A Marine Called Jason
(Revised)
by: Peter

(© 2007-2015 by the Author)
 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

The Epilogue Chapters

Epilogue Chapter 19 

 Appalachia

(The Bishop) 

I was surprised and gratified that so many of the boys returned to go to Appalachia. We converged on the Creekside Motel in the tiny town of Cotter’s Creek outside of Roanoke in the early warm days of June. We took four rooms; three with two double beds and one with a king bed. It was assumed by everyone that the actual sleeping arrangements would vary from day-to-day, night-to-night. It wasn’t anything fancy but they had a very nice outdoor pool. I thought we should know how much money had been collected from guys and co-workers and chipped in themselves so we would know how much we had to work with but when I mentioned it I got it from all sides; don’t worry about it, if we run out of money we’ve all got credit cards.

“Yeah, my boss gave me the company credit card,” Nolan said.

So I backed down. They were obviously determined to do the job regardless of cost.  I also had my credit card and my checkbook, and I thought to myself that my parents would say the money they left me would be well spent.

Colby was overwhelmed. The first task was to survey and prioritize the work that needed to be done. Nolan, being in construction himself, handed young Jesse a clipboard and took him and Father Colby to have a look around. I thought it was great that he was drawing the teenager into the project.  Colby insisted that the Brown’s house was at the top of the list.  One look and Nolan concluded that it needed to be torn down. The rectory, where Father Colby lived was in dire need of repair but Colby wouldn’t let him tear it down and he wanted the church repaired first. Several other houses needed serious repairs or even complete renovation and virtually every building in the town needed attention. Nolan was good at his job.  As he went along he made a list of the materials that would be needed. Then he said he was going into town to find Pearson Construction and Lumber. I gave him my check book with two signed checks.

“I don’t wanta clean you out,” he said.

“I’ve got overdraft protection,” I said.

He returned a few hours later with a small convoy!     

“What the hell,” Jason said as we stood and watched the vehicles snaking along the narrow, crumbling road leading into town. There were two flatbeds loaded down with lumber and other building materials along with two oversized pickups from which emerged eight brawny workers. Another truck hauled a giant water tank. Last was another truck pulling a modular home.

Nolan handed my check book back to me.  I noticed only one of the signed checks had been used and the one that was used was for $1000.00.

“This can’t begin to cover the cost of everything,” I said. 

“I wrote the check for what the man said,” Nolan said.  “Pearson volunteered four of his men, the other four were just hanging around and they volunteered to help out.

“What about the modular home?” I couldn’t believe somebody had donated it.

“It’s on loan for the Browns to live in while we replace their house.”

The modular was set up in about an hour and the water connected. We moved the Browns out of their shack and into the modular. Mrs. Brown, standing with her neighbors, was so nervous and couldn’t watch the house being torn down but her husband stood and watched with tears of joy streaming down his face.

I had to applaud Nolan’s fierce talent.  Jason and I were neither overly qualified as carpenters but we soon learned, as did the others. Nolan did little of the work himself; he was too busy supervising and showing the rest of us what to do and how to do it. He knew how to get things done. He even brought the younger boys in on it.

“It’s not rocket science,” he kept saying, and, “You gotta be smarter than the hammer.”

The Brown’s house that we tore down was only one large room and it was being propped up with crude logs cut from the nearby woods.  The house we built was nothing fancy but it was five rooms with the addition of a fine front porch and a wash house just outside of the kitchen.  That was added when Mrs. Brown lamented that she would be losing her wash house with the destruction of the old house.  The house might have been bigger except for the size of the lot.

Nolan took a crew to the rectory but again Father Colby refused to let them touch it till the church was repaired. It was and the rectory was next.

Nolan respected Colby’s wishes and didn’t tear it down but he came as close as he dared with Colby looking on. Nearly every board was replaced with only the original beams standing, and it looked all new from the outside. Colby was worried about where he was going to sleep that night.

“Where you always sleep.  We’ll have it finished by nightfall,” Nolan told him.

I was amazed how fast the two structures went up.  But then there were nearly twenty men maneuvering around each other, like a swarm of worker bees. Nolan even put the younger boys to work with Jesse in charge. As the cleanup was finished at each site he put them to painting.  Colby liked the plain wood interior so only the outside of the rectory was painted.  He was moved back in and his bed made up by nightfall, as promised. The Browns had to wait.

