House Infernal by Edward Lee (9 page)

"It is, but it'll still kill a Demon or Usher."

"And what do we need belts for? I just had to put my
hands on Demons. For a couple of lousy belts?"

"They're actually high-quality belts, Ruth. They're
made from Lipo-Cow hide. And to answer your question,
you'll wear the gun belt yourself. With the other two,
you'll make a harness to carry me on your back."

Ruth smirked. "Can't fuckin' wait to carry a torso
priest on my back like a fuckin' knapsack while we're
waltzing through Rot-City."

"Rot-Port, Ruth. And it's coming up."

Ruth's eyes held fast to the approaching coast: the noxious port-city with its angles and lines all rounded off by
spongy softness.

She could already smell it....

"Now push those bodies overboard-"

"Stop ordering me around!" she shrieked.

The priest was getting fed up with her testiness. "Just
do it! You're acting like a kid!"

A square deal, she reminded herself, and chewed her
collagen-implanted lower lip. Something in it for me ...

She flipped the detestable Demon-bodies over the side
with a splash!

"Good girl!" Alexander rejoiced.

Then she threw-up over the side as well.

And the two of them sat in silence as the tiny boat
rocked and bobbed toward Rot-Port....

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Ms. Barlow," the tall woman
said, looking down. She spoke in a quiet yet firm tone.

"It's nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Newlwyn," Venetia
said, momentarily taken aback by the woman's height,
which was close to six feet. "And please, call me Venetia."

"Mrs. Newlwyn is the priory's new official housekeeper," Father Driscoll said.

After taking Venetia on the perfunctory look around,
the blond priest had brought her to the spacious
kitchen-which was like something one would find in a
grade school-to begin the introductions.

v Venetia could tell by Mrs. Newlwyn's narrowed eyes
and curt, tight smile that she was one to take all church
matters very seriously. Black hair dusted with gray was
pulled back by a collar-length clip; she was likely in her
early fifties, and due to her height and excellent physical
condition, she reminded Venetia of some of the somber
statues they'd just seen in the atrium. She wore jeans
splotched with paint, and an equally splotched blouse
hung loose around an ample bosom.

She talked while mixing something in a bowl: "I admire the zeal of your youth very much," the woman said.
"I understand you're going to become a nun? In my
younger days I wanted that as well, but I never quite got
there. I'm afraid that motherhood won out in the end."

Venetia noticed there was no wedding ring on Mrs.
Newlwyn's hand, just a cross about her neck, along with a
key like Venetia's. "Actually I'm considering the vocation,
but I'm not sure yet."

"You might consider waiting a while on that decision,"
Driscoll said, but it was strange the way he'd slipped in
the remark while looking at a clipboard he'd picked up
from the counter.

Before Venetia could comment further, though, Mrs.
Newlwyn turned as a younger woman stepped through
the entry. "And this is my daughter, Betta. Betta, this is
Venetia Barlow. She's come all the way from Washington,
DC, to assist us in the prior house."

Betta seemed sheepish: dark, wan eyes, hair pulled
back like her mother's, and dressed similarly in scruffy
jeans and blouse. She even had a few dots of wall paint
on her cheek. Venetia shook her hand and noticed a
timid smile. Is she nervous meeting me? Venetia wondered.
She guessed Betta to be about thirty; she was much more
petitely built than her mother, small-breasted and reedy,
and stood six inches shorter. "Nice to meet you, Betta.
Are you all ready for this big cleanup operation? I'm
sure not."

Driscoll gave a dry chuckle.

Venetia expected an inconsequential response but then
Mrs. Newlwyn explained, "Betta doesn't have the power
of speech, I'm afraid, but she can hear fine. And yes, we're
both quite ready for the tasks ahead-we're looking forward to them. Aren't we, Betta?"

The younger woman nodded, smiling.

"We've already been working here for a while," Mrs.
Newlwyn continued. "Make no mistake, it's dirty work,
but it is gratifying in its own way."

Driscoll madeva joke. "We'll see how gratified Mrs. Newlwyn is in about a month, when we're all done spackling the downstairs. I think by then we'll all be really sick
of this place."

"Betta and I will never grow weary of the prior house,
Father," Mrs. Newlwyn said with confidence. Her eyes
seemed to gleam in their slits, a known assurance. "This
is our home now."

