In this chapter, Church enlists the help of someone you might not expect. It's a character we've already met. I wonder who it could be. Maybe Anthony from the garage. Maybe the volunteer from Longwood Gardens. Maybe the priest at the church. What was his name? Oh yeah, Father Miller. Hhhhhhmmmmmmm...I guess we'll have to see.
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Crown Vic to a Parallel World: From Whence I Came The second installment of the ongoing adventures of Church Philips
32
Miller Time
I changed my casual button-down and shorts to a conservative button-down and slacks, made a lame excuse, and left the house. Shawn offered several times to go with me, but I fended him off. I suspected, with no evidence, that the person I was planning to visit would be more comfortable speaking one-on-one, than one-on-gay-couple.
It was a few minutes before eleven when I drove the Town Car into the church parking lot. Father Miller had said he had office hours and would be happy to talk about anything at all. I hoped he could offer some advice on my Joe problem, but I had no idea what to tell him or how to frame the questions.
I'd assumed that Joe's reticence at making the decision to come to Solum was based on religious concerns. The idea that I'd had while I was talking to Andy was to try to get Father Miller's endorsement on the trip. I figured if I could get a priest on my side, that would help sell Joe. I further assumed that Joe's main worry was about ensuring his and Andy's salvation in a godless world. I didn't see salvation as an issue, but I didn't believe in anything. For a devoutly religious person like Joe, the next world was just as important, or maybe more important, as the current one.
I wondered how I could even start a conversation with the priest as I approached the front door of the intimidating brick-faced rectory. I paused on the concrete patio to stare at the door. It was white-painted and had a dull sheen to it. It was the kind of sheen that only lead-based paint had. I started to think I was on a fool's errand as I loitered at the door. What can I say to him?' I thought. How can I get him to agree to something I can't explain?'
I reminded myself that I was on a mission to save my brother, whether he wanted saving or not. I further reminded myself that I was on a mission to help my nephew, and that he very much wanted my help. When I really boiled it down, I realized that Joe and his bullshit, they were the obstacle. Andy was both the motivation for, and the point of, my visit to see the priest.
That idea didn't feel right to me, so I thought about it some more. As I thought, I found some charity in my heart. Both my brother and his son were the motivation and the point of my visit. Just because I was mad at Joe for making things more difficult than they needed to be, that didn't mean I didn't care about him. I did care. I wanted to see him well and happy. I wanted them both to be well and happy and I knew that was possible on Solum, if only I could get them there. I drew myself up with confidence I didn't feel and rapped on the wooden door.
The door flew open before my knuckles could contact its surface more than once. It sank into the interior gloom to reveal a very short, ancient man who squinted up at me through the thickest pair of glasses I'd ever seen. "Yes." He demanded in a hollow voice that sounded like it came from the bottom of a well.
His abrupt manner took me by surprise. I blinked at him for a second before I could respond. "Uhh...I'd like to see Father Miller please."
"Name?"
"Church Philips." I remembered that wasn't my name anymore and stumbled over a correction. "Uh...I mean, Summas. Church Summas."
"Member?" He asked.
I wasn't sure how to answer that. I was technically still a member of the church as I'd never abdicated that right or been excommunicated. I didn't figure the abrupt old man would care about the nuances of my membership in the congregation, so I gave him an answer that didn't explain much but that fit the facts. "Not in good standing."
The man drew a folded handkerchief from his right pants pocket with a motion so slow I imagined I could hear his joints creak as they moved. The small square of white fabric traveled to his mouth. When it got there, he coughed twice, then examined the fabric, and slowly returned it to his pocket. After this little diversion, he stepped back and slammed the door in my face.
I was dumbfounded to the point of being frozen in place. That seemed to be happening to me a lot lately. I stood on the step and stared at the white door with the dull sheen. I didn't understand what happened or what to do next. There was some noise from inside the building and the door opened more slowly to reveal Father Miller. He was dressed in a traditional priest's black suit with the white backwards collar. His sagging neck chafed at the stiff fabric, but it didn't seem to bother him. His expressive face was placid and welcoming.
