I
was in the small chapel reading my breviary when the doorbell rang. It
was Saturday and the child scheduled to work at the desk had failed to
come that afternoon. I opened the door to a young girl who looked to be
in her late teens. She was visibly shaken over something.
"Father, Father!" she cried, "You've got to come!"
"Come where?" I asked.
"Madame Hilda has sent me for you. She says that it is absolutely urgent. You have to come!" she pleaded.
"Calm down. Who is Madame Hilda?"
"She is a gypsy, Father-- just down the street on Wisconsin between the Sears and the bookstore. Please Father come!"
"What would she want to see me for?"
"She was reading someone's palms and she was disturbed by what she saw. After that she double checked what she read by consulting the tarot cards. 'There is a great wickedness afoot!' she said. 'Get the priest at once!' she yelled. I come get you. Please come Father."
"She must know that the Church frowns upon such things. Superstition violates the commandment against having false gods."
"Very sorry Father, but please come. Only you can help us now. That is what she says, 'Only the priest can help-- run girl run!'"
"I don't know about this. I have a busy schedule. I can't be tramping down to listen to some mumbo-jumbo. Tell her to come here."
"Alright Father, I will run."
"No, she has a phone doesn't she?"
"Yes, Father."
"Then give her a call," I suggested.
She hastily used the phone. The poor girl looked incredibly agitated as she waited for the receiver on the other end to be lifted. Then like a cannon ball, she started, "Madame, (pause), yes this is Judy-- yes I got the priest-- he wants you to come here. He won't . Uh huh, yeah, just here he says. Yes. Okay I'll wait for you."
Hanging up the receiver, she turned to me and said, "Madame told me that she will race up here. She has no car and it may take a few minutes."
I showed her back to the parlor.
"Do you have any real idea why this is so urgent?"
She answered, "All I know Father is that I have never seen Madame so worried before. She actually turned white. A costumer had come in, an elderly gentleman whom I had not seen before. He paid her up front like Madame demands and he sat for his reading. Madame began to shake as she started. I guess something did not feel right. She then got her cards and read some off to him. After that, she had him wait in the room while she gave me instructions to get you. More than that I do not know."
"Thanks, Judy isn't it?"
"Yes Father."
I tried to make small talk but she was not the kind of young woman who spoke freely. We waited. Ten minutes passed-- then fourteen-- then thirty-- and finally forty-five minutes. The gypsy failed to appear.
"Something must be wrong Father. Please can we go see?"
There was a dire urgency in her voice. I felt sorry for the girl following what was probably a charlatan.
"Well, we can take a look down the street. Maybe she got lost and entered the church instead of the rectory?"
People had been known to do that, as if priests lived under the kneelers or something? She was not in the church. We walked down past the library, that is when we heard the sirens. A police car was already on the scene and an ambulance was screaming down the avenue.
"Oh my God!" cried Judy. "It is Madame! That's her dress! She's lying in the street. Oh my God!"
The girl ran to where the body lied prostrate, surrounded by bystanders. I hurried my pace. It was not a pretty sight. A large vehicle must have run her down. Her head was crushed into an indistinguishable pulp of flat tissue along the pavement. Blood soaked the ground. An elderly woman near the mailbox on the road was vomiting uncontrollably. All Judy could do was cry.
"Don't look anymore, dear." She came to my arms and I held her face to myself, away from the corpse. The young girl trembled so, would she ever get over this experience?
I prayed to myself and whispered ever so quietly, "Rest in peace."
Late that night, the beeper went off and I called the answering service. They left me a message from Judy Mason saying that it was urgent that I call her back that night. I rang the number and after the very first ring the phone was picked up, "Yes," there followed a pause.
"This is Father Jenkins returning a call for Judy . . ."
I was cut short.
"Oh Father, thank God you called back."
"What's up Judy? Are you feeling any better? You had a pretty bad time of it today." I kept to myself the guilt I felt for having the gypsy try to come to the rectory.
"Father, when I got myself back together a little bit, I returned to the parlor. The man who had been with Madame was gone but the chair he had been sitting in was upset. Next to it was a crushed piece of paper with a message in Madame's writing. She sometimes took notes of her readings. I thought you might want to know what was on it.
"Sure, dear, what was on it?"
"You'll need a piece of paper."
"One minute," I responded. I stumbled for my glasses and a piece of scrap. I found a copy of one of my old homilies, scrap enough, and brought it to the phone.
"Go ahead," I announced.
"She drew a picture on it, Father. It has these three lines, one above the other. The top one which loops upward, as in the lines in the hand, is unbroken. The second is the same. The third stops about halfway and there she has drawn a small circle with horns on it. After that, the line continues. Father, these lines refer to the creases in ones palm. I've never seen in her notes before a circle with horns on it. It frightens me."
"Just take it easy. Is there anything else?"
"Yes Father, there are some words where she usually remarks about the tarot cards. But it is not right."
"What do you mean?" I inquired.
"The handwriting, it doesn't look like hers, and the writing it is not only in a different color ink, red, but the words make no sense to me."
"What are they?"
"I don't understand them Father, let me spell them out for you." She did so. A chill went up my spine.
"What does it mean, Father?" she asked.
I responded, "Don't worry about it dear. But tell me, did Madame know Latin?"
"No, I don't think so Father, is that what it is?"
"Yeah," I said, "Just a saying. Stay away from the parlor and give yourself some time to get over this, alright?"
"Alright Father, thank you."
"Try to get a good night's rest, God bless."
"Good night, Father. Will you take care of things?"
"Sure," I stuttered, "I'll take care of things." Was I lying? Like what the hell could I do?
I hanged the phone up and looked at the diagram and words which I had copied from the girl's description. I began to wonder if I would be able to go back to sleep? What strange words, and in Latin no less, "Daemones vobiscum." It was literally an invocation for evil spirits. God forbid such a thing! Bless be God thrice holy.
These days people talk frequently about having the "spirit". I often wonder what spirit? Is it the spirit of the world which cannot satisfy the longings of the human heart and mind? Is it the nebulous spirit so often cited as an excuse for the dismantling of the Church after Vatican II. Is it the spirit of an ancient naturalistic paganism revisited? Or, is it the Holy Spirit. Instead of demons, may the Holy Spirit make his abode with us, granting us a share in divine life and leading us in the truth which Jesus came into the world to proclaim.