Punish the Sinners (13 page)

“This is between you and me. In fact, I have an idea that Monsignor might prefer me not to mention the subject at all. But this class is for you, not for Monsignor. So why don’t we get on with it?”

The ice broke. Immediately, five hands went up, and Balsam was hard-pressed to decide whom to call upon first. He chose Karen Morton, telling himself that her hand had been just a shade faster than any of the others. But he knew he had really called on her first because she was one of Judy’s Mends. “Karen?”

“I—I don’t really know what I want to ask,” she began uncertainly. “I mean, there’s so many questions, I don’t know where to start”

“Start anywhere,” Balsam said gently.

“Well, can you tell us what happened?” Karen asked. “I—well, we’ve just heard so many rumors that we don’t really know how bad it is.”

“It isn’t bad at all,” Balsam said. “The cuts aren’t deep, and Judy is only in the hospital now so the doctors can keep an eye on her.”

“You mean they’re afraid she might do it again?” It was Penny Anderson, and she hadn’t bothered to raise her hand. She had simply blurted the question out That pleased Balsam.

“No, I don’t think anyone’s afraid shell do it again. It’s simply that whenever anyone attempts to take his own life, he’s kept under observation for a few days. In fact, I think it’s a state law. Basically, it’s not so much out of fear that the victim will try it again, as out of a desire to let the person calm down, and try to find out what led him to do it in the first place.”

“Why did she do it?” This time it was Janet Connally.

“Well, Judy might know,” Balsam said. He wondered if they would rise to the bait Jim Mulvey did, and Balsam was surprised. Maybe he’d underestimated Mulvey.

“Might?” Jim said. “What do you mean? I should think if anybody knows why she did it, Judy would.”

“That’s what you’d think, isn’t it? But what Judy did,
what anyone who tries to kill himself does, isn’t particularly rational. Usually it’s an impulsive act, and after it’s over the person wonders why he tried it in the first place. Unfortunately, all too often, it’s too late. Judy was lucky. She’s going to be fine.”

“But what makes someone do something like that?” Balsam heard the question, but wasn’t sure who had asked it.

“Any number of things,” he said. “Haven’t you ever gone to bed at night and thought how nice it would be if you just didn’t wake up in the morning?” All of them squirmed uncomfortably. “Well, sometimes people decide not to take a chance. They decide to see to it that they won’t wake up. But more often than not, what they’re really trying to do is cry out for help. They don’t want to die. Not really. They just want someone to help them. So they do something to attract attention to themselves.”

“But it’s a sin,” Marilyn Crane’s voice said softly from the back of the room. Everyone turned and stared at Marilyn. She did not notice. She was concentrating on Peter Balsam.

There it was:
It’s a sin
. How was he to answer it?

And then he thought he saw an answer. “Pm not so sure,” he said carefully. “What I mean to say,” he continued into the shocked silence, “is that Pm not sure that a suicide
attempt
should be considered a sin. I mean, if the act isn’t completed, then where’s the sin?”

“Sins thought and considered are no different than sins committed, are they?” Again, Marilyn Crane.

“Well, that’s certainly what we’ve all been taught,” Balsam began. And then he stopped.

It took a moment before the class realized what had happened. Monsignor Vernon was coming slowly toward Mr. Balsam, a scowl creasing his forehead, his
black eyes flashing. A hush fell over them. Something was about to happen. When it came, though, it seemed anticlimactic.

The priest reached the front of the room and turned to face the class. He made the sign of the cross and blessed them. Then he dismissed them. Monsignor Vernon watched in silence as the room slowly emptied. Then he turned to Peter Balsam.

“We will go to the rectory,” he said.

   Inez Nelson hurried into the main entrance of Neilsville Hospital, and glanced quickly at the clock. She was right on time, noon sharp.

Inez followed the green arrows to the psychiatric area, no more than three rooms, that served the mental-health purposes of Neilsville. She glanced nervously around, hoping not to see any familiar faces. There would be enough talk as it was, without her being seen going into this section of the hospital.

No one seemed to be around at all, so Inez seated herself in the small waiting area. A minute later she heard a door open, and looked up. Margo Henderson was standing in the doorway, smiling at her.

