For Tuyet, Katrina, KaSandra, and Luc
my inspiration
"THE MIGRANT"
Chapter Twenty-one
He watched the gulls swooping and gliding only a few
yards in front of him. They soared on the stiff ocean breeze and then turned
sharply back into the wind. The swift maneuver allowed the graceful birds to
nearly hover as they scanned the retreating surf below for their supper.
Looking for signs of scurrying sand crabs, small minnows or unlucky mackerel
deposited close to shore by the breaking waves, they took turns diving into the
shallow backwash. Father Willet tossed the last few chips that remained on his
paper plate to the sand below, chuckling to himself softly as the gulls raced one
another to reach his bit of charity, screeching, honking, and carrying on the
way that they do.
“There you
go you noisy little beggars, eat hearty now,” he called down at the sand, as
the wind blew the hood of his jacket back off of his head. What was left of his
hair went flying every which way in a cascade of salt and pepper. He reached up
behind his neck and pulled the hood back over his head, making sure to cinch
the cords tight and push the stay
beads up to hold the hood in place.
“Getting
damn cold out here,” he said out loud to himself as he checked his wristwatch
for the time.
“I’ll
second that,” replied Arthur Donnelly, as he walked up behind the shivering
priest, visibly startling him.
“Oh for goodness sake Arthur, you nearly
frightened me to death,” Father Willet said, his right hand spread wide against
his chest. “How does someone your size manage to sneak up on anyone anyway?”
Father Willet held out his hand for his friend to shake, which he did
vigorously as the two men exchanged a warm greeting.
“You’re
just getting old Billy, hell so am I,”
Arthur said laughing as he did so.
“I suppose
you’re right of course. Hey, at least
nobody has to wipe our chins at supper,” Father Willet teased affectionately.
“Well, that
is a blessing Billy boy! I’m pretty
sure my Alma
“Give her a
little more credit Artie, the poor woman’s a saint and you know it! And for the
record, she’s been cleaning up after you for years, you old geezer,” Father
Billy said cheerfully.
He covered
his mouth with his hand, attempting to hide the evil little grin that his eyes
had already betrayed. The two men walked together past the restaurant and
toward the end of the pier. When they reached the end, they both leaned forward
on the rail and stared out across the bay at Alcatraz .
They were silent for several minutes, just watching the water and enduring the
strong onshore breeze. It was only just two in the afternoon, but sunshine and
heat are scarce in San Francisco
“At least
it not raining,” they said together.
Arthur
punched his friend lightly in the arm, “Owe
me a coke,” he said, just like they did when they were kids. Billy Willet
and Artie Donnelly had grown up in the same Brooklyn
neighborhood some fifty years earlier.
They had
survived the Great Depression together living just one floor from one another
in the same brownstone apartment building, not far from Ebbet’s Field. In a
time when there wasn’t much of anything to go around except hard times, the
boys had managed to keep out of any real trouble. A feat accomplished mostly by
the grace of God, but also due to a truly fanatical love for the game of
baseball. As children Artie and Billy would skip school when the Dodgers were
at home and stand outside the ballpark listening to the game from the sidewalk
below. They would make up stats while they listened to the public address
system announce each batter, and the crowd cheer and jeer, inning after inning.
After awhile they would pester passing field ushers through the wooden fence
for the score and actual details of the game. Sometimes they would have to duck
into an alley, avoiding a beat cop or truant officer who might stroll by on his
rounds. Only to reappear on the sidewalk after they disappeared around the
corner, just in time to hear the crowd roar again. They would eat their sack
lunches of bread and cheese and then stand outside old man Valenti’s fruit
stand looking as pitiful as they could until he tossed them an apple or a pear
to share. It may not have been a day at the Ritz
as outings went, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. It didn’t matter though,
they were happy just to be near all the action. At home they had had to endure
the prejudices of their fathers, who had brought the timeless feud between the
English and the Irish with them to the new country.
Artie
Donnelly’s family had immigrated to the USA
from Ireland village of Shannonbridge ,
County Offaly ,
and set all of their hopes and dreams on a new start in America Great Britain , Manchester
The two
lads together were actually quite a sight. Artie being a whole head and set of
shoulders taller than wee Billy, a
fact that William Willet would have fought over if he heard it said out loud.
Actually in contrast to the obvious physical realities, of the two, it was the fiery, ill-tempered William Willet that was
known as the fearsome part of this odd pairing. Whenever there was a threat of
trouble, it was young Billy who would take charge, telling Arthur to stand tall
and look as menacing as possible, while he himself would act as manic as
possible. This defensive tactic would save them from countless beatings over
the years. They were the oddest of pairings and became the most steadfast of
friends, the original eek and meek.
