're untouchable? Just look up in Mary's hand today after church.'”

Father Ernst folded his arms across his chest. “Well, that's an interesting theory, Mr. Vivamano.”

“What about the mailman getting robbed in front of your girlfriend's house the other day,” Detective Kurtz snapped out, “Was that the Mafia, too? Or did you have something to do with that?”

Tony raised his eyebrows together to look puzzled, but willing to help. “I'm sorry, sir, I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You know.
You know I know you know
,” Kurtz fumed.

Tony looked over at Father Ernst and held out his open hands, pretending to look for more information on the robbery. “What's he talking about, Father?”

“It's a separate case,” Father Ernst said softly.

“Maybe not!” Detective Kurtz shouted. “Look, you can come in here with your love story and your Mafia yarn and your bullshit innocence, but I'm a law enforcement professional and I know.”

Tony knew from playing Monopoly that when you land on somebody else's Boardwalk or Park Place that has some red hotels—unless you're stupid—you never want to raise your hand and admit your guilt. Let the other guy catch you on his property. Let the investigators prove he put the snow globe up there. He wasn't supposed to help them. He acted innocent and waited. The room was so quiet the only sound was Detective Kurtz drumming his fingernails on the desktop. Then it thundered outside in the distance.

“I think that will be all for now,” Father Ernst said gently. He crushed out his cigarette in an ash tray. “Thank you, Mr. Vivamano.”

“Oh, thank you, Father, and I hope you solve the case. Maybe ask the archbishop if he's heard any mob confessions lately.”

Detective Kurtz studied Tony as he got up and walked out the door.

FATHER MALIGAN FIRED Patrick and Tony as altar boys the day he caught them drinking the wine after 6:30 Mass. It was a September morning and they were in fifth grade. The scandal ended whatever hopes their mothers had of them becoming priests, but it also made them closer friends. They were both wearing long black altar boy robes with white smocks, standing in the green tile bathroom behind the altar preparing to rinse out the water and wine decanters. Usually there was some of the honey colored wine left after Mass. They were supposed to pour it back in the bottle, which was on the window ledge. But no wine was ever left in the decanter after a Father Maligan Mass. During the consecration of the Eucharist when the altar boys would pour the wine from the crystal decanters into the gold chalice, Father Maligan would always mumble urgently “pour it all in.” A tall, big-boned man, Maligan had once been a football player in high school. Now in his late sixties, he had arthritic knees and drank for the pain. At the same time, he hated the bottle and lectured anyone in confession who admitted they got drunk.

“What was it like?” Tony asked.

“What do you mean?” Patrick said, rinsing out the decanters.

“When you kissed that girl in Michigan, how'd you talk her into it?”

“It took a lot of doing. First thing was—”

They heard Father Maligan coming. He was waddling on the tiled floor
with his black wingtip shoes outside the bathroom, calling for them in his nasally voice, “Hey, you birds, where are you? What are you up to?”

Knowing Father Maligan was about to open the door, Patrick put down the decanter and grabbed the wine bottle to fool him. “I'll show him how to pour it all in,” he said to Tony. Patrick gripped his hand around the bottleneck, hiding the cork, and held his fist to his mouth to look as if he were glugging it down. Father Maligan opened the door. His eyes widened when he saw the bottle in Patrick's mouth and Tony standing there next to him looking guilty.

“Patrick, you boozer, you're fired!” he said grabbing the bottle, “and just so there's no argument, your friend's fired, too.”

“But the cork's in the bottle and I was just—” It was no use. Father Maligan walked away, taking the bottle with him, and Patrick and Tony changed back into their regular clothes and rode their bikes home never to serve Mass again.

The wine bottle incident was on Patrick's mind as he walked down the hallway to face his interrogation. Mimi had told him to make something up on his own to explain how he thought the snow globe got in Mary's hand. He had decided to blame it on Father Maligan.

“Mr. Cantwell, won't you please sit down,” Father Ernst said.

Patrick sat in the chair and got the same bright light treatment from Detective Kurtz that Mimi and Tony had.

“You are the young man, if I recall correctly, who was reading a book on Dillinger,” Father Ernst began. Father Ernst believed that a boy's book revealed a boy's heart. This was how he had solved the theft of the three wise men from St. James parish. In that case, his research had uncovered that one boy in the school—a heavy-set seventh grader—had checked out a book from the school library on the Lindbergh baby kidnapping. When the parish received a ransom note demanding twenty dollars and a jar of M&M's for the return of the wise men, Father Ernst soon got his confession. “Tell me, what do you know about Dillinger?”

Patrick's mind raced. He knew Dillinger had outsmarted the police most of the way, even escaping from jail with a wooden gun. It wasn't until the lady in red ratted on him that Dillinger got caught and shot down in the street outside a movie theatre. Probably, he should act casual about his interest in Dillinger, and not admit he felt sorry for him and wished he had gotten away
and reformed on his own. The trick was to not get caught for the snow globe theft unless Tony got caught first for putting it in Mary's hand. That way they could run away together. Getting caught alone wouldn't do any good.