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by Jill Kirby This story was written for Deejay (AlvaFan) in the Yuletide 2004 Secret Santa Challenge. If you wanted a seat for midnight Mass, you had to get to church early-- competition was fierce. As soon as Paul had been old enough, he'd begged, pleaded and manipulated Poppi to be a server at midnight Mass. Not only did you get to stay up late, but you had a guaranteed chair. All the boys fought over it, and Paul usually ended up one of the winners. Now, he just got there early. The church wasn't even open to the public yet, but knowing all the back entrances had its advantages. Only the lights in the sanctuary were on, dim over the altar, and Paul had the church to himself. For years, the quiet of this space had helped him make sense of things. From his first junior high school girlfriend, to his decision to leave the seminary, he had brought his life here and asked God for help, on issues large and small. While he could pray anywhere, it just seemed easier in church-- in this church. It always had. Paul settled onto the kneeler, shrugging his coat off behind him, then leaned forward to rest on the back of the pew in front of him. The altar, decorated for Christmas, looked beautiful. Even at a not-so-rich parish, money was always found to layer the altar with poinsettias and circle the nativity scene with fresh greenery. Automatically, Paul checked to make sure that the baby Jesus was actually in the manger. Fortunately, He was. Resting his forehead on his clasped hands, Paul breathed in the familiar scents of the church, layers of furniture polish and decades worth of incense mixed with the fresh pine. His mind went over and over the familiar prayers, prayers that had always helped structure his thought. Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary That never was it known that anyone who fled to your protection, Implored your help, Or sought your intercession, Was left unaided... He'd prayed these words throughout his life, but tonight, they didn't help. The words were meaningless. Rote. Paul wasn't sure how long he tried to pray before someone coughed softly, and he looked up. It was Keel. "You're here early." He took off his hat, sitting down a few feet away from Paul. Paul pushed himself up off the kneeler, sitting back on the pew. "What are you doing here?" And how the hell had he gotten in? "Even I enter a church occasionally." Keel half-smiled at what was, for him, one hell of a joke, then shook his head. "I was worried about you when you left the hospital so quickly, Paul. I thought you might have come here." "It is Christmas." "Yes. Also, the holidays are difficult," Keel said, obliquely. "Especially with the work that we do." "Yes. The work that we do." Keel was always so damn mysterious, even to the people he worked with every day. Even after several months, Paul knew next to nothing about Sodalitas Quaerito. Almost anything he knew about the organization (or Keel, for that matter) came from Evelyn. It was how Keel did business, apparently. "Are you all right? After today?" "Oh, I'm just great." Paul hadn't meant to sound quite so sarcastic, but it was too late. "Fantastic. That work that we do fits right in with the Christmas spirit." "You're angry." "Of course I'm angry." Paul had to work hard to keep his voice down, and even harder not to swear a blue streak at Keel's placid, emotionless face. "A little girl is dead, Keel. How do you expect me to feel?" "Saddened at her loss, certainly." That calm had to be a facade, and for just a moment Paul wished he knew how to break it. "I wanted to do something. Help. We usually... win." "Is that what you think we do? Win or lose?" Keel leaned back, somehow managing to make the pew look comfortable. "You do have to put everything into different boxes." "We win when we're able to help people." Wasn't that obvious? "Yes." Keel nodded, but it was clear he didn't entirely agree with Paul's statement. "I would argue that we also win when we learn something. When we gain information." "Even when the person affected is hurt?" "Even then." Paul knew that he and Keel did this for different reasons, but this pointed out the enormity of the gap between them. All the visions, all the uncertainty, all the weirdness, the hemography-- there had to be some kind of point to this, some kind of purpose. If there wasn't, then Paul's life had been changed for no reason at all. They were quiet for several minutes before Keel spoke again. "We did our best. You did