In nineteen
hundred and thirty-five the boy’s lives went in completely opposite directions.
In a bizarre twist of fate, the mild mannered and gentle Arthur Donnelly
applied to and was accepted to West Point .
While the cantankerous and brash William Willet entered St.
John’s Seminary in Boston
Massachusetts St. John’s Cathedral in Fresno California for the
very first time since moving east from Rochester
New York
“For pity sake Billy, they’re going to have
to change the color of your collar to yellow and give these poor people fair
warning!”
Their
little exchange inspired a fifteen-minute giggle fest that would forever endear
the two of them within the community that in the end, they would each devote
their lives to…
“You need
to start punching me in the other arm you big ape, this one’s plum wore out,”
exclaimed Father Willet.
“And for
your information, you can’t have any coke, diabetes,
remember?”
“Oh yeah, sorry…Say, when is this Grover fella
supposed to be here anyway,” Arthur asked impatiently, folding his big arms in
front of him, as he started to feel the chill.
“He should
be along any minute, he likes to make an entrance, keep your shirt on King Kong.”
“Oh hell Billy, he’s probably sitting at
the bar in the restaurant watching us freeze our tails off while he sips a
Brandy Alexander!”
“Maybe…we’ll
give a few more minutes before we go inside and wait. Actually, I could go for
a toddy right about now myself, my knees are starting to knock!”
“You been
following that series of articles that his newspaper has been running for the
last couple of months,” Arthur asked?
“You know I
have Arthur, don’t be coy, it’s why
we’re here, right,” Father Willet
snapped.
“Sorry, no
offense Artie, I’m just old and cold,” said Father Willet, apologizing for his
snit.
“None
taken, I’ve known you too long to be cut by that sharp tongue of yours,” Arthur
replied, waving his hand as if to erase the remark from an imaginary list.
“To be
honest, I am surprised that Grover has been able to keep this tight a lid on
everything and still get the Katz story out,” he continued.
“Well, so
far so good, but people are starting to get nervous, I don’t like it,” Arthur
said, picking at his fingernails with his pocketknife.
“You know,
I was actually hoping that they could have broken the Katz story without having
to mention her at all,” Father Willet said, more to himself than to his friend.
“Come on Billy, you knew that wouldn’t be
possible under those circumstances. Why, that man was lit up like a tikki torch
and he still has a better complexion than you or I do. Too many people saw that
happen, that’s a fact that is going to be hard to hide for very long. No, the
most we can hope for is that your friend Grover will continue to bury the
details in the back pages. She doesn’t need to be front page news anyway,”
Arthur said as he turned his back to the wind and leaned against the pier
railing.
“We’ll
see,” Father Willet said.
“But,
beyond the legions of curious cats we may have another problem, a potentially
dangerous problem,” Father Billy added, turning to face his old friend.
“What other
problem,” Arthur asked?
“That son
of a bitch, Villa Cruz,” hissed Father Willet.
“Billy,
your vows, remember? You might want to tone it down a little bit, I hear tell
that the Almighty is omni-present,” Arthur teased. Father Willet ignored his
friend’s comic retort.
“That old
bastard is going to try and use the Lopez girl to further his own career, I
just know it! He desperately wants a red Cardinal’s robe. And he could very
well make quite a name for himself with this child, a name that could echo
within the halls of the Vatican
“What are you raving about,” Arthur asked, exasperated?
“Don’t you
see he wants to be center stage in front of the world, and unveil the first
legitimate miracle worker of the modern era? Not since the Christ himself, or
the twelve Apostles have people witnessed occurrences of this magnitude, the raising of the dead for Heaven’s sake!
And now, given the speed of modern communications, her image and her story
could be broadcast around the globe, possibly compelling millions to seek the
faith in the process. You have no idea what catnip that is to a power miser
such as Monsignor Villa Cruz," Father Billy lamented.
“My God, with the right kind of spin, he
might actually parlay this into a campaign to become the next Pontiff,” Father
Willet said in a hushed voice, as if he were afraid of being overheard.
Arthur
stared at his friend as he slowly began to comprehend the possible consequences
of such a future. Not so much for the Church or its hierarchy, he didn’t
pretend to understand the politics of such a succession. But he did understand
the possible reality such a future brought for a scared little girl. Tina Lopez
would be robbed of any chance for a normal life, well, normal within the confines of her infamous abilities. The
kind of normal life that he, Alma, and Billy had tried to provide for nearly
ten years now, ever since that day in his melon fields. Remarkably, her secret
had remained in tack in spite of the increasingly frequent occurrences within
the central valley community.
