Requiem for Moses

Chapter Five

They were a handsome young couple, he tall and rugged, with piercing blue eyes and thick dark blond hair; she with brilliant red hair and a face and figure of classic beauty. They were headed directly for Koesler. There was no point in trying to move away. Besides, despite Cameron’s prediction, they might just have a reminiscence or two he could use.

“You’re the pastor here, Father?” the woman asked.

“Yes.”

“And you’re going to speak about Dr. Green?”

“Right again … at least that’s the plan.” During the past few minutes, he had been busy making resolutions never to let himself get into a jam like this again. All the while he knew such panic resolutions were not worth the paper they were not written on.

“Well,” the young woman said, “I’m Claire McNern and this is my fiance, Stan Lacki.”

Koesler had known a Lacki in the seminary. Put a couple of curlicues on a couple of the letters and Lacki is pronounced a very Polish Wonski. An Irish girl marrying a Polish boy. Nice.

“We saw you talking to Jake Cameron. He’s a partner of Dr. Green and you were talking so seriously, we figured that you were probably talking about the doctor.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, Father,” she said, “I don’t know what Jake was telling you. There were rumors about Jake and the doctor, but I don’t know how true they are.”

“You have some connection with the club? Virago?”

“I used to dance there.” She blushed.

You don’t find that much anymore. Blushing, Koesler feared, had become somewhat old-fashioned. Personally, he liked it.

“You see,” she said without further preamble, “like I said, Stan and I are getting married. At least we plan to. But we’ve got some problems. A couple of big ones. It’s like this, Father: Stan here works in a service station. He doesn’t just pump gas; he’s a terrific mechanic. And I wait tables at Carl’s Chop House.”

Ah, thought Koesler, she left showbiz. I wonder why. But this is beginning to sound like a problem I could better handle in the rectory. It’s certainly not getting me more prepared to say anything about the deceased.

“Excuse me, Father,” she continued. “I’m really nervous. This is kind of a personal problem. Stan and I really need to find somebody who’s willing to take the time with us and listen. And, while you were talking with Jake, Stan here said, ‘You know, Claire, that priest seems awful patient. He seems real interested in what Cameron is telling him. Maybe we can talk to him.’”

That did it. These people really wanted-needed-to talk. Koesler could not find it within himself to turn them away. Even if they didn’t tell him anything about Moe Green; if worst came to worst he could always go generic.

“Well, see, Father …”

She would tell the story. But Stan was leaning in close. His very nearness would join him to the narration.

“This happened about two years ago. I was auditioning for a job as a dancer at Virago. I was nervous as hell-oh, excuse me, Father.”

“It’s okay. I’ve been that nervous.” If I had any sense, Koesler thought, I’d be that scared now.

“Did you ever try out for something,” she asked, “and you were real confident until you got a look at what the other contestants could do? And then you knew you were way out of your league? Well, that’s what happened to me at Virago a couple of years ago.

“I was second last of eighteen girls. All the other girls had competed before. So they were all winners already. They’d won auditions before. So they were the cream of the crop. I got there ‘cause a friend of mine was a friend of one of the big shots at Virago.

“When I saw what these kids could do, I knew I shouldn’t have even been there. But when my turn finally came, I gave it my best shot.”

THE PAST

Dr. Moses Green chuckled. “Where in the world did you find her?”

Jake Cameron was sore, and he sounded it. “Joe Blinstraub owed a favor. The only thing we had to agree to was to include her in the audition.”

Since becoming a partner, Green had assumed an active role at Virago, much to Cameron’s exasperation and distress. Whenever an audition was scheduled, Green made every effort to attend. Only rarely did he allow his medical practice to interfere.

“Going to take her on, Jake?” Green chortled.

Cameron merely snorted.

Then Green leaned forward. Something had occurred to him. After several moments of reflection, he drew his chair closer to Cameron’s. Competing against the music, the doctor spoke loudly into Cameron’s ear. “Take her on, Jake.”

Cameron turned to him. “You crazy?”

“Not often, but this time yes. She’ll be lucky if she gets off that stage in one piece. A little bad luck in that routine and she could hurt herself.”

The suggestion didn’t make any sense at all. But, in Cameron’s experience, the doctor usually got what he wanted.

“Jake,” Green said, still speaking over the music, “if I’m not mistaken, you’re planning a big finale a la Las Vegas, with all the dancers, at the end of each evening’s major set.”

