Message-ID: <182312Z02051994@anon.penet.fi>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an94960@anon.penet.fi
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Organization: Anonymous contact service
Reply-To: an94960@anon.penet.fi
Date: Mon,  2 May 1994 18:16:40 UTC
Subject: Jason (ped mm)
Lines: 624


   The room was cold. The loud hum of the air conditioning unit could be
heard.
Ronnoco probed the wall next to the door searching for the light switch.
Having found it,
he turned on the lights and glanced quickly around the spartan room,
furnished with a chest
drawer, an old wooden table with a lamp, one or two icons and a crucifix
looking down on
Father O'Malley resting peacefully, holding a youthful cherub in his arms. 
       The boy laid face down and naked across the priest's chest, but turned
on his back
when the lights came on. Neither Father O'Malley or the cherub woke up. Quite
the
opposite, they continued in blissful repose until Ronnoco was forced to pound
the door
twice.
       Father O'Malley, a plump, and short sort of fellow leaped from the
bed, and stood
naked facing the Bishop desperately groping for a blanket to cover himself.
The boy never
stirred and continue to sleep undisturbed. 
       "Please, I beg you--don't--don't kill me! It--it was his idea!" cried
the bold, reverend
father, while pointing at the boy. Then, the gallant priest dropped on his
knees and prayed. 
       "Get dressed." commanded the Bishop.
       "Please, I beg you--don't--"
       "Get dressed! Nick!"
       "Yes, your excellency?" Nick popped his head in the room. He could not
help but
grin. 
       There was Father O'Malley, on his knees in the middle of the room,
naked, his arms
extended upwards in supplication. On the bed, naked and now, just in the arms
of
Morpheus, the young cherub. Ah, the irreverence of youth!
       "You will do the kindness of escorting Father O'Malley to the airport,
putting him
on the plane, and wishing him a safe trip, won't you?" 
       "By all means, your excellency." replied Nicodemus.
       "Y--your excellency?" exclaimed O'Malley as he scrambled to put on his
pants. "No
one said anything. I didn't know you were--oh, dear!" He looked from Ronnoco
to Nick and
from Nick to the cherub.
       "You needn't pack or take anything with you. You are going to Rome and
will be
provided for." said Ronnoco.
       "Rome? But I can't--I mean--on whose orders? What about--" The priest
had
managed to put on his pants when Ronnoco walked right up to him. O'Malley was
trembling
and it was not from the air-conditioning. "Where is the file pertaining to
the Miltedew's?" 
       "The what?" The priest was trying to make sense of it all, at the same
time he tried
to put on a shirt. He was not succeeding.          "The children visited by
the blessed mother.
You were supposed to write a summary of your findings, yes?" said Ronnoco
helping father
O'Malley with his shirt.
       "Oh, that--yes, well--I haven't--I mean, I was about t--t--t--t--to--"
the priest was
suddenly afflicted by a severe case of stuttering made even worse by the
direct and stern
look from the Bishop. "I--I--the--the--think it--it--it's a lie!"
       Ronnoco moved away from O'Malley. "From now on, Father O'Malley, you
will
please keep any such opinions to yourself, do you understand?"
       Father O'Malley hesitated. He kept darting looks to all in the room.
He would start
with those that were standing, and would end, with consternation on those
that were in bed. 
       "In the meantime, I want you out of here--now. Pick up your shoes. You
can put them
on in the car."
       "But--I--leave--but it is impossible, I mean--"
       "Give me your hand." demanded the Bishop.
       Ronnoco pressed his ring forcefully against the back of O'Malley's
hand until the
priest winced and pulled away. O'Malley showed as much confusion as awe as he
looked
down at the seal branded in his flesh.
       "Goodbye." 
       With shoes in hand, O'Malley walked out of the room, and skipped down
the stairs.
He passed Sister Amelia (who had brought the luggage inside and was waiting
in the hall)
and got into the waiting car. 
       Nick ran after the priest. 
       Finally, Ronnoco watched from the window as the they drove off,
crunching hundreds
of locust who had covered the road like a black winged blanket. 
       As soon as the car was out of sight, Ronnoco turned his attention to
the boy still
laying on the bed. He walked to the side of the bed, and gently shook him up.