“Inez,” Margo said genially, “I’m so glad to see you.” At the look of consternation on Inez’s face, Margo continued hurriedly, “Of course, I wish it could have been under happier circumstances, but Dr. Shields tells me that Judy’s going to be just fine.” She paused a moment, hoping there would be some response. “Well,” she said, “Dr. Shields will be with you in just a minute. Why don’t you sit down?” Margo indicated the chair Inez had risen from, then seated herself at the desk. So, Inez wasn’t going to speak to her. Margo tried not to be bitter about it. Of course Inez was under a strain, but
still … And then Margo remembered that Inez Nelson was Leona Anderson’s best friend. And it had been Leona who had been the prime force in squeezing Margo out of St. Francis Xavier parish. Leona and Monsignor Vernon. Well, damn them both, Margo told herself. She picked up a peo, and began moving some papers around on the desk. She could feel Inez’s eyes on her.

“It was an accident,” Inez said suddenly in the silence. “I want you to know it was an accident.” Margo looked quickly up at Inez, and saw the desperation in the other woman’s eyes. Who was Inez trying to convince, Margo or herself? “Of course,” she said shortly, and returned to her work. A moment later a buzzer sounded on her desk.

“Dr. Shields is ready for you now,” she said, in an even, professional tone. “Right through there.” She indicated the door she had recently emerged from, and watched Inez until her former friend had disappeared from view. Then Margo shook her head sadly, and went back to work.

   Inez Nelson felt no better when she left Dr. Shields’s office than she had when she entered. She still wanted to see her daughter; she was not to be allowed to do so. Instead, she had been forced to listen to a lot of psychological doubletalk. She was Judy’s mother, and she was sure she knew better than any of them what Judy needed. And yet, she was frightened and feeling very unsure of herself. Maybe the doctor was right As she hurried out of the hospital, Dr. Shields’s words rang in her ears.

“Judy’s being manipulative,” he had said. And he had been right But Inez was sure there was more to it
than that. There had to be something else. Dr. Shields, himself, must have thought so. If not, why would he have said what he did?

“Always look for the reason. Somewhere, there will be one. It may not make sense, but it will be there”

What was he talking about? What did that mean? Inez Nelson felt more baffled, and more frightened, than ever.

Peter Balsam sat glumly in the den of the rectory, and wished Monsignor Vernon would open the window. He glanced around, and became aware that the den, which he had thought comfortable so short a time ago—only days ago—now seemed oppressive and crowded. He glanced at his watch, wondering how long this meeting was going to last; he had already been here for most of an hour, and the priest had yet to say a word. Instead, the Monsignor had alternately prayed, then glowered at Balsam. Once, Balsam had risen as if to leave. Monsignor Vernon had curtly told him to sit down. Balsam had sat, reluctantly at first, then angrily, and finally with curiosity.

Then, with a suddenness that startled him, the priest spoke.

“You’re a stubborn man, Peter,” he said. “But so am I. Except that I prefer to think of myself as tenacious. Tenacious in my beliefs, tenacious in my determination to do what is right, and tenacious in my determination to see that those around me do what is right.”

“I was doing what I thought was right,” Balsam said softly.

“Right?” The priest almost shouted,
“Right?
Don’t deny what you were telling your class; I heard it. Every blasphemous word of it!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Balsam snapped. Immediately he regretted his choice of words. The priest was turning scarlet. “I’m sorry,” he went on, trying desperately to remove his anger from his voice. “I didn’t mean that quite the way it came out.”

“But you did mean it, didn’t you?” Monsignor Vernon said icily.

“I don’t know.” Balsam felt weary. “Let me try to put it this way. I was brought here to teach psychology, not the catechism. And today my students needed to understand what happened to Judy Nelson, and why it happened, and they needed reassurance. They did not need to be told that what Judy Nelson did was a mortal sin, and that her soul is forfeit, and a whole lot of medieval nonsense!”

The priest was on his feet now, towering over Balsam. “Let us say,” he snapped, ‘that is what
you
thought they needed. I say they needed something quite different, and I am in a much better position than you to define the needs of the students in this school.” Peter felt himself sink deeper into the chair as the priest raged on. “The last thing in the world my students need is a lot of confusing, self-contradictory, pseudo-scientific claptrap. Perhaps, if these students were going on to college, they might need a small dose of what you call ‘psychology.’ But for the most part they aren’t going anywhere. What they need are the tools to make their lives easier right here, in Neilsville. That is what the Church is for. To give people faith, and through faith, salvation.” He paused and Peter could see the priest’s effort to calm himself. “The world is a complex enough place without confusing our children and undermining their beliefs. In fact, it is exactly such talk as I’ve heard from you that is responsible for the decay of our society. You leave people nothing to cling to, nothing to console
themselves with. And I will not tolerate it. Do you understand me?”