Cameron nodded slowly.

“Put her in that. Stick her back in the back row, put her in the wings-hell, put her backstage if you want.”

“This doesn’t make any sense at all, Moe. The broad is here as a favor, nothing more. We didn’t know anything about her; she might’ve turned out to be good. As it is, she stinks. We’ll let her finish her routine-if you could call it that. Then she’s outta here.”

“Tell you what,” Green persisted, “take her on and I’ll personally see that she gets professional instruction. If, after she gets the training, she can’t make this line legitimately, she’s history. But, in the meantime, she dances at Virago. I don’t care where. The ladies’ room.”

“Why bother? We got enough pros in this batch to fill our needs.”

“Jake, remember that revolving stage you were planning?”

Cameron winced.

“I was going to provide the financing.”

“Was going?”

“I think I’m running kind of short.”

“So are professional basketball players.”

“I’m just thinking of your timetable, Jake. The stage was your next priority.”

“We can afford it if you’re strapped.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“But not now.”

Cameron slumped in his chair. He hated to lose. He hated it that he never beat Green. Not once. “Okay, okay. But just as a matter of curiosity, why? Why go to all this trouble? She’s just a broad. You’ve had hundreds. I don’t see anything special about her. Good tits and ass. But that’s not hard to find. Why Claire McNern?”

Green sat back, relishing his victory. “Because, Jake, she knows how bad she is.”

“Huh?”

“She knows. I’ve been watching her. At first I didn’t see anything unique or even special about her. But I watched her expression as the other girls performed. She was stunned-amazed, thunderstruck, embarrassed. And then, when she got up to perform, it all became clear. She knows.”

“So?”

“Don’t you get it? I’m going to be her Abraham Lincoln … no, make that Swifty Lazar-hell, a combination of the two.”

“What?”

“The key to this whole thing is that the girl has learned a lesson today. She’s not Ginger Rogers. She hasn’t a chance in hell of dancing at Virago. Then, along comes me. I have taken pity on her. I’m gonna be her sugar daddy. I give her the Impossible Dream. I get her a job in Virago. It’s not much; in fact, the customers can barely see her. But she’s in. She made it.

“On top of all that, I provide lessons from the best. So she can gradually move up. And, most of all, she doesn’t have to hide in a corner when somebody like Jake Cameron offers her an audition.”

“Some plan.”

“Is she going to be grateful? I ask you. She will wonder what she possibly can do to repay my concern, my caring, my financial investment.”

“And you will have some ideas on the matter.”

“I’ll think of something.”

Jake gave Claire the good news. Miraculous news, in Claire’s opinion. And, indeed it was. Cameron also revealed to Claire the identity of her fairy godfather. It was part of the deal struck between Moe and Jake, whereby Cameron got his revolving stage and Green got his mistress.

Green carefully assessed his prey before getting to what he considered “the good part.” He investigated her background before making his move. Irish Catholic parents; six siblings, all living. From first grade through high school, Catholic training. Two years of Catholic college.

Green could relate. At least on paper, this was the way Green had raised his two children. Well, actually, Margie had raised them. But Moe had been an attentive onlooker.

Fortunately for Green’s purposes, Claire McNern’s parents had all but disowned her when she began her career in show business. If forced to choose-and they had been-her brother and sisters sided with their parents.

Thus, she would not have to be weaned from hearth and home.

Green set her up in a quasi-luxurious apartment and sent her to a highly recommended professional dance instructor. He planned everything carefully and, as it turned out, correctly. Although it rubbed wrong his entire being, all he did was give, give, give. He asked for nothing. He dismissed her avowals that, once established, she would repay him for all the considerable investment he had made in her.

Eventually, and in Green’s mind, inevitably, one pleasant evening when he was paying her one of his frequent visits, she would be wearing a seductive, revelatory, and-to her-sinful negligee.

Still he held off.

Instead of forcing himself upon her, he pushed the final button. He detailed a fabricated description of his loveless marriage. It had, he reluctantly admitted, been years since he had enjoyed the physical love of a caring woman.

She had almost exploded.

Among the many pleasures of that night, he had discovered that she was a virgin. But not anymore.

From the very beginning, his plans for Claire had been open-ended. In one scenario, he would have sex with her as early in their relationship as possible. Or he might prolong the suspense, then take her quickly, then drop her. The way things actually transpired, it was almost too good to be true. And to think he had made it up as he went along!