       "I'm up." said the youth in a heavy Louisiana drawl. He was a handsome
boy, about
five feet two, and maybe, just maybe~a hundred pound. He had brown eyes and
hair. His
face was free of adolescent imperfections and not a whisker anywhere. The boy
sat up in
bed and look up Ronnoco. 
       "I heard everythin'." He laughed and added, quite delighted with
himself, "O'Malley's
such a pussy. Are you a cop?"
       "Never mind who I am. Who are you?"
       "Altar boy," was the quick reply. It came accompanied with the lifting
of brows and
a smile, an engaging blend of innocence and confidence.
       "I take it you live somewhere?" said Ronnoco taking a pair of jeans
from the floor
and tossing them to the boy. 
       The boy held the jeans in hand, without attempting to get out of bed,
let alone get
dress. "Yea--"
       "Go home." said Ronnoco firmly.
       The boy was puzzled but unafraid. After a staring at Ronnoco for a
moment, he
stood up in bed completely naked and unabashed, like a statue overlooking a
fountain, its
pre-pubescent penis, ready to relieve itself, whether you tossed three coins
in the fountain
or not. 
       The statue began put on his pants, never taking his eyes off the
Bishop. 
       Since Ronnoco had very little patience for theatrics, he walked out of
the room and
met Sister Amelia, sitting serenely in the hall, reading.
       "Make yourself comfortable, my sweet." he told the nun, "this is going
to be home for
a while."
       As Sister Amelia rose to put away the book, the boy came walking down
the stairs.
He was barefoot but fully dressed, had even managed to comb his hair. He
walked past
Ronnoco and Sister Amelia without looking at either one. He opened the door,
and stepped
out of the rectory. Ronnoco followed by shutting the door behind the boy. 
       "Who was that?" asked Sister Amelia.
       "Altar boy." answered the Bishop making his way into the study.
       "And the priest?" 
       "About to--taxi, I think." returned Ronnoco with a grin. "Hungry?"
       "No," answered Sister Amelia. 
       She picked up the luggage sitting in the hall as Ronnoco directed
himself to the
study. She was on her way up the stairs--"Which room is mine?" she called
out. "Felix!"
       There was a moment of silence, then Ronnoco appeared. "What is it?" 
       "Which room are you going to take?" which was not her first question,
but then again,
women have a way of broaching a subject in many different ways. 
       "I don't care, you choose the one you like best," said the bishop, and
returned to the
study. 
       Sister Amelia proceeded up the stairs.
       Ronnoco was now going through papers the priest had left behind. He
stopped and
turned on the air-conditioning for it was getting very hot in the room. Then,
he emptied all
the drawers one by one. Ronnoco found several dossiers and notebooks, dealing
mostly with
the everyday affairs of the parish church. Each article was tagged for proper
identification.
One in particular called his attention. It was simply labeled Miltedew.
Ronnoco opened the
dossier and found an envelope addressed to the Archbishop. He opened the
envelope and
read the letter. 
       It detailed the findings of a brief inquiry O'Malley had made on
behalf of the
Archdiocese regarding the visitation. He had determined, of course, that the
children had
imagined the entire episode and that the church should stay as far away from
the circus-like
atmosphere that followed, otherwise, he concluded, it risked ridicule and
contempt. 
       Ronnoco folded the letter neatly, placed it once again in its
envelope, placed the
envelope back in its folder, lit the fireplace and delivered folder and
letter to the flames.
       
       As he sat looking at the fireplace, Sister Amelia walked in carrying a
silver tray with
coffee. "There is no food here. This is all I found." she said putting down
the tray.
       "O'Malley had--has a car--take it--there must be a market somewhere."
       "I'll see--" was her reply as she left the room. 
       The bishop was enthralled by flickering flames, their orange glow
reflecting against
the wood panelling. The flames leaped back and forth from one side of the
fireplace to the
other like whips cracking and splitting against the red brick. 
       The grandfather clock advised everyone the seventh hour of that
morning had
arrived. Ronnoco looked up at the clock. He had been meeting with the Pontiff
not even
nine hours back; seven hours before that he had crossed the Turkish-Iraqi
border; and two
hours before he had seen a man die. Pity the man who gives his life for
someone else's
crusade, pity the man who dies without friends, family and in anonymity. 