“I think I understand you perfectly,” Balsam replied coldly. “And I think it might be best for both of us if I resigned my position here immediately. As it is, there is no way I can teach my class effectively.”

Something almost like fear flashed over Monsignor Vernon’s face, but was gone in an instant.

“That’s a foolish stance,” the priest replied, “and I think you know it.” The rage he had been displaying only a moment earlier vanished, to be replaced by a countenance that seemed almost genial. He took his chair opposite Peter’s once more, and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his head resting on his clasped hands. “Peter, why can’t you understand that you are not dealing with an enormous high school in an urban area? Why can’t you understand that the needs of our students are not the same as the needs of students in, say, Philadelphia? We are not dealing with sophisticated people here. It isn’t just because of me, and what Pm sure you think is my narrow-minded outlook. It’s much deeper than that. It has much more to do with the people who live here than it does with me. In fact,” he went on, a conspiratorial smile taking form, “I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but there was a great deal of pressure put on the Bishop not to add your course to the curriculum at all. All I’m asking you to do, really, is exercise a certain amount of caution. Surely there’s enough material so that you can do a little judicious picking and choosing, isn’t there?”

“You mean censor my material?” Balsam asked warily, feeling his resolution weakening and resenting it.

Monsignor Vernon sighed. “Yes, if that’s the way you want to put it.”

“So much for freedom of thought,” said Balsam.

“I didn’t tell you to stop thinking,” Monsignor said. “All I’ve done is suggest you put some limitations on what you say to your students.”

“Isn’t it the same thing? How can my students think, if they’re given nothing to think about?”

“Is it really so important? Frankly, what our students need is a lot more faith, not a lot more to think about”

“Ignorance is bliss?” Balsam remarked.

“In some cases, yes,” the priest replied, his voice taking on a softness Peter hadn’t heard before. “I know it sounds strange to you, but it’s quite true. Living here for twelve years has opened my eyes to a lot. There was a time when I would have agreed with you—I wanted to know the truth about everything. But as I’ve grown older, I’ve discovered that the truth, or what we try to tell ourselves is the truth, is a very difficult thing to live with. And I’ve discovered that Truth—God’s Truth, as taught by the Church—is a much better thing. It gives me peace, and it gives peace to my flock. If it all strikes you as a restriction on your freedom, let me remind you that God puts many restrictions on all our freedoms.”

Listening to him, Balsam thought it all sounded quite reasonable, put in those terms. But the bottom line still read “repression.” Repression of thought, of ideas.

“Well,” he said, standing up again, “I still have the feeling I’m not the right man for the job here. I’m sorry, but you’d better start looking for a replacement. If there’s one thing I’ve always valued, it’s freedom. Not only my own freedom, but the freedom of those around me. People have to be exposed to all kinds of ideas, and have the freedom to choose among them.”

“That’s nonsense,” Monsignor snapped. “And, frankly, you surprise me. You were raised to be a good Catholic, and I would have thought your faith would be
stronger.” His eyes were flashing again, and Peter once more wanted to draw away from the force of the priest’s faith. But there was no place to go. “It is faith and belief in the word of the Lord that brings salvation, not any kind of self-serving ‘science’ that does nothing but provide excuses for the worst kinds of immoral behavior,” Vernon was saying now, “and as for your resigning your post here,
it
I were you Pd think twice about that, and then twice more.” He paused, a weariness coming into his voice. “It wasn’t easy for me to bring you here, Peter, and one more failure on your record is not going to help you. You have a history of not finishing things, and Pm beginning to understand why. You hide from reality. You refuse to face things as they really are, and prefer to find what you call evidence to back up your own weaknesses. If I were you, Peter, I’d think about it, and pray about it, before I made up my mind to leave Neilsville. God had a purpose when He sent you here. You have no right to turn your back on that purpose, and on the Lord, until you have completed whatever task He sent you here to perform. And I think I know what that task is.”