"It is Mister Philips," the priest's warm, well-modulated voice greeted, "this is a pleasant surprise. Stewart told me a `Mister Summas' was here to see me, but you are obviously Joe's brother. What can I do for you young man?"
The `young man' comment amused me. I bet the Father and I weren't more than ten years apart in numerical age. "I have a problem, Father, a problem that only a man like you can help me with. Can we talk, please? Do you have time?"
"Certainly. Come in, we'll go to my office." Father Miller welcomed me inside and led me along an out of date but very clean corridor. He stopped at a heavy oak door that reminded me of the door to Ars' office. When he opened it and ushered me inside, the similarities continued.
Father Miller's office was far smaller than Ars' and had to settle for a pair of extra-wide casement windows instead of a transparent wall, but it was very similar in other respects. Elegant antique oak paneling adorned the walls between built-in shelves of leather-bound books. The floor was parquetry wood, darkened with age and layers of wax. There was even a four-legged version of Ars' executive desk. I assumed the office had been built and furnished around the same time that Ars had visited Earth and had never been updated.
Unlike Ars' neat office and cluttered desktop, Father Miller's private domain felt very lived-in. The desk was stacked with neat piles of paperwork and closed books with post-it notes holding places between the pages. In the corner of the room was an uneven pile of brown boxes with the tops torn open, each containing church supplies. The bookshelves held books as well as an impressive collection of miscellanea, apparently collected over the course of a long and storied life.
The room was ornamented by a portrait of Jesus and a framed photo of Pope John Paul the Second (the only Pope whose name I knew). On a shelf, in the middle of the wall opposite the desk, was a white, food service style coffee mug with blue script calligraphy that read `Hotel Regis.'
The mug caught my eye enough for me to stare. It seemed a strange thing to see in what I took to be a position of honor among the priest's other possessions. A pair of black metal bookends held the fine leather volumes back from the mug, and the shelf it sat on was less dusty than all the others in the room.
Father Miller noticed the direction of my gaze and commented. "A souvenir from my time in Mexico. That was long ago and in another life." The priest settled in a noisy wooden swivel chair and motioned me to one of a pair of green vinyl visitor's chairs that may have been as old as, or older than me.
"What is this trouble only I can help with? Unburden yourself Mister Philips." Father Miller said graciously.
I tried to be less formal and to explain the name confusion at the door. "Church is fine, if you like, or Philips. Actually, when I married Shawn, I took his name. Summas is my married name, but you can call me Philips, or anything at all really. Whatever is comfortable for you, Father."
I took a deep breath because I seemed to be rambling. I needed a moment to think and to settle myself. I took another breath to give me the moment that I needed. In that instant, I decided to try to get the advice I wanted without revealing too much. I felt very ingenious when I came up with the idea of framing the situation as a theological exercise.
"I'm going to ask you a hypothetical question." I began. "If a man is ill, and by moving himself and his son to a different country, one where the Catholic faith doesn't exist, he can be cured of his disease, should he go? I qualify that question with the rider that if he goes to this faithless land, he and his son may have to remain there for the rest of their lives. I further qualify that this land is otherwise a fine place to live where the brother...ahem...man will be completely healed, and his son will lead a happy and fulfilled life. What should he do, Father?"
The priest's posture had crept farther and farther forward as I asked my hypothetical question. When I finished, he leaned back, and steepled his fingers as he did it. He also looked to the ceiling like Ars would have under similar circumstances. "I suppose you brought this problem to me because the man is devoutly religious and is unwilling to move himself and his son to a faithless land for the benefit of his health. He is unwilling to risk his spiritual well-being for his physical."
"Yes Father, you understand completely."
"And," he continued, "you wish to convince this man to travel to this land for the benefit of his physical well-being. Your concern is the tangible here and now, not the theoretical but inevitable later."
I dodged around the priest's words to avoid being caught. "This is an academic question. Any similarity to persons alive or dead is coincidence."