At dusk another vehicle showed up; a lunch truck from a catering company. A guy with SAM on his shirt clanged the bell and yelled for everyone to come and get fed. Of course everyone pulled out their money to pay.

“Your Yankee money’s no good here,” Sam said.

“You’re gonna go broke feeding this many for nothing,” someone said.

“It’s not free gratis.  Some businessmen heard about what you’re doing, they’re footing the bill,” Sam said.

“Give me one good reason why I should believe you,” Jordan said.

“Do I look like I would be giving away free food?”

Yeah, he did, and we only half believed him.

The workers from town said they would eat when they got home but they stuck around to have coffee and talk.  Nolan used some of the old lumber for a bonfire. The younger boys were very proud to be part of the all-man work force and they hung around as long as they could but they were soon so sleepy that they could barely stay awake. One of the workers from town drove them back to the motel on his way home.

The workers expressed their appreciation for all we were doing and Nolan thanked them for pitching in. Personally, I had issues. Not with the good work we were doing and all the money that had been donated; I wondered how the small hamlet had been allowed to deteriorate to such a state. 

“You’re asking why we didn’t do this before now, ourselves,” a worker named Lyle said.

“Yeah, I guess I am asking that.”

“There have been a few attempts to better our conditions,” he said. “You see, this isn’t a town in the true sense of the word.  It’s not in the city limits and it’s not incorporated.”

The others chimed in.

“It’s a conclave of houses that have sprung up over the years along the side of the road. It comes under the auspices of the diocese, part of the bishop’s flock. The forgotten of his flock.”

“One time when there was lumber and materials donated for repairs the bishop came out and proclaimed that the donation was made to the diocese and he claimed ownership. Nobody ever saw one damned board on any of the structures here.”

“How does he get by with that?” I asked.  

“He’s very domineering and dictatorial. He is the bishop, after all.  These people won’t buck him. Hell, they’re not able to support their church, only what little they can kick in for Father Colby’s support. The bishop claims to take care of them but that means him driving out a couple of times a year and imparting his blessing.  Try to put a blessing in your belly,” he said sarcastically.

“People try to help but they’re proud.  They’ve lost hope; resigned themselves.”

“Maybe somebody needs to un-resign them,” Jason said. “Maybe somebody needs to impart a blessing on the bishop.”

“Uh-oh,” I said under my breath.

“Where does the bishop live?” Jason asked.

“Oh, shit,” I said wearily.

The workers looked at me. A couple of them smiled, one laughed.

“You don’t wanta know,” one said.

I didn’t know where everyone slept but Jason and I ended up with our own room.

“How did this happen?” I asked as we were drying off after our shower.

“They probably think we’re too old for sex,” he joked.

Everyone was up bright and early the next morning about sunrise, including several of the workers from town from the day before.  Some of the townspeople said they had seen the bishop’s car drive slowly through town and then turn around and drive back and stop at the rectory.

Jason and I headed over to see Colby.

“I hear your boss paid you a visit last night.”

“Yes, word travels,” he said.

“What’d he want?” Jason asked.

“It was just a courtesy call.”

“This is me, Colby,” Jason said.  “What’d the bishop want?”

“Well, he wasn’t overly happy with what’s going on. He wanted to know what I’d said or done, who I’d talked to, to draw attention to myself and prompt all of this. He doesn’t like adverse publicity.”

“What the hell is adverse about fixing up the town?” I said.

“That’s French for he’s not in charge,”  Colby said.

“What else?” I asked.  “There’s something else, Colby.”

“He, uh…..he said all of this belongs to the diocese, all the lumber and material, and he said it should have been delivered…...”

“Whoa! Why would the lumber and material be delivered anywhere but the worksite?” Jason asked.

“It’ll only cause trouble if you say anything,” Colby said, his head down.

I went over to him and crooked a finger under his chin so I could eyeball him.

“I don’t like seeing you like this, Colby,” I said.

“I’ve taken the vow of obedience,” he said.

“Obedience not slavery,” I said.

“Don’t judge me until you’ve taken the vows,” he said, his eyes unwavering. “In all things, God is in charge.”