       "Felix--Felix. Felix--he's still out there. He won't go away," he
heard Sister Amelia
call out from the other room, followed by her entrance. "He won't go away!"
tried to explain
the nun.
       Ronnoco turned to Sister Amelia and with very little patience and a
sullen expression
inquired who would not go away. 
       "The altar boy!" she said.
       "Altar boy?" 
       Sister Amelia took Ronnoco by the hand, practically lifting him off
the chair and led
him to the door. She opened the door and pointed to the altar boy, sitting on
the steps of
the rectory--his face a little worse off thanks to the mosquitoes who do not
even pity altar
boys.
       "I told you to go home!" 
       The boy did not turn to look at Ronnoco, but remained stationary. "I
am talking to
you!" He might as well have been talking to one of the guest in the
churchyard. Ronnoco
closed the door, leaving Sister Amelia inside, and stepped in front of the
boy. "What's the
matter with you?" 
       "I can't go home." said the boy quietly, without raising his eyes.
       "Why not?" demanded his excellency who was about to lose his
composure. 
       "'cause."
       "'cause--why?" insisted Ronnoco.
       "'cause." 
       Ronnoco had unquestionably come across thousands of people, people
from all walks
of life, from every corner of the world. And yet, not until that moment,
early in his forty
seventh year, did he come across adolescent logic. 
       "Why are you sitting there?" inquired the Bishop. "You can't stay."
       Of course, there was no reply, just a slight movement of the shoulders
on the part
of the boy indicating an ever so slight devil-may-care shrug.
       "Look at me!" commanded the Bishop.
       The boy did. He was not crying, but his eyes were red, shiny and
moist.
       "What is wrong?" asked Ronnoco in a softer tone. A squadron of Tiger
Shark
mosquitoes were seen gathering in the horizon. Ronnoco was not about to fall
prey to their
insatiable appetite. "Come." said the Bishop, leading the way. "Come, come!" 
       The boy got up and followed the Bishop in the house. "Take him in the
kitchen,"
Ronnoco said to Sister Amelia as he went back in the study. 
       As soon as the boy was inside, Sister Amelia closed the door, took him
by the hand
and directed him to a chair in the kitchen. "Sit." 
       The boy sat down. "You talk funny," he said.
       "Funny?" It was the first time in her life anyone had suggested to
Sister Amelia that
her language skills had a comic disposition. Born and raised in Thailand, and
now living in
Rome, Sister Amelia had always thought she sounded like everyone else. 
       "Not like us folks. You ain't American. Where you from--you and
mister--?" 
       "He is not a mister." And she put an end to the conversation. 
       She knew the boy was looking at her, but every time she turned, she
would find him
looking at Saint Francis.
       "Stupid." she said.
       "You mean Francis?" returned the boy.
       "It is wrong, this is not the place." said Sister Amelia pointing at
the Saint.
       "O'Malley thought it was funny." 
       "O'Malley had a strange sense of humor." said Ronnoco coming in the
room and
going to the boy. "Is your name Bennett?"
       The boy nodded. "They call me Jason."
       "How old are you?" asked the Bishop.
       There was a slight pause, "Thirteen."
       Ronnoco sat opposite the boy. "Why don't you want to go home?"
       "'cause."
       Ronnoco looked up at Saint Francis for guidance. 
       "Where's O'Malley?" asked the boy.
       "Gone."
       "Is he coming back?"
       "No."
       The information had no effect on Jason.            
       "I ask you again, why do you refuse to go home?"
       "First--" said the boy and Ronnoco look relieved that he was finally
going to get an
intelligible reply, "--my pa gone an' kicked me out." 
       "Why?" asked the Bishop.
       "'cause--" here was the famous monosyllable revealing its ordinary and
incomprehensible head once more. But this time, the altar boy continued, "I'm
queer."
       If Jason's intentions were to get a reaction from his excellency, he
failed. Ronnoco
looked at the boy as before. 
       Sister Amelia on the other hand, who had been standing under St.
