Lucifer's Lottery - Edward Lee [17]
Hudson sat agog. St. Augustine was a whoremonger before he found faith . . . “You don’t mean . . .”
“I mean as I’ve said,” the elder replied in a voice of granite. “Am I ordering you to engage in sexual congress outside of wedlock? No. But hear this, Hudson. A venal sin now is much more forgivable than a grievous sin later, later as in after your ordination.”
Hudson couldn’t believe such an implication.
“Are you receiving my meaning, son?”
“I’m . . . not sure, Monsignor.”
“In the real world you’ll be subject to the same temptations that Christ faced. We in the vocation all need to know that.”
“But I’m perfectly happy with a vow of celibacy.”
The monsignor smiled, and it was a sardonic smile. “Go out into the world first, and that includes the world of women. If you don’t, you’ll probably quit in ten or twenty years. It doesn’t do God any good to have priests that quit when they start feeling that they’ve missed out. It’s the same things with the nuns—good Lord. I’ve been around a while so I know what I’m talking about.”
Before the notion to ask even occurred consciously, Hudson began, “Monsignor, did you ever . . .”
The old man lurched forward in his chair. “Did I ever break my vow of celibacy? Are you being audacious enough to ask me that? Me?”
“I-I-I,” Hudson bumbled. “Not audacious, sir. But . . .”
“Fine. It’s an honest answer. God needs priests with balls, too.”
Hudson’s brow shot up.
“No, I never broke my vow of celibacy, and I’ve been a priest for almost seventy years.” The monsignor’s gaze sharpened to pinpoints on Hudson. “But I’ll tell you this. I almost did many times, but in the end, I resisted.”
“That’s . . . probably easier said than done.”
“Nope. I asked God to take the burden of my temptations off of my shoulder and onto his. And he did. He always does”—very quickly, the Monsignor pointed—“if you have faith.”
“I have faith, Monsignor.”
“Of course you do, but you’re also full of idealism—you’re too young to know what you’re talking about.” The old smile leveled on Hudson. “I’ll bet you don’t even masturbate—”
Hudson didn’t, but he blushed.
“I won’t ask if you do or you don’t, but know this, young man. There’ll be none of that shit after you’re a priest.”
Hudson had to laugh.
“All I’m saying is it’s reasonable in God’s eyes to get all of that out of your system before you take your true vows. That’s why I won’t give you a referral until you’ve gone out into the world for a year or so. You see, if I recommend you to a seminary, what I’m really doing is recommending you to God. Don’t make a monkey out of me in front of God.”
This guy’s a trip, Hudson thought. “I understand, sir.”
“Good, so where are you going?”
Hudson drew on a long breath. “Florida, I think. I grew up in Maryland, where I learned to shuck oysters. I could get a job doing that.”
“Good, a real-world job, like I’ve been saying.”
“A friend of mine lives down there now. We were acolytes together.”
The old priest’s eyes widened. “Is he in the vocation?”
Hudson chuckled. “No, sir, I’m afraid not. He’s, I guess, lost his faith, but—”
“Excellent. You can help him find it again while you’re shucking oysters in Florida and experiencing real life. The real world, Hudson. You need to know it before you can be a priest.”
“Yes, sir.”
The monsignor looked at his watch. “I have a golf match now. Make sure you clean all the windows in the chancellery today. Then you can take off. Go to Florida, live amongst the other people. Then come back in a year or so and I’ll get you into any seminary you want.”
“Thank you, Monsignor.” Hudson kissed the old man’s ring as he reached for his golf bag . . .
That was the dream. Hudson awoke late, slightly hung-over. He supposed a soon-to-be seminarist getting half drunk was easily more pardonable than soliciting hookers. He was proud of himself for resisting the temptation last night, but then . . .
Pride’s a sin, too.
Had it really been resistance, had it really been faith? Had passing up the prostitutes