"Certainly." Father Miller slowly leaned back to the extent of his chair's mechanism. He thought while his internal musings played across his expressive face. After a while, he leaned forward again to address me over his steepled fingers. "Mister Philips, I regard this office as the equivalent of a confessional. I ask you to tell me the story, the whole story behind your question. If you do that, I will consider your problem and will provide the best advice possible from the perspective of this priest."
For Father Miller to call me out like that was an unexpected wrinkle. I wondered if I could tell him the truth. I wondered if he'd believe me, or if he'd heave me from his office as a blaspheming liar. When I thought about it for a second, I realized that nothing could be gained by refusing to explain myself. I also realized that even if he repeated my story, no one would believe him.
I gripped the thin wooden arms of my chair and adjusted myself to sit straight and tall. "Alright, Father, I'll tell you. First, I'd like to ask two questions. Do you believe in the possibility of the existence of parallel worlds or dimensions?"
The priest leaned forward, almost over the desk as he answered. He selected his words carefully, like each was ready for him just as he needed it, but no sooner. "The Bible does not specifically preclude the possibility of their existence. I've read vast amounts of theology in my life and have seen arguments for and against. Some even claim heaven and hell are parallel worlds. Since no one has proved they do not exist, I'm willing to concede the possibility."
Father Miller's response was surprising and encouraging. I wasn't used to the idea of men of the cloth buying into, what some would consider, science fiction topics. "I'm glad you think that way." I admitted and crossed my fingers as I prepared to ask my second question. "The second question is, do you believe in the possibility that magic exists?"
The priest leaned forward even farther, almost to the point of lifting himself out of the chair. "That's a broad topic, magic. Do you mean wands and potions magic, or the magic of miracles like water to wine? I do not believe in witches and brooms, but I have faith in the miracles described in The Bible."
I saw the faintest strand of possibility in Father Miller's answer and grabbed for it. "Have you ever witnessed a miracle, Father?"
The priest locked his eyes with mine for only a second and he started his backward trip from being stooped over the desk, all the way back to the end of the chair's mechanism. He spoke when he reached ninety degrees. "Only the miracle of life and the wonder I feel with each new morning. I've never spoken to a burning bush or seen a few loaves of bread and a couple fish feed a multitude, though I would like to."
The man seemed a bit romantic and much more open-minded than I thought was possible for someone in his position. I considered a moment, but only a moment, before I decided to risk everything. I decided to expose my powers to him. "I need to show you something before I tell my story. If you believe what you see, you'll have a better chance of believing what I say. If you don't trust your senses, I won't take up any more of your valuable time."
Father Miller leaned forward to sit as upright as I did. He seemed to prepare himself for whatever I could show him. I looked around the room for something commonplace to use for my demonstration. On the floor next to the desk was an open box of brown-paper-wrapped pillar candles.
I used my telekinesis to lift one from the box. I slid the paper off it and set the candle upright on the edge of the desk. I hovered the paper wrapper in the air while I folded it, then I placed it in the recycle basket near the closed door. By the time I finished, the priest was leaning so far forward I doubted that any part of him was still touching the swivel chair.
He stared at the candle, eyes wide and his eyebrows trying to climb over his head. "That is interesting." He said evenly. "Not exactly a serpent from a walking staff, but not `pick a card any card' either. Can you light it?"
"I can't generate flame from the air, but I can strike a match without physically touching it and light the candle if you'd like."
Father Miller declined my offer with a barely visible shake of his head. "No. Seems gratuitous to ask you to do that." He rose from the chair and moved a cautious fingertip toward the candle. The finger poked it and toppled the candle toward the floor. I caught it with magic and returned it to the edge of the desk. "That is interesting." He repeated.
"Father?" I asked. I hoped I hadn't broken him with my display.