Francis following
the dialogue, turned and looked at Ronnoco. The Bishop returned her look and
simply said
"Homosexual." To which Sister Amelia, responded by raising her left brow. She
had never
met a thirteen year old homosexual altar boy.
       "What else?" asked Ronnoco in his most casual tone.
       "I'm the altar boy." said Jason.
       Ronnoco got up and went to the refrigerator. "It does not make a
difference." he said.
       "It does if you're holding mass." 
       Ronnoco had just opened the refrigerator and stared at a spent dish of
pickles.
       "True," said Ronnoco and closed the refrigerator.
       A blue Nova, at least ten years old, drove up by the side of the
rectory. A young man
about twenty five years old, and dressed in an easy going style wearing
sneakers and jeans
rang the bell.
       "That must be Numa," said Ronnoco still contemplating the pickles.
"Bennett, show
him in--introduce yourself, he's the new priest." 
       Jason was more than happy to. In fact, he would do anything to
ingratiate himself. 
       Jason leaped out of the chair, vaulted out of the room, and bounced
into the hall. He
opened the door and was slightly less sprightly when he saw the new priest
was black. But,
the altar boy was anything but shy or subtle. He put out his hand, introduced
himself, led
the young priest into the kitchen, and announced to all that the new arrival
was a "negro." 
       Ronnoco could not help smile as he greeted the priest. "Numa! How are
you," said
the bishop shaking hands. "This is Sister Amelia, and you've already met
the--altar boy." 
       "Your excellency--Sister." 
       "Would you like coffee? It is the only thing I can offer you. There's
nothing else here-
-" apologized the nun.
       "We arrived--a few hours ago--still settling in." added Ronnoco.
       "No coffee, thank you. I'm fine. I would like, however, if it's
alright, to get started.
In these here parts, mass starts at eight thirty." said Father Numa sounding
preciously closed
like Jason. So much so, the boy was forced to inquire, "How come you don't
talk funny like
them?" and here he pointed at Ronnoco and Sister Amelia. 
       "Father Numa is a native, Bennett, from New Orleans." joined the
Bishop. "You must
forgive the boy, Father, it seems the last priest was far more liberal in his
approach to--
discipline." The bishop took a set of keys from his pocket, handed them to
Father Numa and
directed the priest to the door. "Bennett--kindly show Father Numa where to
go, will you?"
said Ronnoco putting his arm around the boy. "Father, I'll come see you in a
minute." 
       "Yes, your excellency." returned the priest and he followed Jason who
was already
caught in a minefield of resting bones. 
       "My great-great grand-daddy's right over there, see?" the boy pointed
to a forlorn
looking mound with a grey stone. 
       They had already reached the back door of the church. "Bennett, is
it?" asked the
priest. 
       "Yes, father." answered the boy with a smile.
       "Shut up. Go get your shoes, boy--then come back, and let the people
in." Father
Numa retreated into the vestry and closed the door. 
       Jason had been around enough priests not to let a simple--if
undeserved scolding get
the better of him. He shrugged, turned and went back to the rectory. The door
was locked
so he rang the bell. He was about to do it again, when Sister Amelia let him
in. 
       "Shoes--" he said making his way passed the nun, and walking up the
stairs. Sister
Amelia followed the boy with a puzzled look. It was a good two minutes before
Jason came
down wearing a pair of sneakers, without socks, of course. Sister Amelia
opened the door
for the boy. "Thanks," he said to Sister Amelia and walked out.
       Sister Amelia stood in the hall for a good while then went to Ronnoco
in the study.
       "What's the matter?" he asked, "Is something wrong?"      "Yes, no
food."
       "I'm going to have a chat with Father Numa," said Ronnoco, "think
about going to
the market. I know everything is very different here, but you speak good
English--don't be
afraid." 
       "The boy said I talk funny."
       "You do."
       "I do?" Sister Amelia was alarmed.
       "And it's very charming." reassured the bishop. "Wait for Nick, he
should be getting
back any moment." 
       "Why don't you come with me?" she asked as Ronnoco opened the door.
       "Because I have a lot to do."