Now there was no way he would put her out of his life. With his convincing fiction, he had created the perfect woman-on-the-side.

As for Claire, life evolved into dancing lessons, practice, more practice, exercises, preparing meals for Moe, having sex with Moe, being at Moe’s beck and call.

She did not mind in the slightest that they never went out together. It would be a while yet before Moe was able to divorce his unloving wife and marry Claire.

She did not mind seeing newspaper photos of Dr. and Mrs. Moses Green. He was a high-profile celebrity in the fast lane of society. She understood.

Margie was aware of the affair. It was one of many. She never expected fidelity from her husband.

Moe was more than satisfied.

Then, one night, after intercourse, Claire turned on her side so her head was cradled on his shoulder. “I hate to say this, love, but I think something’s wrong.”

“Oh?”

“I missed my period.”

“Just one? That’s not unusual.”

“It is for me. I’m regular as rain, ‘member? I told you that when we discussed rhythm. It would be so easy for me because I’m so regular. That’s why I’m concerned about missing even one period.”

“You’re not going to bug me about that rhythm thing again! I told you I have no intention of making love by calendar.”

Claire propped herself up on one arm. “No, honey, not rhythm. I know how you feel about that. I’m just worried there might be something wrong with me.”

Green considered the situation. “Well, okay. You got dance class tomorrow morning, right?”

Claire, brow furrowed, nodded. She really was concerned.

“Okay,” Green continued. “After you get done, come to my office. We’ll run a couple of tests.”

“Thanks, honey. That makes me feel a lot better.” And to prove how much better she felt, she began again a leisurely foreplay.

The next day she appeared at his office immediately after class. He administered several tests in only one of which he was really interested. That test revealed that Claire was pregnant.

She had missed but one period. The fetus was in its earliest stages. It would have to go. With her strong Catholic upbringing she would, he knew, be utterly opposed.

In everything else she had been docile. Making love … the varieties of lovemaking … being a mistress … she had done it all, and more. All of which were sins in her Catholic training.

But abortion! Green knew she would not under any condition cross that line.

That night, when he arrived at their apartment, he greeted her. “Now I don’t want you to worry, but there’s a little something we have to check.”

She began to tremble.

“Don’t do that!” He could not tolerate cowardice in any form. “I’m going to do some further tests. The problem may require some surgery. But I’ll handle the whole thing. You got confidence in me?”

She quieted the tremors. “You’ve given me everything. Why shouldn’t I trust you?”

A very anxious Claire McNern checked into the hospital. She was lonely and apprehensive. Once the wristband was snapped shut, she felt that she was nothing more than an animated number, rather than a person. Indeed, the admissions clerk related to her as if she were an appliance that needed repair.

And so it went throughout the preparation for what she assumed would be further tests and possibly surgery.

The staff all seemed too busy to give her any expression of reassurance. Only one person, the nurse who would assist Dr. Green, treated Claire with kindness and empathy. Claire drew strength from this sympathetic nurse, Lana Kushner, R.N.

When Claire was fully prepped, Dr. Green made his entrance. Even in his scrub uniform, he was only slightly less imposing than paintings she had seen of God. In his hand, he held a clipboard with a sheet of paper on it and a pen. “How are you doing, Claire?”

“Better now that you’re here,” she said, feeling some small bravery for the first time. “Lana has been a big help.”

“That’s nice.” He did not even glance at the nurse. “Claire, there’s a formality before we take care of you. Just a lot of legal gobbledygook, but we have to have your signature on this line.” Still holding the clipboard, he lowered it so she could sign.

She took the pen, but began to read the paper.

“We haven’t got time to waste on reading this stuff. It just says you give me your consent to take care of you. Haven’t lost confidence in me, have you?” As he ended the question, his voice grew stern.

“Of course not.” She signed.

She did not see the single word typed in describing the treatment for which she had given her consent.

Hysterectomy.

She was wheeled into the operating room and transferred to the operating table. An anesthetist injected her. She drifted quickly into dreamless sleep.

The procedure moved along without complication. Dr. Green removed the uterus containing a fetus so undeveloped he was able to mask its presence by folding the womb over in the receptacle that held it.

No word was spoken during the operation. That was as expected. Surgeons differed in many ways one from the other. Some talked quite freely; some demanded strict silence unless there was an emergency requiring speech communication.

