Working Titles

“Just do it.  Trust me.  And I’m your boss.  And be back Monday for classes.”

So rather later on that January first, Robert touched down at ELM near Elmira.  He rented a car.  It had rained and frozen in time for New Year’s eve.  The police weren’t especially pleased, but the body shops were.  Robert got a cookie-cutter small, silver SUV with all-wheel drive, and four studded tires.

As he drove up the plowed snow and gravel road to Mt. Saviour, he caught a barn in the distance, and then later, to his left some buildings and probably a chapel.  He got out his phone and dialed the guest-master.  Brother René, a Frenchman he could tell, first showed him the dining area and a kitchen for the guests, and then showed him the common lavatory—it reminded him a bit of scout camp—the common room and television, the library, and his cozy quarters, his cell for the next few days.  It had a bed, and a bit of a closet, a desk, and a chair; minimalist, rather.

…

“Robert, it is, right?  Tell me about your trip, and I very much mean anything that you think important.  Maybe some questions?”

“Well—brother—I flew in yesterday late from near Chicago where my wife and I live.  I teach and coach high school, and she’s a doctor at a pharmacology company.”

“You’re Robert Leonine!  And you are coaching—soccer I’d guess—at a U.S. high school?!”

‘Well, yes, indeed I am.  We left the U.K. because of Lucie’s job, and because I could feel I was nearing burn-out and I was retiring.  We’ve been there, in Chicago, I mean, just short of a year.

“I just came from giving a football clinic for kids at Notre Dame.”

“Did you come here to get away from it all, or some other reason.”

“I think I’d like a chat with someone on some aspects of marriage.”

“Oh, we’re all experts here.  Why do you think we became monks?”  Father Martin cracked up at his joke.

Robert realized it was a joke but couldn’t nail down why and how yet.

“Okay, Robert, we have a visiting priest, an author of a series of books where he works—people think successfully—bringing the theology of the church into real world applications.  That ‘what would Jesus do’ kind of thing—or at least ‘what would the pope do’.  He’s written two books on marriage.  I believe he’d be pleased to talk with you.  The good news is I don’t think he follows soccer.  Shall I ask him?  And what’s a good time for you?”

The friends James and Anselm knew the author was visiting there.  James was in daily touch with Benedictine goings-on, and so had made the suggestion to Anselm.  To Robert it all seemed merely fortuitous.

Robert met Fr. Fitzgerald three quarters of an hour later, back at the same shop. 

“Robert, right?  I’m Father Fitzgerald.  Am I right that we have some marital topics of common interest?  I’m a theoretician, mind you.”

“Right, right.  I’m Robert and I’ll say I’m certainly happy that you’re here and can talk with me.  You’re a theoretician …?”

“That’s what people must think.  Compare it to this.  If I’m an engineer developing the crew quarters for NASA, and I talk with the astronauts and work with them in this area, am I a theoretician?”

“No, Father, certainly not.  I see.  Just because you aren’t married and won’t ever be, maybe, doesn’t mean you are at all lacking some expertise.  Am I right?”

“Exactly.  Follow me.  There’s a place we can talk that’s not used now.  I don’t want to be in one of those little reparation rooms.”  They found a small dining room with a table big enough only for six.  The priest motioned Robert in, who found a seat on the bench near one end of the table.  Fr. Fitzgerald closed the door, and sat at the head, near Robert.  “Is this comfortable?  Stuffed chairs are hard to find here.”

“Fine.  It’s good.”  Robert leaned forward with his elbows and his forearms on the table leading to his loosely clasped hands.  “So, Father, here’s the issue.  Lucie and I have been married twelve years, and she just confessed to me that she’s had a very physical intimacy with another bloke twice.  I had no clue.  I used to travel with a team, and I just could not imagine going off with one of the flock of birds; not saying it didn’t keep me awake.  Should I even say sometimes I had to take matters into my own hands, as it were.  But now this.”

“Robert, you are not the first.  Here’s a question for you.  If when you were engaged and a bit of a time before the wedding, you could have seen those twelve years ahead, would you still have married her—Lucie?”

“Wow.  Let me think.  Actually I’d like thirteen years.  Then I could see how we get through this, assuming we do.”

The priest observed, “Now think about what you’ve just said.  It wasn’t a ‘No way, Jose’, at all.  You have hope for you and Lucie.  You see?”

“Maybe it’s simple, Father.  Y’know, I’d like to say it would be all fine if she convinced me it would never happen again.  But then I think about it more.  Whatever it is, it’s who she is.  And I’ve loved her a long time.  Now I think, ‘Who is she really?”

“How many times would you forgive her.”

“I think that seventy-times seven is the number that would work.  It’d be a strange marriage.  I guess losing her to something or someone else is what I’d really be afraid of.  Shouldn’t I feel betrayed?  Shouldn’t I question her upbringing or something?

“And I do think I’m betrayed, but not in the sense of unfaithfulness to our marriage.  It’s more, as I said, losing faith in knowing who my wife is.”

“Let me ask this, Robert.  Oh, by the way—seventy times seven—clever.  So often I talk to people, and the scriptures are no part of their lives, even having heard all the hundred fifty some selections from the old testament, the letters, the psalms and the gospels, time and time again over the three year cycle.  All the time spent in a homily, when I might not have needed to be wasting all our time bringing them up to speed … .  Yes, now, does Lucie know who you are?  Are you an unchanging statue?”

“Well, I’m not all that surprising.  I like to surprise her in good ways.”

“Robert, is it impossible to believe that she too prefers the good ways, and that telling you this, allowing her loved one to share a burden she’s been carrying by herself all that time, was a surprise that terrified her?”

“Y’know.  You’re probably right, Father.  The Lucie I know would feel that way.  Now I feel like I should apologize to her, even.”

“Don’t beat yourself up.  Trust takes a long time, and how did she know she could trust how you yourself would react?  Maybe you can’t put yourself entirely in her shoes.  Y’know what I’ve found.  Spouses lie to each other all the time, and really often it’s because they see something as the right thing to do and have reason to believe that arguing it out would be worse than the lie.  I think we can see that in Lucie’s unfaithful actions.   Like the guy who jumped into the cactus, it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

“Ouch.  I hope Lucie believes that she’ll never jump into that cactus patch again.  It’s what she says, but without the cactus part.”

“Robert, I think you should call Lucie after thinking about this more.  Take as long as you need.  But realize, she must be awfully anxious at this time, so have a little pity.  Call even just to tell her where you are at physically, mentally, spiritually, martially, and Bruce Lee … ” the priest paused with a smile.

Why do I not think these monks’ jokes are funny?

“Father, can we talk again later, maybe?  You’ll be here for a while, still?”

“Sure, Robert.  Certainly.  Just ask for me at the store.  I’d give you my mobile number, but I’m keeping it off.  Tell Lucie that you would like to do the same.  You’ll see.”

“Alrighty, then.  I guess I’ll see you at dinner, or maybe after in the guest lounge.”