Something, some inner feeling, some intuition told him the police were going to catch the killer of Henry Hunsinger today. This was, after all, the fifth day of the investigation. And Inspector Koznicki had told him more than once that the longer a case remains unsolved, the less likely it is that they will arrive at a solution.
Then there was the assurance by Lieutenant Harris that they would, indeed, solve the case. The professional confidence of Harris and Sergeant Ewing, Koesler was convinced, simply could not be gainsaid.
At any rate, the police would not be the only ones busy today. Koesler faced the crush of business that had piled up, due in part to his early participation in the investigation as well as to his day off yesterday. For one thing, shortly after breakfast there would be two days of mail to attack. Oh, well, everything in its allotted time. It would, in any event, be a busy day.
After showering, shaving, and dressing, he had just a few minutes to look over the Scripture readings for today’s Mass. After all his years of being a priest, reading and meditating on the Bible and preaching, it did not take him long to come up with a two- to five-minute commentary on the Scripture of the day.
This was another of the many changes resulting from Vatican II. In the first decade of his priesthood, Koesler would offer a sung Mass entirely in Latin and there was never a homily or commentary during the week. This custom of preaching daily, if briefly, was much more demanding of the priest. It also made a lot more sense.
Seven people were waiting in the church. The usual customers. Koesler knew them all well. By the time he vested and was ready for Mass, there might be one or two more present.
The Mass began as informally as a very formally structured ceremony could. In no time, he reached the Gospel reading. It was from St. Mark, the eighth chapter. Everyone stood as he read:
“When they arrived at Bethsaida, some people brought him a blind man and begged him to touch him. Jesus took the blind man’s hand and led him outside the village. Putting spittle on his eyes, he laid his hands on him and asked, ‘Can you see anything?’ The man opened his eyes and said, ‘I can see people but they look like walking trees!’ Then a second time Jesus laid hands on his eyes, and he saw perfectly; his sight was restored and he could see everything clearly. Jesus sent him home with the admonition. ‘Do not even go into the village.’”
The congregation sat and looked expectantly for today’s message.
“That little story,” said Koesler, “is my favorite miracle. It’s so much more. . well. . human than the usual miracle. This is not a grand show of power like stilling the angry winds that are whipping up the waters of the Sea of Galilee or calling Lazarus back from the dead after three days in the tomb.
“This is a more tentative kind of cure, if you will, instead of miracle. Can’t you just see Jesus rubbing a little spittle on the blind man’s eyes and saying, ‘How’s that? Do any good?’ And the guy says, ‘I don’t think you’ve got it yet. All I see is stick people walking around like trees. Have you got anything else up your sleeve?’ And Jesus says, ‘Okay, give me one more shot at it.’ And he touches the blind man again. Then the blind man says, ‘I can see everything very clearly now. I think you’ve got it! By George, you’ve got it!’
“It puts me in mind of my favorite scene in a fine silent movie on the life of Christ, called King of Kings. This scene follows one where the Christ is in a small village curing people right and left, just by an act of His will. Then, He leaves the village and goes out to the countryside. He is exhausted. He leaves the dusty country road and sits in the shade of a large tree.
“The Apostles form a ring around the tree, keeping the crowd, which has followed him from the village, at a distance. Then, a little girl sneaks underneath the arm of one of the Apostles, who reaches out to grab her before she might bother Jesus. But He waves the Apostle aside and greets the child with a smile. She shows Jesus her ragdoll, which is ripped.
“You can see the wheels turning in His mind. He has just finished working wondrous miracles. He seems to be weighing what He should do about the little girl’s doll. Should He wave His hand over it and make it miraculously fixed? Finally, He extracts a straw from the doll’s innards and with it, He carefully and slowly mends the doll and returns it to the little girl.
“Now it’s just an apocryphal story thought up by some clever screenwriter. But I think it captures the spirit of Jesus. That little girl probably wouldn’t even have understood a miraculous cure for her doll. But that a very important man would take the time to mend her doll would be an act of kindness she would never forget.
“I don’t think I even need explicitly apply the lesson to our daily lives. But somewhere out there today we’re likely to encounter someone who’s got some trouble. Let’s look for that someone and mend the trouble.
“And, as they used to say on the TV show ‘Hill Street Blues,’ let’s be careful out there.”
The remainder of the Mass passed uneventfully. Except that something was troubling him. But again, he was unable to put his finger on it. Something to do with this morning’s Gospel. . but what? In his mind’s eye, he could almost see his brain cells exploding and disintegrating.
After Mass and a few prayers of thanksgiving, he returned to the rectory. St. Anselm’s secretary, Mary O’Connor, had attended his morning Mass and had preceded him to the rectory.
As usual, she offered to fix him some breakfast. As usual, he declined her offer. As usual, he sliced a banana over a bowl of Granola. As far as Koesler was concerned, there was much to be said for routine.
Reflecting on routine reminded him of Hank Hunsinger, whose life had been so compulsively riddled with routine. Koesler tried to drive the thought away. He had resolved to get back to parochial duties and let the police do the job for which they were so well trained and capable.
And he would have succeeded in expelling the thought if it hadn’t been for the puzzles that still nagged him. Last night’s story about the nuns laying out various colored vestments for him, plus this morning’s distraction that had some inscrutable connection with this morning’s Gospel. Were they connected? Were they connected with Hunsinger’s murder? If so, how?
Breakfast finished, he went to his office, where, predictably, Mary had stacked two days of mail. A couple of significant piles. Armed with his letter opener, he attacked the first pile. A good offense, he thought, is a good defense … or something.
The first letter was from a convent of contemplative Carmelite nuns. “Reverend and Dear Father:
“There is nothing more sacred to our faith than the altar breads which, upon the words of consecration, pronounced by priests such as yourself, Reverend Father, become the living presence of Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
“Thus, careful attention must be paid to the preparation of these sacred wafers.
“Most purveyors of altar breads subject the process entirely to insensitive machines. From the mixing of the dough, to the baking, to the cutting.
“This is not true of the work of our convent. No, Reverend Father, none but the virginal hands of our Sisters touch the sacred altar breads. .”
Koesler could not go on. He was laughing too hard. So, it takes virginal hands to replace vulgar machines. He could envision the assembly lines of Detroit’s auto plants. First there were the blue-collar workers on the line, followed by robots, followed by the virginal hands of hitherto contemplative nuns.
Probably he would order some altar breads from the nuns. They deserved some patronage after having entertained him. Then he would file their letter with his other prized possession: the letter from the company selling altar wine, all of whose Teamster drivers were Catholics.