“And if we didn’t have any knowledge?” I asked.
“Then we would be like the dumb animals of the fields,” Florence replied.
Animals, I thought. Were the fish of the golden carp happier than we were? Was the golden carp a better God?
“—last year Maxie got polio,” Florence was going on, “and my cousin got dragged by that damned horse and got his skull busted. They found him two weeks later, along the river, half eaten away by the crows and buzzards. And his mom went crazy. Is that right?”
“No,” I answered, “it’s not right—”
We came out of the dusty alley and onto the wind-swept barren grounds that surrounded the church. The massive brown structure rose into the dusty sky and held the cross of Christ for all to see. I had listened to Florence’s heresy, but the God of the church had not hurled his thunder at me. I wanted to call out that I was not afraid.
“My father says the weather comes in cycles,” I said instead, “there are years of good weather, and there are years of bad weather—”
“I don’t understand,” Florence said.
Perhaps I didn’t either, but my mind was seeking answers to Florence’s questions. “Maybe God comes in cycles, like the weather,” I answered. “Maybe there are times when God is with us, and times when he is not. Maybe it is like that now. God is hidden. He will be gone for many years, maybe centuries—” I talked rapidly, excited about the possibilities my mind seemed to be reaching.
“But we cannot change the weather,” Florence said, “and we cannot ask God to return—”
“No,” I nodded, “but what if there were different gods to rule in his absence?” Florence could not have been more surprised by what I said, then I grabbed him by the collar and shouted, “What if the Virgin Mary or the Golden Carp ruled instead of—!”
In that moment of blasphemy the wind swirled around me and drowned my words, and the heavens trembled with thunder. I gasped and looked up at the bell tower.
“DAH-NNNNNGGGGGgggggg…” The first clap of bell-thunder split the air. I turned and cringed at its sound. I crossed my forehead, and cried, “Forgive me, Lord!” Then the second loud ring sounded.
“Come on, Tony,” Florence pulled me, “we’ll be late—”
We ran up the steps past Horse and Bones who were swinging like monkeys on the bell ropes. We hurried to get in line, but Father Byrnes had seen us. He grabbed Florence and pulled him out of line, and he whispered to me, “I would not have expected you to be late, Tony. I will excuse you this time, but take care of your company, for the Devil has many ways to mislead.”
I glanced back at Florence, but he nodded that I go on. The line moved past the water fonts where we wet our fingers and genuflected as we made the sign of the cross. The water was icy. The church was cold and musty. We marched down the aisle to the front pews. The girls’ line filed into the right pew and the boys’ went to the left.
“Enough,” the father’s voice echoed in the lonely church, and the bells that called us were silent. Horse and Bones came running to join us. Then the father came. I took a chance and glanced back. Florence’s punishment for being late was to stand in the middle of the aisle with his arms outspread. He stood very straight and quiet, almost smiling. The afternoon sun poured in through one of the stained glass windows that lined the walls and the golden hue made Florence look like an angel. I felt sorry for him, and I felt bad that he had been punished while I had been excused.
“Let us pray,” Father Byrnes said and knelt. We followed suit, kneeling on the rough, splintery knee boards of the pew. Only Florence remained standing, holding the weight of his arms which would become numb like lead before catechism was over.
“Padre nuestro que estás en los cielos—” I prayed to myself, sharing my prayers with no one. Everyone else prayed in English.
Down the row I heard Bones faking it. “Buzz, buzz, buzz,” his mouth moved to the words, but he didn’t know them. His head was bowed, his eyes closed, and he looked so devout that no one could doubt his sincerity.
Then the priest quizzed us on some lessons we had already been through.
“Who made you?” he asked.
“God made me,” we answered in unison.
“Why did God make you?” he asked, and I saw him look down the aisle at Florence.
“God made us to love, honor, serve and obey Him.”
“Where is God?”
“God is everywhere.”
“At Rosie’s,” Bones whispered and rolled his eyes.
Father Byrnes didn’t hear him. “How many persons are there in one God?” he continued.