But Marie didn’t smile for a moment or two. Then a hesitant grin appeared. “Let’s just say that conversion is good for the soul. Look what it did for Saint Augustine.”
“That’s true.” For an instant he looked at her in a different light. Even in her middle years she was still most attractive. As a young woman she had undoubtedly been a knockout. It was like seeing actress Loretta Young all dressed up in the traditional nun’s habit and regretting that all that beauty and charm was locked up inside countless yards of wool.
There was no time for further speculation in any case. The waitresses began wheeling in the food. Sister Janet invited all to dinner, and all responded eagerly.
Koesler reflected that just twenty-four hours ago, these had been the dramatis personae in Krieg’s little psychodrama. The waitresses, the kitchen crew, Sister Janet-they’d all been in on it.
Krieg dead. Murdered. A consummation devoutly to be wished? Banish it from your mind, Koesler, he told himself. Certainly not Christian. Hardly humane. But, given all that had happened in just the last two days, a fairly reasonable conclusion.
Marie did not seem at all surprised when Janet invited her to lead the group in a blessing. Perhaps it had been prearranged.
“Blessed are you, God of all creation,” Marie prayed. “Through your goodness we have this nourishment to share. May we share ourselves willingly and generously as You have shared yourself with us.”
There was a pause. And everyone said, “Amen.”
A nice ecumenical grace, Koesler thought. Yes, that must have been prearranged. No offense to Christian or Jew. Something for everyone.
He regarded the seating arrangement. The three women again were seated consecutively. Then, clockwise, Winer, Koesler, Benbow, Augustine, and Krieg. Thus Krieg and Winer, this afternoon’s adversaries, were seated opposite each other.
The fare was simple. A fruit salad in gelatin, beef broth, lamb, red potatoes, steamed vegetables. Simple but well prepared. Everyone partook of everything and all seemed to enjoy the food.
Conversion was not that enjoyable. Janet and Martha, mostly, attempted to introduce topics, but no verbal balloon stayed aloft. Awkward. It was awkward. But Koesler had expected little else.
Toward the end of the meal, Krieg spoke. “Praise God! You know,” he said jovially, “there’s one person here we’ve heard precious little from.” Pause. “Father Koesler. Here we were, runnin’ off at the mouth all afternoon, and there’s the good Father just sittin’ there takin’ it all in.”
If he had intended to embarrass Koesler by singling him out in this less-than-friendly atmosphere, Krieg was succeeding.
“After all,” Krieg continued, “you are a bona fide member of this panel. So, Praise God! Let’s hear it, Father. Your opinion of religion. Dull or not? I mean basically?” His very tone betrayed flippancy. It was as if the “father of the family” had taken the reins and the conversation was now well in hand.
Koesler, taken by surprise, swallowed injudiciously and started to cough. Winer and Benbow pounded his back. Benbow was about to apply the Heimlich Maneuver but Koesler waved him off. Things were getting under control.
Koesler’s complexion was florid. And he was embarrassed not only that he’d been singled out by Krieg like a child forced to recite, but also because he had almost choked to death.
“Sorry,” he said, as his system returned to normal. “Something got stuck. I’m all right now.”
“Well,” Krieg declared, “that’s a blessing. Praise God!”
“Yes. Well, to the point. When you introduced the supposition, the first thought I had was of all the dull homilies, sermons, religion classes I have been forced to sit through. And I was tempted to agree with your hypothesis. But I must confess, I didn’t stay with that thought very long. I can’t think of any book as worthy of study, reading, inspiration, or meditation as the Bible. To those of us for whom God is our beginning and our destiny, there isn’t anything more exciting than religion.
“So I guess it comes down to what you mean by religion. If you mean religion secondhand, as it’s communicated by very poor communicators, I suppose it can be-and is-pretty dreadful and painfully dull.
“Or think of it this way: There is no dull religion, just dull religious communicators.”
Koesler expected Krieg to be peeved or at least annoyed.But Krieg was beaming. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. Praise God!”
“But, this afternoon. .”Koesler began.
“This afternoon,” Krieg repeated, “this afternoon was salesmanship.”
“Salesmanship!” Winer exclaimed.
“Indeed, salesmanship. You must have sensed it. .” Krieg looked around the table at the others. “Each of us told the students, in the most gracious and benign manner, what we intended to cover during the coming week. We were so benevolent and ingratiating the audience was drifting off to sleep. They needed to be awakened, made eager to get into these workshops. That’s the function I served. Woke ’em up.”
“Then you didn’t really mean it? About religion being dull?” Koesler asked.
“’Course not.” Krieg smiled. “Just like our friend the rabbi here said this afternoon. ‘Greatest Story Ever Told!’”
Did the man ever say what was really on his mind, Koesler wondered. Yet Krieg had just provided an autobiographical footnote. He was in essence a salesman. Probably missed his calling. Should have been a salesman, not an evangelist. On the other hand, Krieg probably wouldn’t see a lot of difference between the two.
“Then,” Koesler said, “what about the topics of sex and violence and the like? Did you mean what you said about that?”
“Well, now that’s another question. Lemmee take your own words, Padre, spoken just a moment ago. As I ’member, you said somethin’ about, ‘There is no dull religion, just dull religious commentators.’ That about right?”
Koesler nodded. He was pretty sure where Krieg was headed.
“Well,” Krieg said, “some people were just born boring, poor souls. They’re gonna be boring all their blessed lives. Nothin’ for it. They’re gonna be boring bus drivers or boring sewer workers. They’re gonna be boring lovers, husbands, wives, parents. So we can forget them ever bein’ a big success at anything, including evangelism.
“But even people with a knack for communication aren’t successful just by rollin’ out of bed each morning. The salesperson has to have a pitch, a tool-a way of making his service or product attractive to the buyer. And the tool, if it’s gonna work, isn’t necessarily something the salesman prizes. It’s something the buyer finds appealing, attractive, compelling, irresistible!”
Krieg paused. His glance moved from one to another of those present as if expecting someone to complete his premise.
Koesler tried supplying a conclusion. “And you believe that what the audience, the viewer, the reader finds compelling and irresistible is violence and sex.”
“Graphic violence, explicit sex,” Winer added.
Smiling broadly, Krieg turned both palms upward, indicating a self-evident truth. “What sells? Ladies and gentlemen, what does the American public shell out its cash for?”
“Not always,” Marie protested, avoiding a direct answer to Krieg’s almost rhetorical question. “The public appreciates things done tastefully.”
“Such as. .?” Krieg challenged.
“In entertainment, information, education?” Winer said. “Lots of things. The classics. Music: Beethoven, Mozart, Brahms, Gershwin, Copland. They still fill concert halls and will till the end of time. The theater: Shakespeare, O’Neill, O’Casey, Miller. Literature: Chaucer, Cooper, Poe, Dickens, James, Wolfe. Television, for God’s sake: some of the fine series produced by the BBC. You know the names as well as I. Not all of them lost in the mists of history either. Contemporaries. Lots of them.”
It was doubtful that Winer had shaken Krieg. In any case, no one could tell from his continuing smile.