"Yes. That is interesting." He said and then had a conversation with himself out loud. "I think whiskey...no, going to need a clear head. A drink though...settling. Do you drink Mister Philips? Priests aren't supposed to have vices. The congregation never quite understands that we're still men. What are you, Mister Philips? You look like a man, is that what you are? Perhaps a short whiskey...a bracer. The cut glass set on the shelf please, behind you. A short one, barely a taste, please." He rambled and seemed to be unable to tear his eyes from the candle. His right hand cupped his lower jaw, and the fingers tapped his chin from pinky to index and back again.
I found the cut glass drink set with my eyes and almost stood to retrieve it from the shelf. I decided to be a little theatrical to reinforce the candle demonstration. The cut glass bottle was held in a wire carrier along with rocks glasses, an ice bucket, and a second bottle that contained a clear liquor. I floated the whiskey bottle and two glasses to the desk, un-stoppered the bottle, poured a shot in each glass, and hovered Father Miller's drink next to him, all without physically touching any of the items.
"Yes, thank you." The priest took the glass from the air and inhaled its contents. When the glass was empty, he placed it into the air like he'd returned it to my waiting hand. "That is interesting." He said aloud to himself. The whiskey seemed to steady him, or at least focus his attention. He turned his shocked gaze to me for the first time since the candle had taken flight. "What are you, Mister Philips, or is it Summas?" He asked again.
"Either name fits me, Father. As to what I am...I'm a man, just like you." I said and sipped my shot of whiskey to be polite.
Father Miller shook his head again, this time with enough force to set his sagging jowls swinging. "Not quite like me. No. This explains your two questions. Are you going to claim to be from a parallel world?"
"No. I was born and raised in this town. I attended this church with my parents until I was twenty years old. Almost six years ago, I met the man I introduced to you as my husband. He is from a parallel world. We traveled there and stayed until a little over a week ago when we came here to complete a very mundane task. That's when I discovered my brother was sick."
"You see," I went on, "my husband, Shawn, is a physician, a general practitioner who uses magic power to heal sickness and wounds. He halted Joe's disease but can't repair the damage. Joe needs a specialist. He needs to come back with us when we return. If he refuses, the disease won't kill him, but he'll never walk easily again. He will spend the remainder of his life leaning on a cane."
"Selfishly," I continued my explanation, "I want Joe to come to the other world and stay because I miss him, and I learned what an amazing young man my nephew is. If he doesn't want to stay, I at least want him to come to be treated. He can return here anytime he wants. I want him to have a normal life wherever he lives. He hasn't openly refused yet, but all signs point that way. Does he risk his soul, and his son's soul, if he decides to come with us and stay?"
The priest had returned to his seat as I spoke and settled so gently the chair didn't protest. He stared, eyes sharp and focused on me, but no expression or movement showed he was even conscious. "Father?" I asked.
The man was rattled but seemed to be functioning on some basic level. He reached for simple routine for comfort. "Yes...uhm...lunch. We should have lunch. Perhaps cold sandwiches. Unless...yes...perhaps we should bring something in. Yes." Without taking his eyes from my face, he picked up the receiver on an old-fashioned black desk phone, pushed a button, and spoke. "Stewart, would you come to my office please?"
The small old man burst through the door like he'd been waiting just on the other side. Father Miller diverted his attention from me to his assistant. "Stewart, we'd like to order lunch please." Father Miller pawed in a desk drawer and brought out a loose collection of small bills that fell from his grasp and littered themselves over the papers on his desk.
I got my credit card from my wallet and offered it to Stewart. "Please, allow me, order for the whole household."
The thick glasses glanced at me and turned toward the priest who nodded. Stewart accepted the credit card and stood staring. "Well?" He demanded in his big, hollow voice.
"Cheesesteak, fried onions, steak fries." Father Miller said absently as he tried to separate the fallen bills from his papers without disturbing the piles.
"I'll have the same." I agreed and the small man bustled off without another word.
Father Miller sorted his cash and placed it carefully in a desk drawer. He pushed it shut and raised his eyes to mine. "Thank you, Mister Philips. That was a friendly gesture. Now, to your problem." The priest's steady manner impressed me. He'd calmed himself somehow and no longer seemed to be suffering a low-grade freak-out.
