A Friend You Haven't Met: Part Four

 

I flipped open the glove compartment and took out a quart flask. It usually held brandy these days, but a red cross on the outside hinted at its original use and kept any casual visitors from the contents. It was empty at the moment, bone dry. I left the Morgs crouching in the back seat and limped up the steps to the heavy church door.

To my surprise it was locked. In the old days anybody could come in during the day and sit a spell to pray or contemplate; it was only shut up at night. Well, times change. I looked over at the parish house, thinking to ask about it there, and saw a robed figure sitting in the little contemplation garden in between. Good enough, I thought, and limped over to ask a few questions.

I made sure to make enough noise with my cane as I approached, so as not to surprise him. Though he was a big fellow, at least six feet tall, his bowed and balding head was nearly white, and I noticed that his wrinkled hands were trembling even though folded tightly together. When I was about four feet away, I cleared my throat ostentatiously.

“Excuse me, padre,” I began.

He started a bit, but lifted his head up slowly, turning to face me.

“Yes?” he said peacefully, but then his mild blue eyes caught sight of me. His face went white and he leaped up, brown robes whirling as he staggered to his feet.

“Oh, my God,” he breathed. “Have … have you come to take me? Is it my time at last?”

I tilted my head.

“Pardon?” I asked. He seemed to be grappling with my sudden appearance.

“But why? Why would they send you? What could …” He gulped. “Are you still alive … but that’s impossible.” He squinted his eyes and searched my face. “But you … you are Mr. Bellamy, aren’t you?”

Oh crap, I thought. Thousands of people in town, and I run into someone from the old days who knows me, though at the moment I couldn’t quite recollect him.

“I’m a Mr. Bellamy,” I answered cautiously. “And you are…?”

The old man lifted his hands to his chest, palms up as if to display his weathered face.

“It’s Timmy! Little Timoteo Villareal!” he said. “Brother Timothy now.” He looked disconcerted. “But … if you were from Heaven, you would know that.” His eyes scrambled for an explanation. “Perhaps, maybe, you are Bob Bellamy’s grandson?” He scowled, scanning my face again. “But, no, there is the little scar over your eye! You are he! But how is that possible? I was ten the last I saw you. I am eighty-two this year! How? How are you alive … and no older looking, at that!”

I recognized him now. He had been a large, clumsy boy, my old friend Tomas’s great-grandson, and I could see him still, under all that age. Even with all my present apprehension, I grinned at the memory.

“Well, thank’ee, son. If you live much longer, you’ll find that when you reach a certain point you don’t change much. And how have you been?” I tucked the bottle under my arm and reached out my hand to shake.

He just stared at me, dumbfounded.

“But how? How?”

I put the hand down and leaned wearily on my cane.

“Look,” I said. “For someone who’s professionally obliged to swallow the story of Methuselah, this shouldn’t be such a problem. This sort of thing just happens sometimes, all right? And right now, I need some holy water bad, Timmy. Can you get me in the church?”

“What? Well, of course I can.” Having something to do suddenly seems to have distracted his mind. He reached into his robe and pulled out a key ring. “They’ve had to lock up lately because of the quarantine, you know.” He started walking towards the church. I limped after him.

“Quarantine?” I asked.

“Where have you been?” he asked grimly. “Trapped in a cave somewhere?”

“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies. What’s been going on?”

We had reached the doors and he paused, looking at me, eyes wide.

“The whole country’s been on lockdown for over a month! You can’t tell me you haven’t heard of the virus!”

I looked at him.

“Is it going to keep me from getting some holy water in my time of need?”

“Well, no … but I can’t imagine that you haven’t heard …”

“Son, I been on the road for six months, and Bessie’s radio ain’t worked since 1987,” I grouched. I’d had cholera three times, and smallpox once; that was before I’d even had my special insurance. I was fairly sure I was in no danger of whatever this new plague was and couldn’t even carry it. Right now, I had more pressing problems. “Just get me my water and I’ll get out of your hair.” I grinned. “You might even be able to convince yourself you dreamed the whole thing.”

“It might be a dream, at that,” the old friar mused, turning the key. He pulled the big door open and we stepped into the vestibule. He shut it and locked it behind us. “So,” he asked briskly. “You finally became a Catholic?”

“Let’s say I’m still pondering on it,” I said. “Right now, I just need the Church’s help.”

“Oy,” he sighed. “You know, nobody has forever to make a choice.” He looked at me sideways. “But in your case, I’m not so sure.” We went into the nave.

The last time I had been here it had been painted a warm fuzzy pink; now it was a kind of cool sky-blue. Timmy paused at one of the fonts at either side of the door, dipped his fingers, and crossed himself. Just to show willing, I did too, and when I didn’t shrivel up and start smoking, he seemed satisfied.

“You want the whole bottle full?” he asked. I nodded. He reached out and I handed it to him. “Then I best get it from the big cistern up there.” When we got up to the sanctuary he bowed, and I waited respectfully down by the pews. He went up, lifted the lid, and held the gurgling bottle under until it was full. He came down, genuflected again, then gave me the flask back.

“Well,”” he said. “Whatever you’re doing, take care.” We started walking back to the vestibule. He smiled. “Even if you are just dream of old-age. I guess I’ll go and wake up back on the bench.” He sighed. “You know, I really liked all those stories about monsters you used to tell me. They’re part of why I became a monk. Fighting evil and all that.”

“And how’s that working out for you?” I asked curiously.

He chuckled as he started to open the entrance.

“Oh, I’ve fought plenty of evil, but no ghosts just yet.”

The door swung wide.