As Green was closing, stitching Claire together, Nurse Kushner reached for the dish holding the amputated uterus.

“Leave it alone!” Green commanded sharply. “I want to take it to pathology myself. I want to follow this thing through right away.”

Kushner was only slightly surprised. Usually, the trip to pathology was taken by a nurse. But … doctors could do whatever they pleased. What did puzzle her was the appearance of the uterus. But she said nothing. No use being raked over the coals on a matter of mere curiosity.

On his way to pathology he stopped at his locker. He made certain no one else was around. He deposited the healthy uterus in a plastic bag, sealed it, wrapped it in abundant paper toweling, and dropped it in the wastebasket. From his locker he took a package containing solidified carbon dioxide-dry ice-and some diseased connective tissue from a previous hysterectomy. This-the cancerous tissue-he delivered to pathology.

The deed was done.

He would have told Claire nothing. He would have left her sterile, without her realizing it.

But that was impossible. She would never again experience menstruation. There was no uterine wall to slough off since there was no longer a uterus. So he had to tell her what had happened to her. What he had done to her. But not everything-and, of course, not the reason.

He told her she’d had a cancerous growth on her uterus and the entire organ had to be sacrificed. It was, indeed, fortunate that she had called his attention to that abnormal condition of the missed period. And lucky that he’d been on the case. He understood that this naturally would come as a shock to her. But it was important that they return to normal sexual activity as soon as possible. It was good for her speedy recovery. And, of course, it would be a solace to him as well.

She reacted with expected dismay. A good part of what made her a woman was suddenly gone. In the face of this, she found only mild relief that a life-threatening situation had been excised.

So she set her mind on being a good mistress.

But something was wrong. She couldn’t identify it, but there was something. …

The “something” was Green’s reaction to Claire’s present physical condition. It surprised even him. He reassured her as well as himself that while the nursery was gone, the playpen was still there.

He had not anticipated this. Given his sexual proclivity, he was edging toward impotence. Intercourse was still possible with Claire. But he no longer was ready instantly. Nor did he last as long.

There was no doubt whatsoever that he did not want a child with Claire. So he had expected their sexual relations would soar to new heights once she had been rendered sterile.

The removal of her reproductive organ had been no part of his long-term plan. But when Claire’s concern over her missed period arose, he had seized the opportunity to remove any possibility of pregnancy. However, the practical consequences of the operation did not provide the aphrodisiac that he had expected.

What was the problem?

It came to him one day with unexpected clarity: He was making love to a cripple-a freak. Oh, not on the surface; externally, of course, Claire was as beautiful and desirable as ever.

But potency and impotency exist largely in the mind. And Moe Green’s mind was focusing on the uterus he had removed. That perfectly normal healthy organ was gone. Claire was not whole. That’s what had been distracting him; that’s what was impeding his performance to the point where the situation was adversely affecting his entire life.

What was to be done?

He could try to rationalize himself out of this tight corner into which he’d painted himself. He could see one of his psychotherapist colleagues; a few sessions on the couch might restore things to their normal level.

Simple-but he knew that he would never go that far; he would never trouble himself to that degree.

Why should he? There were plenty of other potential mistresses around. And the next time, he would be more careful. He would make certain that the next woman-women? — would take every precaution … with the certain knowledge that being with child would automatically mean being without Moe.

But first he must get rid of Claire.

Dr. Green was not disposed to the soft touch or the language of diplomacy. He tried intercourse with her one more time. It was a near disaster.

As he abruptly left the bed and reached for his clothes, Claire pulled the sheet up around her. She was, of course, aware there was a problem. She had no idea what the cause was; she only hoped that somehow Moe would solve it. She had abiding faith in him.

“Claire,” Green said as he pulled on his shorts, “I think it’s time we went our separate ways.”

“Wh-what?” Her heart began to pound.

“A relationship like ours doesn’t last a lifetime. It’s time we recognized that and moved on.”

“But … but you’re going to divorce your wife. When … when it’s time. That’s what you said. I know we’re having problems … but we can work them out. I know we can. Maybe it’s something I’m doing wrong. We can talk about it. It’ll get better, you’ll see. I can be a perfect wife. Please, Moe, let’s talk.”

