| MIDNIGHT MASS |
| 1 | MIDNIGHT MASS F. Paul Wilson It had been almost a full minute since he'd slammed the brass knocker against the heavy oak door. That should have been proof enough. After all, wasn't the knocker in the shape of a cross? But no, they had to squint through their peephole and peer through the sidelights that framed the door. Rabbi Zev Wolpin sighed and resigned himself to the scrutiny. He couldn't blame people for being cautious, but this seemed a bit overly so. |
| 2 | The sun was in the west and shining full on his back; he was all but silhouetted in it. What more did they want? I should maybe take off my clothes and dance naked? He gave a mental shrug and savored the damp sea air. At least it was cool here. He'd bicycled from Lakewood, which was only ten miles inland from this same ocean but at least twenty degrees warmer. The bulk of the huge Tudor retreat house stood between him and the Atlantic, but the ocean's briny scent and rhythmic rumble were everywhere. |
| 3 | Spring Lake. An Irish Catholic seaside resort since before the turn of the century. He looked around at its carefully restored Victorian houses, the huge mansions arrayed here along the beach front, the smaller homes set in neat rows running straight back from the ocean. Many of them were still occupied. Not like Lakewood. Lakewood was an empty shell. Not such a bad place for a retreat, he thought. |
| 4 | He wondered how many houses like this the Catholic Church owned. A series of clicks and clacks drew his attention back to the door as numerous bolts were pulled in rapid succession. The door swung inward revealing a nervous-looking young man in a long black cassock. As he looked at Zev his mouth twisted and he rubbed the back of his wrist across it to hide a smile. "And what should be so funny?" Zev asked. |
| 5 | "I'm sorry. It's just-" "I know," Zev said, waving off any explanation as he glanced down at the wooden cross slung on a cord around his neck. "I know." A bearded Jew in a baggy black serge suit wearing a yarmulke and a cross. Hilarious, no? So, nu? This was what the times demanded, this was what it had come to if he wanted to survive. And Zev did want to survive. Someone had to live to carry on the traditions of the Talmud and the Torah, even if there were hardly any Jews left alive in the world. |
| 6 | Zev stood on the sunny porch, waiting. The priest watched him in silence. Finally Zev said, "Well, may a wandering Jew come in?" "I won't stop you," the priest said, "but surely you don't expect me to invite you." Ah, yes. Another precaution. The vampire couldn't cross the threshold of a home unless he was invited in, so don't invite. A good habit to cultivate, he supposed. He stepped inside and the priest immediately closed the door behind him, relatching all the locks one by one. |
| 7 | When he turned around Zev held out his hand. "Rabbi Zev Wolpin, Father. I thank you for allowing me in." "Brother Christopher, sir," he said, smiling and shaking Zev's hand. His suspicions seemed to have been completely allayed. "I'm not a priest yet. We can't offer you much here, but-2' "Oh, I won't be staying long. I just came to talk to Father Joseph Cahill." Brother Christopher frowned. "Father Cahill isn't here at the moment." "When will he be back?" "I-I'm not sure. |
| 8 | You see-" "Father Cahill is on another bender," said a stentorian voice behind Zev. He turned to see an elderly priest facing him from the far end of the foyer. White- haired, heavy set, wearing a black cassock. "I'm Rabbi Wolpin." "Father Adams," the priest said, stepping forward and extending his hand. As they shook Zev said, "Did you say he was on 'another' bender? I never knew Father Cahill to be much of a drinker." "Apparently there was a lot we never knew about Father Cahill," the priest said stiffly. |
| 9 | "If you're referring to that nastiness last year," Zev said, feeling the old anger rise in him, "I for one never believed it for a minute. I'm surprised anyone gave it the slightest credence." "The veracity of the accusation was irrelevant in the final analysis. The damage to Father Cahill's reputation was a fait accompli. Father Palmeri was forced to request his removal for the good of St. Anthony's parish." Zev was sure that sort of attitude had something to do with Father Joe being on "another bender." "Where can I find Father Cahill?" "He's in town somewhere, I suppose, making a spectacle of himself. |
| 10 | If there's any way you can talk some sense into him, please do. Not only is he killing himself with drink but he's become quite an embarrassment to the priesthood and to the Church." Which bothers you more? Zev wanted to ask but held his tongue. "f 11 try." He waited for Brother Christopher to undo all the locks, then stepped toward the sunlight. "Try Morton's down on Seventy-one," the younger man whispered as Zev passed. |
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