"In that case, what time will home be serving dinner?"

"Seven sharp."

The priest nudged Venetia. "I'm going to show Venetia
to her room. Oh, and have you seen Dan?"

Betta pointed upward, which Venetia presumed to
mean upstairs.

"Good. See you at dinner."

She followed Driscoll back to the atrium, toward a stark
stairwell. "These stairs look terrible, too, don't they?" he
commented. "It's like an old hospital or something."

"You're the one who said God doesn't care if His house
is ugly."

"It's a good thing..."

"Who's Dan?"

"He's the last member of our little cleaning detail. He's
a seminarian-you'll like him. He might give you some
ideas about cloistered life."

Venetia frowned as she followed the priest up the dull
carpeted stairs. "What did you mean earlier?"

"What? About spackling?" He sighed. "Have you seen
some of these walls?"

He's deflecting on purpose, she thought. But why? "No,
Father, not the spackle. Were you suggesting that I not become a nun?"

"Not at all." His shoes snapped on the hard stairs. "We
really will have to carpet these, don't you think?"

Infuriating! "Father Driscoll, what did you mean when
you said-"

"All right. I only meant that the decision to become a
nun is a very weighty one. Isn't it possible that you're
maybe just a teensy bit too young to make a decision like
that? You're only twenty."

"I'm twenty-one, and I haven't made the decision yet. I
want to get my master's first."

"Good girl. Then maybe wait ten years before going to
a convent."

This was weird. "Is that clerical advice, Father?"

"No. It's just a suggestion." On the landing Driscoll
stopped, leaning again the stair-hall's bannister.

Only now did it occur to her that she'd lugged her suitcase all the way up by herself. Driscoll hadn't even
thought to help her, yet she felt certain it was from no lack
of manners. He's just distracted. His thoughts seem like
they're all over the place.

Up here most of the bedroom doors were open, along
with their windows. The cross-breeze refreshed Venetia
from the stuffiness of the atrium.

But the priest was looking at her with some unease.
"Are you a virgin?"

Venetia's mouth fell open. "Father Driscoll, I can't believe you asked me that."

He seemed unaware of the misstep. "I'm a priest, for
God's sake."

"Still, this isn't exactly a confessional."

"Venetia, I'm only suggesting that you live some of
your life first. You can be just as devoted a servant of God
without being a nun. I've seen it too many times. Girls go
to the convent full of idealism, then are miserable for the
prime of their lives. It doesn't do God any good. Things
are different now, and God knows that. Twenty-one is
way too young to even be thinking about stuff like that."

"So that's it," she replied. "I'm a -kid? I'm not capable of
making a life decision?"

"Don't be defensive." Again, he almost smiled. Almost.
"When you're a nun, they're going to send you to places
like Calcutta, Sao Paulo, Africa-"

"And I'm ready. I don't think I'm being naive by wanting to serve God. Part of my job is getting my hands dirty."

Driscoll nodded dismissively. He was looking down the
long, empty stair-hall when he answered, "Yeah, real dirty.
You'll be dealing with catastrophic human tragedy, Vene tia. You'll be dealing with HIV victims, the starving, the
abused, children with cancer, babies with tapeworms."

"I'm ready," " she repeated.

"You'll be dealing with people on the crap end of
life ... and the only reason I didn't say shit is ... well, I'm
a priest." He looked at her deadpan.

Venetia laughed. She was figuring him out now. "You're
saying I have to live life before I can help others live
theirs?"

"Exactly. Life and all its very human bells and whistles.
Humanity can be very grotesque at times. How can you
help an AIDS-infested Calcuttan prostitute when you've
never even experienced human sexual response yourself?"

It was a good question, but she was baffled by what it
might be leading to. "Maybe I have, Father."

"Oh, so you aren't a virgin ... ?"

"I didn't say that-not exactly. But I don't know that it
matters. St. Augustine wasn't a virgin, either. Statistically,
most priests aren't-they had plenty of experience with
'human sexual response' before they made their vow of
celibacy."

"I'm not arguing with you there."

Her confusion now began to fascinate her. Is he telling
me I need to know what sex is like in order to become a fully
aware nun? "You have a way of evading your point, Father. If you want to give me clerical counsel ... then just
say it."