“Talk time is over. You’re a good kid. But you have to take a more realistic approach to life. For one, you’re never gonna be a dancer. I’ve had to pay your teacher over scale just to keep you as a student. Haven’t you noticed that Jake hasn’t moved you up in the chorus line?”

Ignoring the hurt and vulnerability on her face, indeed in every line of her body, he swept on. “As for sex, ours is deteriorating. Even you admit that. Take it from me, you gotta read the signs of the times. And, with us, the signs all point to the end of the game. It’s over. What we gotta do now is bury it. Let’s do this like civilized people, without making an unseemly fuss. Whad’ya say?”

“Moe, I don’t have to be a dancer-not if I’m your wife!”

“My wife! That’ll be the day! Margie’s a shark when she has to be. She wouldn’t give me a divorce unless she walked away with everything. And I’m kinda used to everything.”

“But you said …”

“I say lots of things. Some I mean and some I’m not so sure.”

“Moe, what’s going to happen to me?” She pulled the sheet higher about her neck. It was as if she were nude in this room with a stranger. The rare glimpses she’d gotten of Moe’s ruthless side had been quickly glossed over. Now she could see the truth. This Moe Green who was discarding her like a card in a poker game was the real Moe Green, the genuine lowdown article.

Nothing she could do or say would prolong their relationship. It was now a matter of salvaging whatever she could. “Moe, what’s going to happen to me?” she repeated.

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t know.” He really didn’t give a damn, but he didn’t want to push her over the edge into anger. At the moment she was defensive. That was the state of mind he wanted to deal with.

“You can stay here,” he said, “for a little while. But there’s got to be a time limit on this arrangement-say, a month, two at the outside. You can find a job. Look around. I’ll even help you if I can. But”-his voice was harsh-“not dancing. Nobody can help you there.”

Now fully dressed, he paused in the doorway. “Have a nice life, Claire. But first, get one.” And he was gone.

In just a little more than two weeks her newly found lifestyle had not only crumbled, it had virtually evaporated.

It had all begun when she’d told Green of her missed period. What if she had gone to another doctor? She could have had the operation and he would have been in the dark, none the wiser.

What if? What if? What if?

It was over.

She was alone.

Tears flowed. Sobs racked her. She wished fervently that she had never met Dr. Moses Green.

THE PRESENT

Father Koesler was impressed. Of all the people he’d met in his entire life, surely no one appeared to be as amoral as Dr. Moses Green.

Still, Koesler did not second-guess himself on granting this wake. If deceased people needed a consensus to be granted a religious funeral, he wondered how many would qualify.

“Well, what did you do then?”

“First of all,” Claire said, “I made up my mind I wasn’t going to be beholden to him for anything. I cleared out of the apartment the next day. I had saved up some money. So I got a decent place to stay even before I started looking for a job.

“Thank’s to Moe’s laying it all on the line, I didn’t waste any more time trying to be a dancer. I took stock of what I had to offer. I’m good looking-that’s not vanity, Father; that’s the truth.”

“Honest humility is the truth,” Koesler said. “And I would second your assessment: You are good looking.”

“And I’ll third it!” Stan Lacki was grinning.

“So,” Claire continued, “I figured there was good money in waiting restaurants, if the tips were generous. After checking around, I settled on Carl’s Chop House. Lots of men go there. I counted on their appreciating a good-looking waitress. And I was right. That’s”-she smiled broadly-“where I met Stan.”

“The guys at the station go there maybe once every week or two,” Lacki said. “Course I picked up on Claire right away.”

“He was more than a real gentleman,” Claire said. “He was very respectful to me. And I needed that. I could joke with the guys at the restaurant, but it was just kidding. Whenever any of them started coming on to me, I’d cut ’em off at the pass. I’d just had it with sweet-talkers. Good old Moe Green cured me of falling for sweet talk. Stan was real mannerly.”

“She’s a lady.”

“So, anyway,” Claire went on, “about a year ago we started going out. Then we got serious and … well, we’ve been sort of engaged for the past five months. And, you know, Father …” She blushed again, then smiled and said firmly, “We wanted to wait awhile to get married-you know, to be sure?”

Koesler nodded understandingly.

“But then, a little while back, when we decided to plan our wedding … well, we ran into trouble. A lot of trouble, it turns out.”

“Oh?” Koesler said. “You’re both Catholic, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Either of you married before?”

“No.”

“You’re both entering this marriage freely?”

