Touch (1987) (16 page)

Bill Hill was also taking a chance. What if Juvenal had already given her an answer? But he didn't have time to fool around. He had to get to the point, and quick, with all those newspaper people set to jump on the poor guy.

"I tried to explain it to her," Bill Hill said. "I told her you work here because it's an ideal place to remain anonymous; the word is understood and respected here . . . if that's what you want. If you don't, if you want to reveal yourself, so to speak, well, you could let August Murray represent you and issue statements and whatnot, act as your press agent."

"Why would I want a press agent?"

"I wouldn't think you would. But I have a feeling that's the way somebody like August would handle it, as a promotion, and catch a ride himself for whatever he can get out of it."

"Why can't I stay the way I am?" Juvenal said.

"Because the news people won't let you. They've caught a glimpse of you and they won't let go till they've seen the whole thing, and picked you apart." He tried something else then. "I would think you'd like to step out into the world more, maybe see all you've been missing the past eleven years . . . get a taste of life, so to speak. I could be wrong."

"I'm curious about some things," Juvenal said.

"But if you're gonna be out there you'll want a true image of yourself preceding you, not sly rumors and accusations that you're some kind of freak."

Juvenal said, "Quinn suggested he and I go down and talk to them, make some kind of statement."

"That's fine, you're gonna have to do something like that just to be nice," Bill Hill said. "But then after they run their stories, that's when you get reactions. See, people will have a feeling it isn't the whole story--is this guy a fake or what?--or necessarily both sides of the story if it's controversial; because your great majority of people haven't heard it from you, what you feel and think."

"And you have a way to solve that," Juvenal said, sounding a little tired.

"Maybe," Bill Hill said. "See, you read a newspaper account, you say, 'Hey, I didn't say that. They turned it around.' Or they quote you out of context and you sound dumb. What I was thinking, what if you were in a position to tell your story personally to everybody, and I mean millions of people, and take as long as two hours if you want."

"What's my story?" Juvenal said.

"Touching people," Bill Hill said. "You touch people and they change. I don't mean just the sick and infirm." Bill Hill paused. "Didn't you know that? Take Lynn for instance--"

Chapter
18

TUESDAY, feature stories appeared in both the Detroit News and the Free Press. Lynn got out her scissors.

"Miracle at Almont?"

The basic story of what had taken place Sunday now emphasized the fact August Murray had distributed a pamphlet entitled "Stigmata" following the supposedly "unscheduled incident on the altar." The story cited August Murray's record of arrests as a right-wing religious activist, but did not delve into the purpose of traditionalist movement.

"Former Missionary Describes Mysterious Bleeding."

With a three-column cut of Juvenal, hands raised, eyes staring out from the photo. The news story was from the Sacred Heart Center press conference and interview. It presented the facts accurately, Lynn felt, though some of the quotes didn't sound as though they came from Juvenal. Words in there like viable and preternatural.

"Stigmata: The Church's View."

An interview with Father Dennis Dillon, SJ, Associate Professor of Theology at the University of Detroit. "There exists no intrinsic relationship between sanctity and stigmatization, though God can confer charisma on anyone He chooses, even one outside the Church or in the state of mortal sin . . . according to Pope Benedict XIV."

Lynn thought that was big of him.

". . . but is generally attributed to purely natural causes, as long as the contrary has not been proved." The Church, therefore is "cautious in attributing stigmatization to a miracle . . . for psycho-physiological sciences may, in the future, show such attribution to be untenable."

So that, Lynn decided, the guy really didn't say anything.

"Stigmata: A Psychiatrist's Appraisal."

An interview with Dr. Alan Kaplan, M.D., Ph.D., author of Psychoanalysis: Trick or Treatment. According to Kaplan stigmatization was the result of a highly emotional, hyper-ecstatic state. "Hey, the Catholics don't have a corner on stigmata," said Kaplan. "The wounds Mohammed received, battling for the spread of his faith, have appeared on Moslem ascetics. And how about, a few years ago, the little ten-year-old girl in Oakland, California? She woke up Good Friday morning with the stigmata, after reading about the crucifixion and seeing a TV movie on it. The little girl's a Baptist, and she's black." Kaplan cited other examples of spontaneous hemorrhaging, each case involving a person "of strong hysterical disposition." It was like saying, What else is new?

But Juvenal didn't have a hysterical disposition. Did he?

"'I Was Too Healed,' says Richie."

In the three-column photo Richie was touching the fuzz that covered his head, eyes raised, while his mother smiled proudly. "As soon as we saw Richie's hair we knew it was a miracle," said Mrs. Antoinette Baker of Clawson. "We got right down on our knees to thank the good Lord for what He had done for us." The news story told that Richie had returned to Children's Hospital, where a complete physical failed to reveal any trace of leukemia cells lurking in his blood or bone marrow. Said an attending physician in hematology, "We would not state categorically the impossibility of a remission not lasting indefinitely--"

Lynn read that part over three times.

"--but we strongly advise the continuance of chemotherapy at this point in time. A relapse is usually fatal." That was plain enough. But Mrs. Baker insisted, no more treatments, convinced there was no need "for Richie and I to keep going down there every Thursday when he's been healed." She added yes, she would like to meet this Juvenal sometime and thank him personally for the precious gift of life he has given them.

Then a final word from the doctor stating that no, observing the amount of hair that grew in on Richie's head overnight could not be considered usual.

In the "Accent on Living" section of the News was a story Lynn read through twice--beneath a four-column shot of Antoinette Baker in a bikini striking some kind of a jivey pose.

"Go-go Dancing Pays . . . Barely."