       Ronnoco entered the church through the back door. As soon as he was
inside the
building, he came upon the door leading to the pulpit. He opened it a crack
and saw people
already assembling in the hall. Jason was going around opening the windows
and helping
one or two of the elderly parishioners. Ronnoco closed the door, knocked on a
door
immediately to his left and entered the vestry without waiting for a reply. 
       It was a small room with a high ceiling and a closet; two chairs and a
Jesus perched
high on the wall. It lacked air conditioning or windows, so it was prudent,
to avoid
suffocation, not to dwell in the cheery room for more than ten minutes at a
time. 
       The bishop found Father Numa already bedecked in the chasuble and was
about to
go outside. "Any questions?" said Ronnoco upon entering the room.
       "No," replied Father Numa as he pointed in the direction of the
congregation. "By
now most of the people out there know something's going on--something
different, because
whatever O'Malley used to do, I ain't doing it. I'm the stand-in. And that
boy--he's probably
told them I'm not a lily white mick. So, the way I figure, there will be some
that will walk
out. Those that don't will be so annoyed that I could talk for an hour about
the joy of
Italian cooking and they won't care. Now--and only because I know someone is
going to
bring it up--what happened to O'Malley?"
       "He's on sabbatical, and until you are advised otherwise, you are now
parish priest."
said Ronnoco.
       "You ever been in this part of the world, before? Folks in these
parts, they have
small, very small minds. And in those tiny little minds exists little else
'cept a tradition of
bigotry and distrust for the black man. You're not dealing with sophisticated
urbanites--most
folks around here are rednecks who make a living hunting crayfish in the
bayou. Do you
understand what I'm saying?" 
       "Perfectly." said Ronnoco. 
       "By next week there won't be any whites left in the congregation--only
a few blacks."
said Numa.
       "I have confidence in you." 
       There was a knock at the door. 
       "What?" said the bishop.
       Jason entered, open the door to the closet and took out the garbs of
his profession.
He threw them over his head, arranged his hair and said. "Mrs. Lindgren's out
there--"
       "Who?" asked Father Numa.
       "A very rich ol' lady. She and O'Malley were buddies. I told her he
wasn't here
anymore." 
       Father Numa looked at Ronnoco and started out of the room and made his
way to
the pulpit. Jason trailed the priest looking humble and penitent. 
       Ronnoco looked up at the Jesus perched up on the wall, and went back
to the
rectory. 
       Nick had just returned from the airport and was chatting with Sister
Amelia in the
kitchen. He had offered to take her to the market and Ronnoco thought it was
splendid for
Nick to do so. 
       A minute later Sister Amelia and Nick were off to Grand Union and
Ronnoco
returned to the church.
       It had not been by accident that the bishop had chosen a black priest
to replace
O'Malley, and Father Numa suspected as much. 
       Ronnoco looked in on the service and just as Father Numa had
predicted, half the
flock had flown away. The other half seemed confused, and even indignant. But
Father
Numa carried on with grace and resolve. Even Bennett looked dignified holding
the silver
plate and chalice from where nobody would partake of the Eucharist.
       Father Numa had introduced himself and explained to the congregation
about
O'Malley's re-appointment. He would strive to win their trust and would be
delighted to
answer any questions after mass. 
       He needn't have bothered. Those that stayed for the duration of the
service, got up
and left immediately after. Those who lingered behind did so because their
age and
constitution did not allow them to move any faster. They had been perfectly
civilized and
proper. They had remained and listened to the new priest. But now service was
over and
they could not wait to get home. Get home and tell everyone that a nigger had
been
appointed parish priest. Such were the times, dangerous and uncertain. To
think that
bedrock of tradition, the Catholic church, is forced to surrender to anarchy
and disgrace and
pick a black priest for a white parish!
       By the time Father Numa stepped off the pulpit, the faithful had
vanished. He took
off the vestments and found Ronnoco sitting down waiting for him in the
vestry. 
       Father Numa hung up the robes, and without saying another word, left
the room,
crossed the churchyard, got in his car and drove away. 
       "Lock the building and come see me in the study, yes?" Ronnoco called
out to the
altar boy who was savoring the tiny wafers on the silver plate. 
       "Yes, sir!" shouted the boy.