“Yes.”

“Then, I’m at a loss. What’s the problem?”

“I’d say,” Lacki interjected, “the problem is the priest who was handling our marriage preparation.”

“Oh? What’s his name?” Koesler asked.

“He’s standing right back there-against the back wall,” Lacki said, pointing.

“That’s Father Reichert!” Koesler was surprised.

“Don’t we know it!” Lacki said.

“But he’s retired,” Koesler said. “Why would he have anything to do with your marriage?”

“We had no reason to question that,” Claire said. “Why shouldn’t he take care of marriages? He’s been a priest for tons of years, hasn’t he?”

“Well, yes, but …” Koesler’s shook his head in puzzlement. “What did he do … as far as your wedding goes, I mean?”

“Just told us we couldn’t get married,” Lacki said. “At least not in the Catholic Church. He said if we were determined to get married, we should look up some justice of the peace, or a judge or a minister.”

“Why? What reason did he give you for denying a Catholic ceremony?”

“He said,” Claire explained, “that the purpose of marriage is to have children and raise them Catholic. And that since I’d had a hysterectomy, we would never be able to have children-that every time we had intercourse, we would be making a mockery of marital love. That’s what he said. Then he told us to go away.”

Koesler shook his head again. If Joe Btfsplk’s black cloud had been in the church, it would have been directly above Koesler.

“Well, then, we got to thinking,” Lacki said. “This Dr. Green is such a … uh …” He seemed to be rejecting a series of colloquial epithets that were not fit for polite conversation, especially when the circle included a priest. “… such a rotten guy, that we wondered if he’d actually done what he said he did.”

“You’d know, wouldn’t you?” Koesler said to Claire. “I mean, you’re either having periods or you’re not.”

Claire was surprised that a celibate man would know that much about female physiology. “Well, we thought that maybe he lied to us. Lies were mother’s milk to him. Maybe whatever he’d done could be reversed or repaired. Like sometimes tying the tubes can be reversed.…”

“She was going to go to a gynecologist and have it checked out,” Lacki said.

“But,” Claire interrupted, “something told me there was a better way. Remember that nurse I mentioned-the one who was so kind to me when I was operated on? She was right there, as far as I know, assisting the doctor. We thought maybe she could tell us exactly what really happened.”

“Were you able to find her?”

“Finding her wasn’t so tough,” Lacki said. “Getting her to talk about the operation was another thing. Normally, I guess, a nurse isn’t supposed to talk about things like that … especially to a patient.” Koesler nodded in agreement.

“But,” Claire added, “I think maybe she felt sorry for me-and probably by this time she’d made a judgment. Still, we had to plead with her for quite a while. We promised her we wouldn’t say anything to anybody. But I think that finally maybe by this time she just was disgusted enough that she was willing to take the chance. And after I explained the trouble we were getting from the Catholic Church, she was definitely sympathetic. I was figuring on that ….” She paused.

“And?” Koesler prompted.

“And she told us what happened. She insisted that she could tell us only what she saw, and her interpretation of what the doctor did that day. But she also said that she’d had a lot of experience in the OR-that’s operating room-”

“He knows that, Claire,” Lacki said. “He watches television … don’t you, Father?”

“My share.”

“Well, anyway,” Claire continued, “once she started talking, it was like she couldn’t stop. I guess she just wanted to get it all off her mind. She said that Dr. Green’s way of doing things is like he’s God. Usually he doesn’t say anything to anybody unless there’s a problem or somebody goofs. And then all hell breaks loose. But he never explains what he’s doing or talks to anybody. Actually, Lana said he’s a first-class surgeon, but a fourth-class human being-her words, Father,” she added.

“Anyway, when he finished removing my uterus, he put it in the dish they have for that. Usually, Lana is the one who takes the organ or tissue or whatever’s amputated, and brings it down to the pathology department for examination and evaluation.

“But when she reached for the dish, the doctor told her in no uncertain terms to leave it, that he would take it himself.

“That was enough out of the ordinary for her to take a second look at the organ. She said she was surprised. Not only did it seem to be normal, without any signs of the cancer, but-let me see if I can get her words right on this-’cause it’s important-she said my uterus was ‘enlarged and rich in congested blood supply.’” She paused again.

“Which means …?”

“Which means I was pregnant!”

“Which,” Koesler said, “means the father was …”

“Moe Green,” Claire supplied.