He went on to deal with the problem at hand like I'd asked him advice on something mundane, like whether to have mustard or mayo on a ham sandwich. "Your brother is a wonderful man." Father Miller said to get himself into the issue. "He used to volunteer here, before he got sick. I always enjoyed his company. What did you have to do to convince him of your story? One of his defining characteristics is his incredulity." A broad smile creased Father Miller's face as he spoke of Joe's most frustrating trait.
"I used my telekinesis to make a paper airplane from a napkin. I flew it around the dining room and vaporized it. When that didn't convince him, I carried Joe, like I carried that candle, from his spot at the head of the table to another spot at the foot. He didn't believe the napkin airplane. He accused me of trying to fool him with a trick napkin. He had to believe me when he essentially flew through the house. Later, when Shawn stopped his disease and he regained some of his mobility, that's what really sold it."
Father Miller inclined his head with understanding. "The unorthodox treatment he mentioned on Sunday, he was referring to your husband."
"Correct."
"The trick napkin comment sounds just like him." Father Miller laughed. "Where would you even get a `trick napkin'?"
"That's exactly what I said." I agreed. I was getting into the conversation, starting to enjoy myself.
Father Miller pursued a point I hadn't explained. "What did you mean when you said you `vaporized' the airplane?"
"I have two types of magic, telekinetic power, which you've seen, and another that's known as direct or Vitalis magic. One aspect of direct magic is a power known as white magic. White magic is destructive; like cold fire."
"Would you show me?"
I looked around the room for something disposable but couldn't be sure what might be just an old envelope verses a vessel for a memory. I gave up and asked for something to destroy. "Do you have something you don't need, a piece of trash maybe?"
Father Miller reached below the far side of his desk and sat up with the stem of a well-chewed apple core between his fingers. I nudged it with magic to get him to release it and floated the core to the middle of the room. "Watch." I said unnecessarily and pointed at the core. I shot a beam of light from my finger, followed by a high-powered pulse. When the pulse hit the apple core, it ceased to be.
"That is interesting." Father Miller said yet again. His voice was full of wonder, but not of fear. "Where did you send it?"
"I didn't transport it. I destroyed it. There's no debris because the white magic is like a plasma arc."
"Joe Philips is a fool!" Father Miller exclaimed with an angry slap of both his hands to the arms of his chair. He winced at his own outburst and his mild demeanor returned almost immediately. "I apologize for my tactlessness. Your brother is a very careful man. As for me...as for me, I can't help but think that if I had met you under different circumstances, at a different time in my life, I would beg you...on my knees I would beg you to take me along."
"Are you in any hurry?" The priest asked me. "Do you have anywhere to be? I would be very grateful if you would tell me about this place and your life there. Not only am I certain to hear a fascinating story, but the more information I have about this land, the better I'll feel about whatever decision I come to."
Father Miller impressed me enormously. I came to him with a question, and not only did he get right to the heart of the matter, but he allowed me to prove my premise, and had just asked me to tell him the whole story. This very busy man gave me his time without a moment's hesitation. I respected him, trusted him, after that. I began to think that telling him the story would be a pleasure.
I was about to start when the office door burst open to admit Stewart with two brown bags that contained our lunches. The small man tossed them on the desk, returned my credit card, and was on his way out when Father Miller halted his progress. "Stewart! Mister Philips has a very important theological matter to discuss. We mustn't be disturbed for any reason except a building fire. Please let everyone know."
The small man left without acknowledgement and slammed the door. I spun the thumb lock with magic to keep the old man from bursting in again. Father Miller heard the lock click and turned wide eyes to the door, then back to me. He smiled and nodded his thanks. He pulled a desk drawer open and swept stacks of paperwork into it like the drawer had no bottom. He waved me over. "Come, pull your chair close so you can eat comfortably."
I did as he said and thanked him for being gracious. "Thank you, Father."
