“Yes, yes, the poor man.”
“Well, we are all vesting before Mass, and Miller came over to the old man and said, ‘I want to get one thing settled: Are you going to straighten up or are we all going to have to stoop over like you?’”
Foley chuckled.
“Then, during the Mass, right after the consecration, he put the chalice down on top of the host. He covered the bread with the chalice. None of us saw him do it; Actually, we should have been paying closer attention. Anyway, just before the Lord’s Prayer-”
“The minor elevation,” Foley cut in. “Don’t tell me: When it was time to elevate the host and chalice, he couldn’t find the host!”
“That’s it,’ Higgins said; “Hunted all over for it. Looked at us as if he’d just worked a miracle.”
They chuckled over that for several minutes. And that story led to another and another until they had used up an additional forty-five minutes.
Ralph Higgins glanced again at his watch. “Holy mackerel, wouldja look at the time! I’ve really got to move it.”
“What time’s your flight, Ralph?”
“I’m on the12:30 nightcoach.”
“You’ll be okay.” Foley glanced at his watch. “Just 10:30 now. Do you need a taxi? Or can I drive you?”
“No, no, Larry. Rented a car when I got in this morning. It’s right outside.”
“Then you’ll be fine. It hasn’t snowed today so the freeways will be clear. And you don’t have to worry about parking. They have shuttle buses at the rental places.”
Higgins struggled into his coat. “A few hours from now I’ll put this mackintosh back in mothballs. You know, Larry, if you guys are worried about some nutty killer up here, you shouldn’t be so free and easy about opening your door. There’s no peep glass in your front door, and you didn’t have the chain on when you opened the door for me. I could have been anybody.”
Foley chuckled. “I’m worried for Mark, not me. Who’d ever want to kill an old fuddy-duddy like me?”
“Anyway, take care, old friend.”
“You too, Ralph. Safe home.”
And he was gone.
Foley looked down at his dog contentedly wagging its tail and looking up at its master. “I’ve got to hand it to you, John Paul. You are a very well-behaved pooch. Now, you come in here with me. I’ve got my office to finish for the day. Fortunately, just compline, night prayers, to say. I’ll just have time to finish before our eleven o’clock last run.”
Foley shuffled back into the living room, John Paul at his heels, tail going a mile a minute.
The old man sat down in his favorite chair, picked up and opened the breviary, and tilted his head back so he could see through the lower part of his bifocals. Before he could begin compline, a compact ball of dog landed in his lap, nearly taking his breadi away.
“Ungh!” he grunted. Dog and master looked deeply into each other’s eyes. A long history of Irish humor crinkled the corners of Foley’s eyes. Clearly, John Paul was singularly eager for the next anticipated event of the evening.
“You be patient now,” Foley admonished. “It’s not eleven o’clock yet-no matter what your usually accurate inner clock tells you. We’ve got a few minutes till I finish my prayers. Then we’ll go for our walk, and then-and only then-your cookie.”
At the word “cookie,” the busy tail began beating a furious rhythm between the arm of the chair and Foley’s thigh. The archbishop patted the dog until he quieted.
Foley opened the tattered old breviary and began. “Noctem quietam, et finem perfection concedat nobis Dominus omnipotent.” May the almighty Lord grant us a peaceful night and a perfect ending.
Yes, John Paul, thought Foley, a perfect conclusion for you comes down to a cookie.
Distractions! The bane of my prayer life from the beginning, he thought, and plowed on.
“Fratres: Sobrii estote, et vigilate: quia adversarius vester diabolus tamquam leo rugiens circuit, quaerens quem devoret: cui resistite fortes in fide.” Brothers, be alert and vigilant, for your adversary, the devil, goes about like a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour: you must resist him strong in the faith.
He launched into the three psalms and further distractions. Distrations from his distractions.
While Foley’s lips formed the words of the psalms, his mind recalled an old anecdote told by, among many others, Fulton Sheen. It had to do with a monastery in the Middle Ages. A serf was talking to the abbot about the contrast in their conditions. The serf complained about his life of endless hard work while all the monks had to do was pray.
“Praying is not all that easy,” the monk said, “It is almost impossible to pray without distraction. I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” the abbot added. “If you can pray the Lord’s Prayer without a single distraction, I’ll give you that beautiful horse over there,”
The abbot had made an offer the serf could not possibly turn down. After all, all he had to do was recite the prayer aloud. He planned to play by the rules and have no distraction. But then who would know whether or not he was successful? And after ward, the horse would be his.
So the serf bowed his head, closed his eyes and began. “Our Father … who art in heaven … hallowed be thy name … thy kingdom come … thy will-by the way, do I get the saddle too?”
Foley chuckled, which disquieted the dog, who began to bark.
The archbishop glanced at the mantel. Eleven exactly. He shook his head. What a body clock!
“All right, John Pauclass="underline" It’s time. Let’s go.”
The dog bounded from his lap and beelined for the door. Foley went to the closet, struggled into his boots and coat, put on his hat, buckled the collar with its license tag around John Paul’s neck, and out into the winter they went.
As was their custom, they commenced to walk completely around the small compact block. John Paul, as usual, sniffed at everything, paying special attention to trees, streetlights, and the fire hydrant. Foley, watching the dog’s breath emerge as vapor, wondered why they were all still up here in the Winter Wonderland, as the Chamber of Commerce would have it. The dog at least had a coat that seemed to insulate it from the cold. But what of humans? Particularly those with skin that was thin and bones thai were brittle?
He walked slowly, far too deliberately for the little dog, who covered twice the distance by running ahead and then returning, diving into snowbanks and finding his stubby legs too short for reaching the ground as he scrambled out of the drifts.
Foley smiled as he contemplated his dog and lost concern over nearly everything else. Maybe there was something to say for having all the seasons, as Michigan very definitely did.
He was feeling fairly carefree as they turned the final corner heading back to the condo. That was when the dog stopped and began to growl.
“Come now, you vicious puppy,” Foley said in a gentle tone. “It’s too late to go chasing cats.”
That was when he noticed movement behind the large blue spruce. Whatever was back there was far too large to be a cat, or a dog for that matter. The motion continued as a man stepped out of the shadows. He was wearing dark clothes, and his hat was pulled low on his head. As he advanced toward Foley the streetlight picked up his features. John Paul, now barking furiously, appeared about to snap at the man’s shins.
“Stop it!” Foley commanded. “Keep quiet! Come here! Sit! Stay!”
The little dog, obediently hushed, came and sat on the sidewalk next to Foley. The archbishop peered into the shadows, “Why … what are you doing here?”
There was no answer. The man continued to gaze at Foley.
Without explanation it became clear to Foley. “You … you’re the one, aren’t you?”
Silence.
“But, why me? Whatever can this mean? What would I-?”
Still, silence. But as the man raised his arm slightly, the glimmer of the streetlight reflected sharply on the gun’s metal surface.
“May I … at least let the dog inside? He’s done nothing.”
The hand continued its steady motion upward.