Koesler had to pause to absorb the enormity of what he was hearing.

“I won’t claim,” Claire said, “that I was eligible to crown the Blessed Mother in the May Procession. But once I linked up with Moe, I was faithful to him. He was the father of my baby. He killed his own child.”

Though she had come to terms with this evil act, tears trickled down her cheeks. She wiped them away angrily. Stan patted her shoulder.

“That nurse-Lana Kushner-said that later that day she tried to check on the pathology report,” Lacki said. “The sample that Green submitted was cancerous. Which could mean that she was wrong-or that the doctor substituted a diseased organ for Claire’s. But she said she really didn’t think she was wrong.

“Anyway, there’s nothing can be done about it. It was her word against the doctor’s. And,” he said bitterly, “everybody knows which one the hospital would believe.”

Claire, her face a mask of sorrow, nodded. “After we talked to the nurse, I called him … called Moe. I didn’t tell him how I knew, but I asked him how he could have done it …. why he’d done that to me ….” The tears came again. “He didn’t even answer; he just sort of snorted-or maybe it was a laugh-and hung up.” She was close to weeping at the futility of it all.

Koesler shook his head again, this time in a mixture of sympathy and anger. “Claire, I don’t know how you are holding up under all this. But let’s take things one at a time. You said you had a couple of problems with your marriage to Stan?”

“That’s right, Father. About the abortion. Doesn’t that mean I’m excommunicated? Seems I learned that in school or read it somewhere.”

“No, no. At worst that’s a hypothetical question. You didn’t have any say in the matter. The decision to abort didn’t involve you in any way. You didn’t even know you were pregnant. So forget about that. What’s next?”

“Father Reichert! He said we couldn’t get married because of the hysterectomy. And he didn’t even know about the abortion!”

Father Reichert, thought Koesler. He’s not just a nut; he’s a dangerous nut. Suddenly, Koesler remembered Reichert’s threat-promise-to bring this wake up before Cardinal Boyle. Heretofore, Koesler had been upset and distracted by the coming scene that would probably take place tomorrow. Now, the way this situation was developing, Koesler was beginning to look forward to the confrontation. He would have the opportunity to draw Reichert out on the matter of a hysterectomy as an impediment to a sacramental marriage.

There was no doubt that Reichert would willingly-eagerly-state his opinion. Nor was there much doubt that the Cardinal would be forced to act on such a false doctrine. At the very least, Boyle would be forced to suspend Reichert’s faculties to witness weddings. That was the good news. The bad was the damage he had done to Claire and Stan as well as undoubtedly to countless others.

“I think,” Koesler said, “that I will have a talk with Father Reichert. He’s very, very mistaken about a hysterectomy blocking your right to the sacrament of matrimony.”

Koesler noted a shadow of doubt clouding Claire’s relief.

“You probably find it difficult,” he said, “to understand how priests can disagree. Sometimes Catholics believe, or are led to believe, that priests come out on some sort of assembly line: You’ve been taught something by one priest, you’ve been taught by them all.

“But that’s not the case. Priests differ a lot, especially since the Second Vatican Council.

“Father Reichert, for instance, is a good man. But he has some peculiar notions. When he and I were young priests, we were taught-and we taught in turn-that there was a ‘primary purpose’ to marriage: the procreation and education of children. That’s been changed a bit to where there’s no longer a ‘primary purpose’; the love that promotes growth between a married couple is equally as important as having children and bringing them up in the faith.

“Besides, even back when we were young priests, an operation that would affect the fertility of either spouse would not have any bearing on the couple’s right to the sacrament of matrimony. Lots of people who, for one reason or another, can’t have children get married very validly. Physical causes that make bearing children impossible have nothing to do with the will and desire for children.

“Take my word for it: There is nothing in what you’ve told me to prevent you from having a Catholic wedding. Got that?”

Koesler’s explanation was rewarded by the open, relieved smiles of Claire and Stan.

“You’ve made me feel a whole lot better, Father,” Stan said. “I gotta admit that when Father Reichert told us we couldn’t get married because of Claire’s operation, I was pretty angry … not at anyone in particular, just at the situation. But when we found out about the abortion, something inside me just about exploded. I gotta confess, I really was close to doing something … violent.

“And I still feel that way. Lucky thing the doc is dead … lucky thing for me, anyway.”