Max told me three extraordinary things on Monday. The information he found online on Thursday, at the library, on the Eucharistic Jesus and the Real Presence astounded him. He said that if Catholics really believed in the Real Presence that St. Benedict's would be packed to the gills every Sunday, which the parish was not. Secondly, he told me that his prayer life was changing. Jesus had become "interiorized" and not exterior. Max mused that the reception of Holy Communion must be an experience like his of Jesus inside of him.
I agreed with everything he said. He wrote this to me in an email, which is my main source of information from Max.
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James, being Irish. told Max that death comes in threes. Max knew this was false, being in the Middle East for years and watching men die in random numbers. However, he did not argue with James. James seem to be waiting for two more people he knew to die, but in the meantime, he was offered a job. Bill had lost Mike in the auto repair shop, the only auto shop in town, and one with an superb reputation. Bill and his five brothers worked in the shop full-time. I had met these men when I visited the town years ago, when I met Max, James, and Mike. Travelling through the South, I had a bad experience, as my car had a strange flat. Bill told me I had bought a faulty tire somewhere. It had blown in several places all at once on the highway and I was very lucky not to have had an accident.
Thankfully, I was in a place where I could pull over to the side and phone a tow truck. Bill's Auto Repair was the number I found on my smart phone.
The problem of hiring a new person took a while to resolve as Bill's sons had to be consulted. The two boys did not want to "take over" the business, but go into IT and medicine in the autumn. Ken was a year older than Rob, but had worked in the shop a year after high school. Now, he and his brother would go to the local, excellent university and pursue new lives.
Bill's older brother, Tom, became ill the same week that Mike died. He had gone to Memphis for tests. So, technically, the shop needed two new men. Bill knew that James had talent as a mechanic. He had to consult with the others, but James was offered a job on Monday. He took it. He could wear his baseball cap all day in the shop if he wanted to do so.
The homeless shelter has a policy that is a person gets a job, that man can stay one month until he gets paid and until he gets his own place. The housing run by the city has a waiting list of six months. The houses were all built in the eighties and are of a high standard for public housing. These consist of two neighborhoods of duplexes, each with a small porch and a little picket fence. Each house has one or two bedrooms. Maggie lived in a one bedroom. James had been right about one thing. Another death followed that of Mike's, as within ten days, old Maggie was found dead in her little kitchen. Sadly, Punch had died as well, as Maggie must have been dead for a few days when found. Max wondered, but did not say this to James, "Was Punch the third death?"
The newspaper noted that Maggie was 93 and had been born in Lithuania. Whether she was in heaven or not was a subject not discussed by James or Max.
But, another extraordinary thing happened to Max. The death of Punch triggered a bunch of memories. Max remembered Andromeda, his dog in Iraq. He remembered all the months leading up to and from Sam and Joe's tragic deaths. He remembered his entire history except for the one month before he was in the hospital in New York.
Max decided to write all this down. I have not seen these stories, but he told me the writing was therapeutic and he hoped to share these with other men who had been abroad, especially the veterans. Max went to the pie shop by himself yesterday, as James was working at Bill's shop. All three "girls" were working as many tourists came to the shop for the weekend country dancing festival, and some stayed through the Monday.
Karen, Sue, and the waitress that was keen on Max, fluttered about the shop. Max had slept through the shelter breakfast, as he had been writing late at night with a small flashlight, so he ordered the full breakfast. The waitress keen on him had her long blond hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Max noticed she had her nails done in green polish.
"Are you Irish, Kate," he asked? The tall waitress stared at him. "Oh, you noticed the green nail polish. Yep, I always put on green polish for St. Pat's Day. I guess I need to change the color today."
She was pleased that Max noticed, but Max noticed everything. She poured him some coffee and moved on to another customer. Max wondered if Kate was Catholic. Max realized that he had known two Catholics in Iraq. One was the staff sergeant, Kyle Cummings, who did go to Mass when it was offered. The other was the Catholic priest chaplain, Father Miller. Other than that, Max was not sure he had actually met other Catholics, but then, he never attended Mass, which he was told at the time, filled up the air tent where it was held.