everything that you could." It hadn't been enough. Tonight, a little girl had died despite their very best efforts. On Christmas Eve, a family had lost their daughter, and nothing had made a damn bit of difference-- not Paul's visions, not his and Keel's research and effort. "I think..." Keel paused, for once searching for words. "I don't think we are involved to fix every situation. Sometimes, I think our presence alone is helpful. I want to think..." He paused, taking a deep breath. "I want to think that's enough." Paul looked at Keel, his face outlined with shadows. It had to be easier for him, all of this. Keel didn't see things that weren't there, or have conversations with dead children. Keel was in it for the knowledge, the pursuit. That had to be simpler. And, at the same time, maybe it was more difficult. Paul took a deep breath. It was Christmas Eve, and it wasn't the time or the place to argue. They wouldn't come to agreement on this tonight, and Paul wasn't likely to figure out the grand purpose behind his screwed-up life in the forty minutes before Mass began. Paul gestured at the Nativity scene, and Keel's eyes followed his gesture. "Growing up, every year, one of the fourth grade kids stole the baby Jesus. I'm sure they still do." Keel smiled, and Paul could almost see the tension leave him. "Isn't that the kind of thing that gets Catholics in trouble?" "Sure it is." Paul laughed, remembering. "Every year, Poppi had to round us up and give the 'turn in the baby Jesus and no one gets hurt' speech, and every year the figurine turned up in a new and interesting place." "Where did you hide him when you stole it?" Paul shook his head. "Me? No, I never stole it. If I had, I'd deny it forever." "Ah, but you'd have to go to confession, wouldn't you?" "Sometimes, it's safer to make like a Protestant and take your sins directly to God." Keel snorted with laughter. "A wise choice." There were rapid footsteps behind them, and Paul turned to see Poppi striding towards them. "Poppi!" "Hey, kiddo. Merry Christmas." Poppi's embrace was warm and strong, and for the first time that week Paul felt a little less like everything was falling apart around him. "Merry Christmas to you too, Poppi." "Mr. Keel." Poppi shook hands with Keel. "Will you be joining us for Mass?" Keel rarely looked uncomfortable, and Paul stifled a smile as Keel shifted from one foot to the other. "I do not regularly attend services." "Neither do most of the people who will be here tonight." Poppi smiled, looking around the dim interior of the church. "That's just one of the many reasons I enjoy midnight Mass." He backed out of the pew, returning to the center aisle. "If you're comfortable, please stay." Keel nodded. Poppi glanced at Paul. "If we're short a server, I'll give you the high sign, kiddo." "Sure thing, Poppi." The men watched as the priest left, pausing a moment before entering the sacristy. "Don't even think about going near the nativity scene," he called, attempting to sound serious. Paul saluted as he disappeared into the back. People were filtering into the church now, finding seats, and Paul could feel the building coming to life. The first of the servers emerged from the sacristy. The girl stood on tiptoe to begin lighting the altar candles, her gym shoes peeking out from under the hem of the white robe as she strained to reach the tops of the candles. Her small face was serious, intent on the tasks ahead of her. Being a server had always been an enormous responsibility, and one that could go badly at any moment. You could drop the Host, or spill the wine on the altar cloth (and then Mrs. Anderson from the Altar Guild would do that thing where she grabbed your ear and asked you if you knew what bleach did to linen), or forget to bring the prayer book to Poppi at the right time. Disappointing Poppi was always the worst way to screw up. But participating had been a gift, too. It meant being part of something larger than yourself. It meant participating in the mystery. Keel stirred next to him. "I hope you'll stay for Mass," Paul said, half-turning to face him. "It's always a beautiful service, even if the religious aspects aren't your cup of tea." Keel seemed to disappear further into the shadows for several moments, then nodded. "Good." Paul smiled. "If you come back to Poppi's afterwards for coffee, maybe he'll tell you about where he found the baby Jesus back in about 1979." "I suppose it was a particularly inventive location?" "Worthy of a Protestant." Back to The Stories |