Up until
now the rumors remained safely within the boundaries of a relatively small
social circle. The good Father championed the cause, keeping the faithful in
line and Tina’s anonymity in place. But the Katz trial had exposed them all to
the penetrating light of the mainstream media, tempting some with instant
celebrity. Folks were folks, and the two friends knew it was only a matter of
time before someone would falter and jump at a chance at fifteen minutes of
fame. Now, they’re only hope was with a man who had made a career of being first to the punch. He was a lifelong
newshound whose photograph might as well be in every dictionary right next to
the word journalist.
“So what do
you think Billy boy, can we count on your friend to support the cause?”
“I don’t
know Arthur, I just don’t know.”
Before
Arthur Donnelly could utter another what if question, the two men caught
site of Grover Gateway walking toward them. He was wearing a long overcoat that
hung below his knees. A full head of wispy brown hair blew backwards in the
strong wind, his hands stuffed deep into his coat pockets. Arthur watched in
amazement as this nearly ninety year-old man made is way toward them briskly,
taking long sure strides. He marveled at the shape the man was in, feeling a
slight pang of envy as he strode up to meet them. Grover Gateway arrived where
they were standing and extended his hand to Father Willet.
“Billy,
good to see you again my friend,” he said, giving Father Willet’s hand a good
tug.
“Good to
see you to Grover, you’re looking well. I see you’re still baffling the medical
community with your incredible health. Is it possible that you are actually
getting younger as you age,” Father Willet replied, blatantly schmoozing!
“This is my
closest friend in the whole wide world, Arthur Donnelly,” he continued,
introducing the big man to Grover Gateway.
“It’s a
pleasure sir. I hope you don’t mind, but I did a bit of research. You’re quite
the land baron around these parts, or so the county records indicate,” Grover
said, complimenting his new acquaintance on his good fortune.
“It’s a
living,” Arthur replied, shaking the man’s hand heartily.
Grover reached into his breast pocket and removed an
ornately decorated silver flask. He skillfully uncorked the container and
offered it to Father Willet.
“Little
edge against the chill Billy,” he asked his collared friend.
“Don’t mind
if I do,” Father Willet replied, taking up the flask and helping himself to a
nice long swig. Wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket he handed the
flask to Arthur.
“Artie?”
Arthur took the flask and raised it in his benefactor’s direction.
“To your
health gentlemen, you’re a fine American Grover Gateway, a real life saver,” he
said, taking a healthy pull as well.
“Ahhhhh, mother’s milk,” Arthur exclaimed as he
handed the flask back to Grover. The elder of the three took a man sized
swallow of his own, then recapped the flask and returned it to his coat pocket.
“All right
now, let’s get down to it,” Grover Gateway said decisively.
“Gentlemen,
I am not one to come to a meeting unprepared. You should know that I am well
aware of the history of the situation that brought us here today.” Grover
turned his gaze toward Father Willet exclusively.
“I am also
keenly aware of your concern about that holier than thou pop n jay, Villa
Cruz in Los Angeles
“He is the
reason that I chose to meet out here in the open, among the screeching birds
and barking seals. Too many eyes and ears inside small rooms and public
buildings if you know what I mean,” Grover said, looking at each of the men for
a moment to make sure they got his meaning.
“Look, Grover, I appreciate the fact that
you’re well known for your preparation and attention to detail, but really, I…”
The old newsman held up his hand cutting Father Willet short.
“Don’t get
preachy with me Billy, you’ll ruin my generous mood,” Grover snapped.
“I am not
without compassion, and I share your dislike for the Monsignor.”
“Meaning,” Father Willet said slowly, a little miffed
at being slighted, his face turning into a giant question mark?
“Meaning, I
want to help. I have no desire to drag a ten year-old child through the gutter
of public scrutiny and curiosity. Besides, I don’t believe in miracles, I’m too
old and too bossy,” he said, winking at the two men.
“The fact
is I have spoken at length with KC, my girl on the scene. It appears that now she
believes in them enough for the both of us! Apparently that child has
bewitched her somehow, I don’t know, you tell me,” the old man said scratching
his forehead, then running his fingers through his thick hair.
