Institut d' Infantiles

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WEB EXCERPT For five days and nights Monsignor Meric fretted by his telephone. Each minute of each day he expected it to ring, and then, he did not know what he expected. He just wanted this business over with. On the seventh day when God rested from his labors, Meric received the phone call he had anxiously awaited. Although no introductions were made, he recognized Bishop Vasai's voice. "When you retire this evening, leave the door to the rectory unlocked. You will be in your room before midnight. Every priest shall be confined to their rooms before eleven. Lock your doors and stay inside. Regardless of what you hear, no one is to leave their rooms. Is that understood? No one!" "It will be taken care of," Meric said, but the phone line was already dead. Sweat poured down his face and under his arms. He thought of asking Curvise for some form of tranquilizer, but he could not afford to appear weak under the circumstances. It would be a sleepless night, but sleeping was something he could always do tomorrow night. Afterwards. He would be glad when this ordeal was finished. Monsignor Jean-Paul Meric struggled to find the right words to tell his subordinates what he had been told. He did not want them alarmed. After spending most of the evening on the problem, he decided to be blunt. At ten, the usual hour the rectory retired, Meric told his priests: "Tonight, under no circumstances are you to leave your rooms. Lock your doors." He tried not to sound sinister. Under the circumstances he failed miserably. Surprisingly, no one questioned his edict. Each of the priests had suspected that sooner or later David would leave the rectory in the darkness of night. Meric checked the front door twice before climbing the stairs to his room. With his hand on the door knob, he stopped and looked down the hall towards David's room. A single hall light cast grim shadows over the walls. The priests never locked their doors at night, and yet . . . Meric wondered if David's door were unlocked. Fearful that something might go wrong if he did not take it upon himself to verify the priest's accessibility, he hurried down the hall to David's room. Slowly, he tried the knob. It was unlocked. Relieved he let go and retreated to his room, feeling like a coward and a traitor. There he found he was unable to sit still. David had been a fine young priest. A friend. And he had turned away from him in his last hour. Was that not Apostle Peter's reaction when asked if he knew Jesus? Had the church not learned to better itself through history? Meric hesitated only a moment. It was not yet twelve. He would not stay long. Just a brief moment to let David know he was not alone and then back to his room and the safety of a locked door. He walked back to David's room and knocked once. "Come in," David called, his voice rusty from non-use. "How are you tonight, David?" Father Proust turned to face the monsignor. "Is tonight my last?" he asked. "Yes," Meric told him honestly. "I'm sorry to see you go." He walked over to stand by the window, to stand close to a man he had learned to care about over the last ten years. "Where am I to go?" "I don't know," Meric said sadly. It seemed to be a time for honesty. "But wherever it is, it will be with friends." "That is not my concern, Your Grace. The church has been my life since the day I was born. I have no fear of my safety within her folds. After all, we are all brothers." "It's not too late, David," Meric offered. "You can still walk away from here." David moved to sit on the edge of his bed. "Christ could have easily walked away from his crucifixion, but he didn't. He suffered and died for us. My fate is not so drastic. Whatever is in store for me I will gladly accept it as the will of God." A cloud erased the faint light of the moon casting the room into total darkness. The hall light went out and footsteps could be heard on the wooden floor. David looked towards the door expectantly.

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