16. PRIESTLY FELLOWSHIP
WHEN JOE DISCOVERED that surplus sod couldn’t be returned for credit, he had put it down alongside the church, over the so-called flower beds — petunias, just a lot of dirt, really. And now he could walk in what shade there was during the last Mass on Sunday, read his office, and keep an eye on the parking lot. “The story is told…” And when the church windows were open, he could catch the sermon. He had heard Bill earlier, and now Father Felix was on. “Troubled by poor Mass attendance in one of his villages, the old duke, traveling incognito, wearing an overcoat, or cloak, buttoned up to his chin, arrived at the village in question just as the church bells were summoning the faithful to worship, yes, and just as the others were sitting down to a long table in the bar, or Keller, of the inn, or Gasthaus, where the old duke, tipped off by the local clergy, had known he’d find them at that hour. Asked to join them at the table — little did they know — the old duke seated himself beside what appeared to be the leader, an imposing individual, before whom was set an enormous jorum, or basin, of brandy, or schnapps, but with no ladle, glasses, cups, or steins. You see, at that time, in the Duchy of Brunswick, or Braunschweig, now part of Germany, it was the custom for friendly groups to drink from the same receptacle, in this case a jorum, or basin — a good idea, rightly understood, in that it made for communitas, or community, but in this case, of course, no, far from it. Well, after taking a big swallow from the jorum, or basin, the leader handed it to the old duke, saying, as was the custom, ‘Pass that to thy neighbor.’ The old duke did as directed (after only pretending to take a swallow), saying, as was the custom, ‘Pass that to thy neighbor.’ In due course, the jorum, or basin, came back to the first man, the leader, an imposing individual, who sent it on its way again, after taking a swallow, another big one. Again, the old duke only pretended to drink. And so it went, the jorum, or basin, going round and round the table until, finally, the old duke, furious, unbuttoning his overcoat, or cloak, and thus revealing his well-known uniform and insignia to the company, struck the leader with all his might, saying, ‘Pass that to thy neighbor! And let thee beware and likewise any other here who striketh not his neighbor with all his might, for I will make an example of him and thee!’ Well, the old duke’s word was law, and blows fell hard and fast (none, of course, on the old duke) all around the table. Bim! Bam! Pow! At length, the old duke was satisfied with the penance he’d exacted (with good reason, need I say?) and departed for his castle, or Schloss. On the following Sunday, my good people, and on all the following Sundays in the old duke’s lifetime, in that village, and in villages throughout his realm, attendance at Mass, it is said, and also at Vespers, was one hundred percent.”
While Father Felix took it from there, Joe moved out of range, into the sun. Pausing before a little pile of cigarette butts in the gravel of the parking lot, he thought of inspecting the ashtrays of the nearest cars, thought again, and moved on, thinking, As this church is the house of God, my good people, so this parking lot is—forget it. “You’re good people,” he called out to a young couple heading for the church. “Good and late.” No response. People weren’t what they used to be. Formerly able to take and even enjoy a little friendly needling from their pastor, like the customers in a nightclub where an insulting waiter is part of the show, people were touchy nowadays. They wanted their “rights.” They wanted a priest to act like a minister, to thank them for showing up—“So nice to see you,” “So glad you could come”—and still they emptied their ashtrays in his parking lot.