"All right. Get involved with a guy. Have a boyfriend.
Date. Do like that, like everyone else your age. Know what
it's like to be in love-"

"I-" she tried to jump in.

"-and I don't mean just a love of God. Have some relationships. Be human. Know what it's like to have a relationship you're happy with, and know what it's like to
have a relationship that fails. It's all part of being human,
which is what you need to be before you go to Africa and
watch a hundred people die in a diphtheria outbreak."

"I understand what you're saying, Father-at least I
think I do," she told him.

"And no I'm not suggesting you go out and lose your
virginity just so you know what it's like."

"Good," she said with a long sigh. "Because that's what
I thought you were saying." She blinked. "So ... what are
you saying?"

.You can have a perfectly acceptable relationship in the
eyes of God, Venetia. You can date, you can be in love, et
cetera, with-how do I say this? Without having sex out
of wedlock."

Now she wanted to laugh out loud. "Really? How?"

'With ... difficulty."

Finally he cracked a smile. "All I'm saying, Venetia, is
live some normal life before you become a bride of Christ,
all right? At least think about it."

"I will," she said, unable to resist. She knew it was iffy
judgment but she sensed the unlikely conversation had
broken enough of formality's ice. "But what about you,
Father? Don't you have to live some normal life before you
can be a good priest?"

"Hey, Igo to baseball games all the time."

"Come on, seriously. Have you had all those things?
Before you joined up, were you ever in love? Have you
ever just dated a woman? Have you been in normal,
healthy relationships?"

He maintained the inscrutable smile, and simply shook
his head no.

Regrets, she realized now. That's what Father Driscoll had
been getting at. Make the right decision so I won't have regrets
later in life. He'd put it more clearly earlier when he'd explained that the prior house was being reopened for
priests on respite. The older a priest gets-and the more of his
life he gives to God-the more he becomes subject to basic human frailties... .

But now she had to wonder. Does he have such regrets?

Driscoll took her to a room in the corner. "Hereit is."

Sunlight filled the newly painted room. There was a
metal-railed bed, a desk, several lamps-including a black
and very ugly floor lamp-and a dresser. Nothing else.

"Sorry it's so ... unadorned," he added.

"It's fine, Father." She set her bags down, then looked
around. "Where's-"

"The bathroom?" He shrugged. "Out your door, hang a
right. The women's and men's bath- and shower rooms
are at the end of the stair-hall. Kind of like the college
dorm, huh?"

"Sure." She didn't care, but it would've been nice to
have a private bathroom. "So what's first on my list of duties, Father?"

"Nothing much." He kept looking at his watch, as if late
for something. "Just take a closer look around, go outside
and check out the grounds. Get yourself settled. If you
have any time to spare before dinner, you can help tape
up the downstairs windows so we can start painting trim.
The really grueling work beings in the morning." He
eyed her severe black dress and white blouse. "And wear
old clothes. We'll all be making a mess of ourselves."

Damn. The Catholic schoolgirl-look had been a mistake. "Stupid me-the only clothes I brought are all pretty
much identical to these. I do have some sneakers,
though."

"Good. Wear 'em." Looking befuddled, he glanced at
his watch again. "I wanted to introduce you to Dan but
God knows where he's off to."

"I'm sure I'll run into him."

"See you at dinner, then," he said, backing out of the
room. "And thanks again for helping us out here."

"My pleas-"

Father Driscoll whisked out the door. He's an enigma, all
right, she concluded. Cold on the outside-the rigid
Catholic cleric-but then stiflingly human on the inside.
Was the man inside being trammeled by his vocation?
Unpacking, she pondered their odd conversation. I still
can't believe he asked me if I was a virgin. Venetia confessed
her sins appropriately on a regular basis ... to priests,
just like him. So why did his query shock her? I know I'm a
virgin, at least Biblically. Indeed, she'd never been with a man, and even after that one time-when she wasn't
sure-a GYN exam verified that her virginity had remained intact. She knew the temptations in the world
outside of her faith, and Driscoll's additional comments
made her suspect that he was probably more naive about
those things than she was. Suggesting that she pursue
love relationships while potentially remaining platonic
was tricky indeed.