by T.M.R.
After twenty years as pastor of St. Dismas' Church in How-Many-Syllables, Vermont, the Rev. Dennis MacAuley went mad.
The widening rift between Fr. Dennis and reality first affected his work on the evening of Saturday, June 26, 1995. Fr. Dennis was hearing confessions with one ear, and the voices of Theodore Roosevelt, Josephine Baker, and Vince Lombardi with the other.
The voices were giving him advice. However, they were all talking over one another, and he was having trouble understanding them.
"One at a time, please," said Fr. Dennis, adding, "I'm going to the track, baby."
On the other side of the confessional sat Margaret Roche, his oldest parishioner. Nearing the end of an almost blameless life, Margaret was ninety-five and homebound. She had never sinned very much to begin with, and now, even her opportunities to sin were limited.
Margaret, nevertheless, came to confession every Saturday evening. She spent much of her time in between confessions writing down a list of her sins -- or what she believed to be sins -- so that she wouldn't commit another sin by wasting Fr. Dennis' time.
She had no idea that on the other side of the confessional that Saturday evening, Fr. Dennis was getting advice from Theodore Roosevelt, Josephine Baker, and Vince Lombardi, and that all of them were speaking at once.
"One at a time, please," said Fr. Dennis.
"I'm sorry, Father," said Margaret. "I was going too fast."
"One at a time, please."
"I know. I will."
"One at a time, please,"
"I had angry thoughts about my nurse this week."
"One at a time, please."
"No, not both of them. I mean that trailer trash on the night shift."
"One at a time, please."
"I'm sorry, Father. I called her trailer trash. In church."
"One at a time, please."
"I feel terrible."
"Make her run ten stadiums," whispered Vince Lombardi.
"We don't have a stadium," said Fr. Dennis.
"Oh, Father," said Margaret. "May I donate?"
"Can you hear them, too?" said Fr. Dennis.
"I can," said Margaret. "Those people in back are so rude."
"Why can't they just shut up?" said Fr.Dennis.
"I know, Father. Bless me, please."
"Why?" said Fr. Dennis.
"You're so right, Father. Just give me a penance," said Margaret, holding her breath. Since childhood, she had always felt cheated if a priest didn't assign her a burdensome penance.
"Five hundred thousand Our Fathers," said Fr. Dennis, "and," he thought about it, "Two million Hail Marys. Now drop and give me twenty."
Margaret was thrilled. "Twenty what, Father?" she said. Fr. Dennis hesitated. He wasn't sure.
"Push-ups," whispered Vince Lombardi.
"Push-ups," said Fr. Dennis.
"Push-ups?" said Margaret.
"Make it forty," said Vince Lombardi.
"Forty push-ups," said Fr. Dennis.
"Forty?" said Margaret. Her eyes brimmed. "Thank you, Father. Thank you so much."
"One at a time, please," said Fr. Dennis.
"Of course, Father," said Margaret. "One at a time." She called to her nurse. "Debbie. Help me get down on the floor."
"One at a time please."
"I understand, Father."
"One at a time, please."
"Don't be angry with me, Father. I'm very old."
"One at a time, please."
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Pop. The orange stick-up cap is for the Giants. May the World Series end before Election Day.
ReplyDeleteAny chance we may be provided some details of Margaret's impure thoughts?
ReplyDeleteNo pictures, please; they couldn't do justice to my imagination.
As a teenager, she often placed a pillow on her tummy and pretended it was Buddy Hackett.
ReplyDeleteSince then ... not one carnal thought.
Not even a Ghandi fantasy?
ReplyDeleteIf I'm stuck in a rain storm, my friends, who better to be stuck with than Ghandi, Durante, or Golda Meier.
ReplyDeleteCoverage from the storm, my friends, coverage from the storm.
Hey, any great Halloween stories? I posted mine on FB
According to Fr. Dennis, Margaret once tried to have an erotic fantasy about Gandhi, but the curry smell put her off.
ReplyDeleteBeing crazy now, Fr. Dennis has gotten the "sanctity of the confessional" thing all backwards. I would go to Facebook and look at your Halloween post, except I closed my account yesterday (I mentioned that I was planning to on the phone). The whole thing was just a plot to get you to sign up.
My not-so-great Halloween story happened at a Halloween party at Richie Wontropski's around 1972. It involved a really pretty girl dressed in a Robin Hood costume, with green tights and a short little jacket that doubled as a skirt. I was dressed as a basketball player, in a red uniform I had pieced together. She was coming on to me, Pop, I swear it, but I had misunderstood that she was Richie's girlfriend, so each time she sat VERY close to me on the sofa, I inched away honorably. Toward the end of the party, Richie introduces me to his girlfriend, who's a whole different person, dressed as a Persian princess and almost as tall as Richie. I say to Richie, "Who was that girl in the Robin Hood costume?" He says, "That was a friend from school. She just broke up with her boyfriend. Did you meet her? She's really nice." So it goes. So it went.
Purauant to Rus's comment, I propose we make it a "house rule" that each post on the blog must contain an allusion to ... or a bit of dialogue from ... the movie.
ReplyDeleteThe Mad Russian says, "The Putney's Palace girl has GOT to have SOUL."
I should have said BOTH movies. Let us never forget "I can crawl! I can crawl!"
ReplyDelete