Father Miller stopped what he was doing and looked up at me, his expression pensive. He carefully removed the backwards collar from his neck and examined the small white band that was the symbol of his calling and profession. He raised his eyes to mine. "Mister Philips, just this once, for this very special occasion, I'm going to forego the dignity and title of my position." He placed the collar in the desk drawer with the papers and pushed the drawer closed. "My first name is Paul. You call me Paul and I'll call you Church, and we'll just be two guys eating lunch and sharing a story. Is that acceptable?"
I reached my hand across the desk, and he shook it. "It's nice to meet you, Paul."
"It's an absolute treat to meet you, Church." Paul's voice was excited, boyish. If I'd been speaking to him on the phone, I would have pictured him at least twenty years younger than he was. I never thought it would happen, but I'd just shaken hands with a priest who I hoped would turn out to be an ally.
Paul and I talked through the entire afternoon. I told him more than I'd ever told anyone except Shawn. The only way I could think of to convey the wonder that was Solum, without muddling it all up, was to tell Father Miller my own story. That way I could explain Solum in the same order that I learned about it. I wound up telling the priest my whole life.
I spoke for so long that the time got away from us. When dinner time approached, we ordered out again, and I made a quick call to the house with the office landline to keep Joe and Shawn from posting `Lost Church' fliers. When Joe answered the house phone, I stumbled over what to say to him. I made up a quick lie. I told my brother that I ran into an old friend from high school, and we were catching up. He accepted that and didn't ask any questions. I thanked the god I didn't believe in for small favors and returned to Paul.
It felt amazing to tell my story to such an active and credulous listener. Paul asked questions, clarified points, and stopped me for a recap every so often so he could keep the thread of the tale. He was genuinely disturbed by the description of my parents' religious views. He was even more disturbed at the mention of the former priest.
Paul explained that it had taken him years to `walk back' the fire and brimstone that characterized old Father Edward's ministry. I tried not to spend too much time on my Earth life, just enough to set the stage, to explain the man who stood outside Big Nick's bar in South Philly, recklessly drunk and with nothing to lose.
I told Paul about my folks and how they died. I told him what that did to me and the black decade that followed. I told him about meeting and falling for Shawn. I tried to explain how he saved me. Paul seemed to understand. He was so engaged with my tale, he seemed to relive the journey with me.
He wiped tears from his eyes when I told him about the dream I had where all of Solum died because I wasn't there to save it. He congratulated me when I climbed the mountain after the second mock battle. He sat on the edge of his seat when I forced my protective arch through the barrier. He was amazed when we all saw the statue of King Pravus for the first time. He wept at the depth of feeling Fidum Calcula had for his incapacitated monarch. He even celebrated with me when the barrier was destroyed.
"But what happened to that sweet man when the barrier's energy faded?" Paul asked.
"Dust to dust." I said. "I didn't see it happen, but Cy, who'd been trying to distract Fidum while I did...what I did, he said when the barrier disappeared, Fidum slumped like a dry pile of soft ash and blew away into the constant wind that sweeps the plains. Nothing left but a scattering of dust clinging to the dry scrub."
"Amazing. What about the books he gave you?"
"Both volumes survived." I explained and felt a wave of anger as I explained the fate of the large volume. "The history of Pravus' reign, `The Victor Writes the History,' disappeared into the archives at The HALL. Shawn's uncle was adamant that disclosing the fact that the PCS was founded on a lie would be bad for the prestige of the country and would serve no useful purpose. I don't agree with him, but I don't have the authority to go against him. Maybe someday the truth will come out."
I shook my head and shrugged helplessly. "As to the smaller book, Fidum's Bible, I have it. I think the only reason I have it is that Shawn forgot about it. He tossed it on the floor of the Vic when they loaded me into it and that's where it stayed until I was back on my feet. I was moving on my own, but still needed a lot of help to get around when my curiosity sent me to The HALL to see what had gone wrong with the Vic during Neb's frantic drive to save my life."