“You and
your ‘angel of the valley’ may have
ruined my best reporter, it’s a damn shame,” Grover said acidly. Arthur and
Father Billy stared at the man trying to get a read as to whether or not he was
kidding!
“What the hell, right is right, and I’m
getting too close to finding out for myself who had the better plan, Christ or
Milton!” exclaimed Grover Gateway, waving his hand at the two of them in a
flamboyant gesture of surrender. Arthur glanced over at Billy with a puzzled
look on his face.
“John
Milton,” Father Willet said answering Arthur’s silent question.
“The author
of ‘Paradise Lost,’ a famous novel
about English penal colonies in Australia
“There is a
wonderful line from the book, one that’s quoted often.”
“It goes
something like this, I would rather rule
in hell than serve in Heaven.”
“Mr.
Gateway seems to be unsure of the folly of such a statement. Perhaps he will
seek my counsel one day before he takes that leap into purgatory,” Father
Willet finished, shooting a sideways glance in Grover Gateway’s direction.
“Oh, I
see,” said Arthur meekly.
“So, are
you with us Grover, or are you here to tell us that you have a higher
responsibility to the masses?” the priest asked, raising an eyebrow
suspiciously.
“Do find
yourself compelled to keep the world in the know at any cost, just because they have the right to know?”
Father
Willet found himself in a stare down with the powerful old tycoon, waiting for
the axe to fall. The savvy old newsman pulled the remnants of a cigar from his
pocket, a Corona-Corona, and then
tucked his head in close to his body, shielding the stogy as he lit the far
end. He drew deeply on the cigar as he puffed it back to life, the bright red
ash glowing and then changing to a deep crimson color. He removed the stumpy cigar from his mouth
and let out a long plume of the fragrant smoke. Placing the cigar between his
teeth he bit down hard on the thick, tightly rolled, deep chocolate brown cigar.
“OK, here’s
the plan as I see it,” Grover said breaking the uncomfortable silence. Stepping
in real close to the two men, he placed a hand on each of their shoulders. He
had to reach a bit to get to Arthur’s.
“Stoop on
down here Goliath,” he said to Arthur Donnelly.
“First,
you let me deal with Villa Cruz. I have some contacts that you’re better off
not knowing. And I’m sure that they will able to redirect the Monsignor’s
curious nature.” Grover studied the queer look on Father Willet’s face.
“Don’t
worry Billy it’s nothing sinister, just an exchange of money is all. The Vatican
“Second,
KC will continue her feature on the Katz incident, but we’ll keep the Lopez girl’s
name under wraps as long as we can. We’ll have to print the facts, all of them, and let the piece run its
course. But believe me, in the court of public opinion, without a name or a
face to reference people will lose interest quickly. We’ll concentrate more on
the gory details of that rat bastard’s exploits he should fry for his crimes
anyway as far as I’m concerned!”
“Third,
I want to provide some security for the Lopez family, to keep the competition
from stumbling onto KC’s trail of informants and witnesses, agreed?” Grover asked, making eye
contact with both men. They nodded a silent affirmative. Arthur waved his hand
in front of his face trying to minimize the effect of the smoldering cigar.
“Oh, sorry,” Grover said, taking the
cigar from his mouth and smashing it out on his overcoat. Placing it back in
his pocket he said smiling, “I’ll save that for later.”
“Thanks, I
was getting a little light headed,” said Arthur, using his pinky finger to
remove a little crust from the corner of his eye.
“OK, fourth,
and last. Billy, you and your friend here are going to need to make sure that
there won’t be any more leaks from your community!”
“There
can’t be another nurse who saw this or a cop who saw that
coming forward, eager to tell what they know. Whatever you have to do to assure
that doesn't happen again, I suggest you do it. Maybe that fella down your way,
Sheriff Cardwell, can help you two keep the lid on this for a little while
longer. Trust me, if any of this gets to the TV guys,
then it’s over, all bets are off! I’ll release this story so fast it’ll make
your heads spin! I can’t risk my paper’s credibility and allow the television
affiliates to paint a picture of deceit and collusion on the face of the by God San Francisco Daily News! That
cannot happen gentlemen, are we clear?” They exchanged glances and harrumphed an agreement in old man
speak. Grover Gateway stamped his feet on the wooden deck and shoved his hands
into his coat pockets shivering slightly.
“Man
its cold out here! Who’s idea was this
anyway,” he asked jokingly.
“Come on,
I’ll buy the first round boys,” he offered. That being said, the three wise men started toward the
restaurant and the comfort of a leather booth and a few whiskeys between them.
No comments:
Post a Comment