       Ronnoco headed back to the rectory. Things were working out as
planned, well,
almost, with the possible and bizarre exception of the altar boy. 
       Ronnoco went in the study and put out the fire, and turned on the
air-conditioning.
No sooner was that done that Jason was knocking on the door.
       "Come in and sit down," said the bishop.
       Ronnoco walked sat at the edge of the and looked at carefully at the
boy. "What is
going on? Explain why you cannot go home."
       "'cause."
       "Please, speak so I can understand."
       "But I already told you--my pa kicked me out."
       "What about your mother?"
       "Does what pa says--"
       "And school? You go to school, yes?" inquired the bishop.
       "No," replied the boy. He had not been in school for months. Kids
teased him and
even beat him up once. O'Malley had promised to enroll Bennett in St.
Joseph's, a
intermediate school ran by the parish.
       Ronnoco looked carefully at the boy, trying to discern the truth. The
boy did not shy
away from the bishop's fixed look, but shot back a stare riveted not on
defiance, but on
anxiety and fear. Ronnoco felt for the altar boy, but Bennett's presence at
the rectory was
out of the question. Furthermore, the boy could be lying. It would not be the
first time his
excellency came across an altar boy with sociopathic tendencies.
       The bishop did not like the situation at all. He had not traveled six
thousand miles
to become involved with people he did not know, nor wanted to. Nevertheless,
if the
account of parental neglect was true, the least he could do was notify the
authorities and
make sure the boy was cared for.
       "Do you know the Miltedew's?" 
       Bennett had expected something else. He thought the bishop would ask
him to leave,
he did not expect his excellency to inquire about Ray, Harriet, Teddy and
Alice, or as
O'Malley use to call them, "The Beavers of The Bayou." 
       "I've seen 'em once or twice," said the boy. 
       Father O'Malley had paid them a visit after word got around that the
blessed mother
had appeared to the children, and they had visited the priest twice after
that. As a matter
of fact, Harriet and the little ones used to go to mass twice a week, but
they stopped after
the visitation because people would not leave them alone. 
       "What are they like?" 
       "Oh, real nice. After all, would the Holy Virgin Mother have come down
from heaven
and talk to them if they weren't? She wouldn't talk to me, that's for sure,"
concluded the
altar boy. 
       "Why not?" 
       "'cause--the bible says queers are a 'bomination." 
       Ronnoco heard a car coming to a stop by the rectory. He looked out the
window to
see Nick and Sister Amelia back from the market. "The bible says many things,
Bennett. I
would not be too concerned." 
       "Oh--" Bennett raised his brows, opened his eyes wide, and exposed a
kind innocence
that can only be found in a young heart, "--but I'm not!" And how true it
was. 
       Bennett got up and joined Ronnoco by the window. "Why do they call you
~excellency~? Are you very important? And why did you get rid of Father
O'Malley?"
       Ronnoco waved at Sister Amelia who was taking bags of provisions from
the car.
"O'Malley was relieved of his duties for practical reasons; I am not an
important man at all;
and people call me ~excellency~ because they don't know any better." 
       No sooner had Ronnoco finished his explanation, that Nick walked in
the room. The
bishop went to the door to meet his friend. "Don't get comfortable, we are
going for a ride."
       Bennett remained by the window thinking of what else he would have to
do in order
not to be asked to leave. 
       "Come, Bennett, show the way." Ronnoco beckoned to the boy.
       "Where?" The boy walked slowly towards the door.
       "We are going to take you home."
       The boy's heart sank. Again, he felt alone, abandoned. "Please--" he
begged the
bishop.
       "You cannot stay here. I'm sorry." Ronnoco was firm. "I'll talk to
your parents and
try to work things out. Yes?"
       "He'll beat me!" cried the boy.
       "Well, we'll just have to tell him not to, that's all."         
Ronnoco took the boy
by the hand and lead him out of the house. "I'm going to take Bennett home,"
he said
passing Sister Amelia in the hall. 
       Sister Amelia nodded and went in the kitchen.
       Nick was already in the car. Ronnoco and the altar boy settled in the
back seat. A
moment later, they were making their way up a narrow country road, heading
even further
into the bayou.
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