"Ars had the car shipped back from Oppidum and put it in storage in the parking garage under The HALL." I explained as my monologue went on. "Bem took me over there one day when Shawn was busy with his uncle. I found the burst radiator hose, the engine damaged caused by overheating, and Fidum's book. I already knew the fate of the large volume, so I never told Ars about the small one. I took it home with me and kept it. It's in Shawn's...our apartment right now, on the bookshelf like it's just another book. I'm ashamed to admit that I never read it."
"I wish you had it with you...Fidum's Bible." Paul breathed. He didn't seem to care about the history book. "I would love to read it. Imagine the possibilities. To find proof of the faith on another world, in another dimension...the implications...it staggers the imagination. Do you think...do you think it would be possible for me to read it? I mean, is there a way to communicate from there to here?"
I hedged my answer because I didn't want to get Paul's hopes up. "There is a way, but I don't have access to it. I can try when I get back, but I can't promise anything."
Paul got his curiosity for Fidum's Bible under control and urged me to go on with my story. I did exactly that and the evening fell away around us. It was well passed nightfall when my story caught up to the me in Paul's office.
"That's the most incredible epic I've ever heard, and I believe every word of it." Paul said when I finished. He leaned over to pull the deep bottom drawer of his desk open. He routed around, and when he straightened, his hands held a bottle of very nice whiskey and two thin cigars. He filled the rocks glasses from earlier to the brim and motioned to the door with a tilt of his head. "Come on." Paul whispered like we were kids getting ready to sneak out of the house for some nighttime mischief. He led the way through the dark halls and out to a screened porch that faced a blank garage wall.
"This is where I come sometimes to figure things out." Paul explained and offered me a glass and a cigar. "No one can see me from the street. This keeps my image intact."
Paul lit his cigar with practiced care. He rolled the end in the lighter flame until it glowed and drew on it gently when it was ready. I borrowed his lighter and mimicked the process. When we were both safely lit up, Paul took a long pull on his whiskey and returned to the subject at hand.
"Church, I don't know what to say. I've been a priest for a long time, but I wasn't always one. The long dormant adventurer inside me wants to provide your brother a fatherly slap on the head and boot in the pants for even raising this difficulty. The priest that I am realizes the implications of going as well as staying. I need to consider this carefully, research, dig into the library in my office. I'll need all of tomorrow at least."
Paul ruminated and drew on his cigar before he spoke through a dense cloud of mellow smoke. "Come to mass on Sunday, any one of them. I'll get a message to you with my decision. If I agree with you that Joe's best course of action is to accompany you to Solum, you'll have to figure out how to get Joe here on Monday. I know it's a day after the deadline, but that can't be helped. You're all but certain he will refuse your offer. If he fools us and accepts, call me and I'll wish you well."
Paul smiled at me as he seemed to hope that Joe would make the right decision and agree to come with me. His smile faded and he shook his head over his cigar as if he knew that wouldn't be the case. "If he refuses, don't argue with him. You get him here on Monday. I want to see him in my office. I won't come to his house because that would give him the home field advantage. If I agree with you, like I very much want to, and he digs his heels in, you get him here. I'll work on him in my home field. If the worst happens, and I can't agree, I'll let you know, and I will still wish you the best of luck."
"Thank you, Paul. Even if you can't help me convince him, this has still been a day well spent. I feel like it was good for my soul to talk about all these things with someone who...someone who believes me even though they don't have to. It was very kind of you to push everything else aside to listen to me, especially since I'm not even a member of your congregation."
"What did I say last Sunday?" Paul demanded with gentle urgency in his voice. "You are a fellow human being. It's my duty, and frankly my pleasure to help you in any way I can. Don't underestimate what you did for me today. I feel like a child learning about the world for the first time. Everything I ever knew needs to be re-evaluated in the light of what you told me today. I wish I could see it. I wonder if this is what Moses felt like as he was dying on Mount Nebo, just outside the promised land." The priest stared into the darkness, looking to something only his eyes could see.
We finished our drinks and cigars in silence. When the glasses were empty and the butts crushed in the ashtray, we shook hands and parted.