Bleeding Hearts

On the Night Father Tibor Got Arrested…





1


“BENNIS,” FATHER TIBOR KASPARIAN said, his Russian-accented voice coming over the speakerphone in thick bright blobs, like elasticized marmalade. “Bennis, you have to help me. I have finally been arrested and now I want to get out.”

It was seven o’clock on the evening of Friday, February 1, and Bennis Hannaford was hunched over her brand-new Macintosh, putting the finishing touches on last year’s operating budget for Holy Trinity Armenian Christian Church. She had a Benson & Hedges menthol in an ashtray near her left hand. It had been burning away, untouched, for a good three minutes. She had a mug of coffee near her right hand. It was half drunk but stone cold. On the display screen in front of her she read:

    NOVEMBER 16TH 9:22 PM—$28—GIVEN TO ANNIE LEMBECK, HOMELESS PERSON, KNOCKED ON RECTORY BACK DOOR. OFFERED DINNER. WAS REFUSED. OFFERED APPLE. WAS ACCEPTED. LISTENED ONE HALF HOUR TO STORY OF ALIENS TAKING OVER MAYOR’S OFFICE. STORY MAY HAVE MERIT.



There were hundreds of entries like this one. They filled up the little stack of computer disks Father Tibor had turned over to her on New Year’s Eve. Bennis had spent weeks reading them and wondering if Father Tibor had anything else to do. She knew perfectly well Father Tibor had something else to do. He had to get arrested, for one thing. She wondered where he found the time.

The entry under the entry she had just read said:

    NOVEMBER 16TH—9:25 PM—ONE APPLE—GIVEN TO ANNIE LEMBECK, HOMELESS PERSON…



Bennis picked up her cigarette, tapped away the long column of ash that had accumulated on the end of it, and took a drag.

“It’s seven o’clock,” she said. “I thought you told me you were going to get arrested at three.”

Father Tibor sighed. “Father Ryan said we would get arrested at three. I think Father Ryan is a little out of date.”

“Which means what?”

“Which means protesting restrictions against street vendors in downtown Philadelphia is not the same as protesting the Vietnam War in front of the Pentagon. Everybody was very nice until the very last minute, and then it was our fault.”

“What was your fault?”

Father Tibor sighed again. “It was Stephen Hartnell from First Congregational. He had taken some cold medicine and he got sleepy. He got so sleepy he fell over, and he’s a big fat man, so the thing he was standing next to fell over, and the thing was a big flimsy can full of glass bottles to be recycled, and the next thing we knew there was glass all over the road, and they made a big crash, and this policeman panicked and shot his gun into the air, and then there was a dog—”

“Never mind,” Bennis said. “What about the street vendors?”

“The street vendors will be fine, Bennis, but it will not be because of us. Reverend Casey from African Methodist got up and gave a speech about how it was racism; when the immigrants needed to be street vendors they could do it without any interference and now when it is African Americans who need to do it there are registration requirements and licensing fees. All of which is probably true, but the important part is that Reverend Casey got to say it on Channel Five—”

“—ah—”

“—and now everybody is talking about compromise. Will you come and get me, Bennis? I have to pay a twenty-five-dollar fine and I left my wallet at home. If you’re busy, I could call Donna Moradanyan—”

“Donna’s Tommy’s got the flu. I’ll come get you. What precinct are you at?”

“I’m not at a precinct. I’m at the superior court. I will go back now and listen to the arraignment of the prostitutes. They are very young, Bennis.”

“I know.”

“This is a remarkable country, Bennis. People who were born and brought up here do not understand. How long do you think you will be?”

“Twenty minutes, maybe.”

“All right. I will go back and listen to the prostitutes. There is one, Bennis, I do not think she is sixteen.”

Bennis was sure there were several prostitutes at Tibor’s court who were not yet sixteen, and maybe one or two who were not yet fourteen, but she didn’t have a chance to tell Tibor so. The speakerphone’s speaker stopped crackling and went to a hum. Bennis leaned over her coffee and shut the sound off. Her cigarette was burned to the filter. She got out another one and lit up again. Her head ached faintly. It always did that when she worked too long at the computer. She took a long, deep drag on her cigarette, promised herself to quit smoking again for Valentine’s Day, and stood.