The Thanatos Syndrome

kind of protest?”
    A big French shrug, eyes going left, then right. “Who knows? Maybe, but it’s more than that.”
    â€œHow do you mean?”
    â€œHe told me that he had—ah—discovered a mathematical proof of what God’s will is, that is, what we must do in these dangerous times.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œNow, he may be right. It’s out of my league. Me, I’m a very ordinary guy and have to baptize babies and run the school and suchlike. I’d like to preach the good news of the Lord, but it seems like I don’t have the time. Ask him if he can take off a little time from saving the world to help one po’ li’l priest.”
    â€œAll right, Father.”
    â€œOne more little thing—” He is shuffling papers on the table.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œI’m supposed to be organizing an ecumenical meeting here—” He sighs. One more thing to do. “I got to find five of our laymen who are willing to—Would you be interested?”
    â€œNo, thanks.”
    â€œOkeydoke,” says the priest absently, unoffended, shuffling more papers. Is he looking for something else I can do? I get up.
    The doorbell rings. Mrs. Saia starts out from the meeting. Father Placide jumps up. “I’ll get it, Sarah! Hold the fort.” I think he is avoiding the meeting.
    While Father Placide is gone, I am wondering how best to get out of here. The front door is blocked by the deacon, who likes to talk. I find myself remembering that during the race riots here years ago I once escaped through the ducts of the air-conditioning system. Now I remember. I used St. Michael’s sword to unscrew the Phillips screws of the intake grille of the air-conditioner—to escape during the riots.
    One of the ladies is saying, “—and I heard that he wouldn’t even come down when he had a heart attack and wouldn’t let anybody come up to treat him except Dr. Gottlieb. And the only reason he let him come up was that he, Father Smith, had converted to the Jewish religion.”
    â€œOh no,” says Mrs. Saia sharply. “He’s peculiar, but he wouldn’t do that. I know him well—after all, he lived here. Peculiar, yes. Why, you wouldn’t believe—”
    Ernestine Kelly breaks in with her low-pitched but querulous voice. I can see her sweet, sad face. “I don’t know about that, but I can tell you this on good authority because I know the people it happened to. Both desperate cases. One had a tumor of the womb which was diagnosed as malignant. The other, a close friend of mine, had a son working for Texaco who fell off a rig during a hurricane. After three days the Coast Guard gave up on him. Both of these people had the same impulse the same night, the exact same time, to get up and go for help from Father Smith. They did. Of course they couldn’t get up the tower, so they both wrote their intentions on notes and pinned the notes to the steps of the tower. The very next day the first person’s tumor had gone down—the doctors could not find a trace of it—and the other person’s son was found clinging to a board—for three days and three nights.”
    Jan Greene snorts. “For God’s sake. Like Jonah. I mean, really. Has it ever occurred to anybody that he might be up there for a much simpler, more obvious reason?” Her voice is impatient, even ill-tempered. I can see her lean forward in her chair, eyes flashing, face thrusting like a blade.
    Silence, then Ernestine Kelly’s injured voice: “Are you suggesting miracles cannot occur?”
    â€œI am not. But why not look for simpler explanations?”
    â€œHmph. Such as.”
    â€œSuch as the tumor was a fibroid and went down spontaneously—they often do. The boy’s life was preserved because he hung on to the raft or whatever. And Father Smith could be staying up there for the oldest reason in the world.”
    The other women wait. Finally someone says, “What’s that?”
    â€œHe could be doing vicarious penance for the awful state of the world. It is, after all, good Catholic practice,” says Jan sarcastically. “The Carmelites and the Desert Fathers have been doing it for centuries. This really slays me. Here we are on the very brink of World War Three, on the brink of destruction, and nobody gives it a second thought. Well, maybe somebody is. After all, how do you think