Max thought about his dog, Andromeda. She had been trained to guard soldiers and other personnel. She had accompanied Max everywhere, and was killed on the day Sam and Joe died.
Until Punch's sad death, Max had pushed the memory of Andromeda down into some deep, deep hole in his consciousness. The day the news of Maggie and Punch's death, (did Punch count for three, Max wondered again?), circled about the town, Max remembered Andromeda and that night, he cried for a long time. Those in the shelter ignored him, as no one had their own rooms, but the three dozen cots were lined up like beds in an old-fashioned camp hospital, in three rows of twelve. The other men ignored Max's weeping, as they understood it was bad manners to question or even acknowledge tears in a grown man. Plus, most of them had their tears now and then as well.
In the morning, Max felt much better and was grateful for his regained memory. In fact, to show God gratitude, Max walked over to St. Benedict's and popped into the church. Now, this church had been built in 2006 after a fire destroyed the old one. The new St. Benedict's was a horror of modern architecture and bad taste. The entire church was shaped like a crown, which defied imagination, as St. Benedict never wore a crown, and the name of the church was not Christ the King. Inside, the walls were made of local stone, but the wood paneling in the sanctuary made that most sacred area look like a board room in an office building. A wooden cross without the corpus seemed to be stuck to the paneling. One hardly noticed this cross.
No one liked this architecture except the priest. And, no one knew why the priest liked it. At Easter, the ladies would try and make the stone walls and paneling look festive by draping pink and yellow material from the top to the bottom of the walls. They pinned dozens of fake butterflies of different colors all over the cloths. Their grandmothers had pinned false butterflies on the curtains in the parlors in the spring, in the 1930s, and this idea stuck in the church ladies' imaginations. In addition. long pieces of cloth festooned the center of the crown, reaching out from the sides of the church to the center window at the top. The entire effect created reminded most people of a wedding reception, or teenage girl's birthday party. The colors used mostly were not liturgical colors, and in Ordinary Time in the fall, the cloths were brown and orange, with fake autumn leaves of yellow pinned to the long sheets of non-liturgical colors. A few people drove out to the Catholic church in .....ton, in order to worship in a "real church." That church, St. Mary's, was over a hundred years old and had not been ruined.
Thankfully, as it was Lent, somber purple cloths graced the walls, and no long drapes adorned the interior of the crown. So, when Max entered the church he was not "grossed out" as James would say, by the decorations. Only two statues stood in this modern church and both were made out of wood. One was of Mary and the other Joseph. In a small chapel to the side, the Holy Sacrament Chapel, a large window of the Sacred Heart, salvaged from the old burnt church, had been placed above the altar. This chapel proved to be the favorite place for prayer, as it was more traditional and lovely. The priest had allowed some weddings in this chapel, as the brides preferred the large stained glass window as a backdrop to the wood paneling.
Father Simon had no taste in art or architecture, but he claimed he loved this church. He had brought in large potted plants, much to the chagrin of Rosie, who ran the local florist shop, and had provided the church with flowers for years. At least once a week, one could hear Rosie exclaiming the ugliness of the plants compared to her beautiful pieces. Her opinion held sway. Some brave church ladies had attempted to move the ugly plants after a spring clean, but Father moved those back.
Max did not noticed the plants as he made his way to the small Sacred Heart chapel. There, he experienced the same welling up of love that he had in the hospital so many years before.
Max had brought Will's rosary and a print-out from the library computer on how to say this. Max would give it a try.
An hour later, Max stood on Father Simon's doorstep, as the rectory was right next door. Max noticed that the entire porch was full of potted plants. No one answered, so Max walked over to the office, on the side of the rectory. Mary Kay Crimmins, the secretary, explained that Father could see him tomorrow at three. Max made an appointment. On his way out, Max almost fell over two more plants on the stoop of the office. Despite the plants, Max had made a decision. He now knew why people loved the rosary. Jesus had introduced Max to His Mother. And, Christ's Mother led Max to the Catholic Church. This was the third extraordinary thing Max told me.