How does the divorced mother of an eleven-year-old leukemia victim, with talent but no formal training in a profession, get by these days? "Barely," says Toni Baker, "but we make it and, gosh, now, it seems too good to be true. With Richie healed I'll be able to sleep in Thursdays, my day off, and get some much-needed rest." Toni dances at the popular Caprice Lounge on Grand River, "interpreting" today's disco beat as she feels it, to the hearty approval of the gentlemen in the audience. . . . But how does a go-go dancer feel about miracles and divine intervention? Can she handle it all right? "Easy as pie," says Toni. "God gave me my body, I'm not ashamed of it. As for miracles, well, who knows what God's plan is for us here on, you know, earth. I believe like if a certain person has the power, like in Star Wars, you know, the 'Force,' then they can do all these neat things to help humanity." Toni said she and Richie were supposed to meet Juvenal soon . . .

Which was different than the other story, Lynn noticed, where the mother had said she'd like to meet him.

. . . and she was looking forward to it. She thought he had nice eyes and was real cute, "especially for a person who performed miracles."

When Lynn read it the second time she made comments to herself. After ". . . no formal training in a profession . . . " she said, You didn't need training peddling your ass. "God gave me my body, I'm not ashamed of it." Lynn's thought was, And this mother's giving it to everybody else.

She was irritated, she thoroughly disliked the woman, and had to stop and analyze the feeling. Was it resentment? The book--one of the how-to-be-happy books--said if you were disturbed or felt resentment, it was your own fault. You didn't have to feel that way. No---

But how come all of a sudden this Antoinette Baker--Toni now, with everybody getting to know her and love her--was becoming the star of the show? She didn't have a thing to do with what was going on. Nothing. But there she was hanging out of her string bikini--way too old to be wearing something like that, she had to be thirty-two at least--on the front page of the Detroit News "Accent on Living" section.

It burned Lynn up.

It made August Murray sick to his stomach. He said, "Look at her."

Greg Czarnicki said, "She's a little old, but not too bad."

"Look at all this," August said. He swept the newspapers from his father's desk, sweeping with them the start of a pamphlet he was writing entitled "You Claim to Be a Catholic . . . Prove It!" and a twelve-inch plaster statue of the Infant of Prague.

August and Greg looked down at the broken figure, the crowned head rolling away from the robed body of baby Jesus.

"Look what she made me do!"

"Who?" Greg said.

"That cunt"--Richie's mom in the bikini--"and the other one, at the Free Press. I gave her everything, the entire story. Do you see one word about Outrage or Pius X?"

"I thought this Juvenal might mention it," Greg said, "if he's supposed to be so tuned in, or whatever you want to call it, and sympathetic."

"It's not his fault," August said, "you can't even get near him. That alcoholic priest, he actually pushed me away. I said, 'I have to talk to him.' He said, 'Come back some other time, he's got work to do.' I said, 'Yes, he's got work to do, for the Church, not for a bunch of drunks.' "

"What did he say?"

"I don't know--he walked out, took Juvie with him. Tomorrow you'll be reading all about Sacred Heart Rehabilitation Center and the great job they're doing--that guy Quinn, you can see it, he's gonna use Juvie, get all the publicity he can for his drunk tank."

Greg Czarnicki was picking up the newspapers, piling the sections neatly on the corner of the desk. "You want to save these?"

August wanted to but said no.

Greg was studying a section of the paper, holding it as he read something on the page. "There was a robbery at City Airport--you see it? They caught the guys."

"There robberies all around here," August said. "Look at them, they get their pictures in the paper with their big hats on, punk nigger kids grinning at you. You know why they're grinning? They know they'll be back on the street in a few days, looking around . . . what's a good place to break in next? You know what I hope? I hope they try to get in here sometime."

August pulled open the middle desk drawer, took out a revolver, and laid it on his writing paper, his notes and starts of pamphlets.

Greg looked at it.

"It's my dad's," August said. "Thirty-eight Smith and Wesson Commando. You think this wouldn't stop them?"

"Just scare them," Greg said. "You wouldn't actually shoot anybody, would you?"

"If he was coming in here to take something that belongs to me?" August said. "I'd shoot to kill. And if God wants to have mercy on his soul that's up to Him. You bet I'd shoot."

On Tuesday, Bill Hill went back to WQRD-TV and had to wait forty minutes this time to see the mighty Howard Hart, Bill Hill thinking, as he sat there, Go ahead, chickenfat, keep me waiting.

Boy, he hated to wait for people, especially a man who had a bloated opinion of himself, no sense of humor, and a fourth-place rating among Saturday night shows.

Howard Hart had newspapers open on his desk. Even the Michigan Catholic. He said, "Now what?"

"This Juvenal is a simple, honest man," Bill Hill said, "maybe even a little naive, not used to the bright lights."

"I think I'll have Richie and his mother on first," Howard Hart said, "then bring the doctor on. Maybe give a full hour to them. But that's something I'll feel as I go along. Then bring Juvenal on with the psychiatrist and let 'em tangle asses."

"He's a gentle person," Bill Hill said. "I think he deserves your full attention."

"The theologian, I don't know," Howard Hart said. "What side's he on, the guy's?"

"He's not on either side."

"Then I don't need him. I want to see the guy and the psychiatrist mano a mano."

"Why don't you leave the psychiatrist out of it," Bill Hill said, "just talk to Juvenal."

"Why don't we leave you out instead," Howard Hart said.

"No, I got it," Bill Hill said. "Why don't you talk to the kid and his go-go mom, the doctor, the psychiatrist, and the theologian all this Saturday. Set it up, set the stage. Then next Saturday have Juvie on for the entire two hours."

"What do I talk to him about for two hours?"

"Anything you want. But with about fifteen minutes to go, you know what happens?"

"Tell me."

"In front of you and fifty million people, if your network's any good and can do its promotional work . . . Juvie will get the stigmata, bleed from his five wounds, and heal a cripple of your choice . . . live on national television."