“I think God’s going to get a little help,” I said.

“Please, don’t let him mention the truck,” Colby said.

“Why? What’s up with the truck?” I asked.

“The bishop…..”  He sighed. ”He insisted that it be registered to the diocese.”

“That’s impossible; my name was on the title, along with yours.”

“They accepted my signature as owner. He borrows it sometimes.”

“And leaves you with….?”

“I’m without a vehicle until it’s returned.”

“God is going to get a LOT of help,” I said.

“I don’t want to lose this parish, Brad,” he said, his eyes pleading. “It’s where I belong. These people need me.  God help us, I’m all they’ve got, but they need me.”

“You will keep your parish, Colby, even if I have to go to the pope.”

Jason had left and when I went out he was ranting to Nolan.

“If I miss him and he shows up, you detain his holy ass till I get back. Tie him up if you have to.”

“I don’t think we’ll need to,” Nolan said, looking around at all the workers.

I told Nolan I was going with Jason.

“Yes, the bishop’s going to need protection,” he said, laughing.

We found the bishop’s residence and managed to slip in just as the heavy iron gates were closing behind a sleek Mercedes sedan. We followed it up the long winding drive leading to a huge brick and stone mansion. The red bishop’s hat was visible in the back window.

“Nice digs,” Jason muttered. “While our Colby is living in poverty.”

“He doesn’t want to lose his parish,” I said.

“Alright, we’ll be diplomatic.”

I choked on that. I didn’t tell him about the truck.

The Mercedes drove under a brick carport. We tried to catch him but by the time we caught up and got out he was whisked inside.

“We’re here to see the bishop,” I said to the priest, before Jason could speak.

“Do you have an appointment?” the priest asked.

“No and we don’t have time for one; we’re not from around here.”

“I gathered.  How did you get in here?”

“Same way you did,” Jason said.

“You’ll have to leave the same way you came; the bishop isn’t available.”

“He’s here, he’s available,” Jason said as we started to follow the priest inside.

The priest stopped and with his best scowl, said, “If you don’t leave I will have to call security.”

“You do that,” Jason said.  “What is your security, altar boys?” With that, he helped the priest inside.  “We are not leaving till we see the bishop. Now you can take us to him or we will find him on our own.”

“Very well, but I’m not sure he will see you.”

“He’ll see us,” I said.

We were led down wide paneled corridors lined with expensive looking chairs and side tables, the walls adorned with fine paintings and the carpet two inches thick.  At the end of the hallway we were asked to wait.

“Two minutes,” I said.

The priest pulled back two enormous doors and quickly closed them behind him. We paced back down the hall, went in and out of a couple of rooms. One room overlooked a lavish lawn in back where we could see through leaded glass windows.

“This place is like a castle,” Jason remarked.

“Yes, complete with nymphs romping in the forest,” I said.

“What?”

“Come look at this.”

He came over to see several naked youths cavorting around, spraying each other as they washed the Mercedes we’d followed in.

“Well, well, we just got handed all the cards,” Jason said.

We came out of the room just as the priest was coming out to take us into the bishop’s office.

“We would appreciate it you would wait to be escorted around,” he said.

“Yes, I’m sure you would,” Jason said.

He showed us in and with a little bow, introduced us to the bishop, not by name but as two unexpected visitors. We didn’t bow. The bishop came around from behind his half-acre mahogany desk with his hand sticking out of his crimson robe and welcomed us in unctuous tones.

“I have but a few moments, what can I do for you?”

“We came to talk to you about your parish at Cotter’s Creek,
 Jason began.

“Ah, yes, a quaint little parish, fine people, very devout.”

“And poor as church mice,” I put in. “You didn’t mention the priest.”

“Yes, Father….uh…..” He was snapping his fingers, trying to remember.

“Father Colby,” Jason said.

“Yes, Father Colby. He is a true and obedient servant of God. The people flock to him like children.”

“Too obedient, perhaps,” I said and I could see his demeanor gradually changing.  “You should know that this is not necessarily intended as a cordial visit,” I said.

“Then what is the intent of your visit?” he asked in a belligerently defensive tone.

“For starters, to learn why Father Colby is living in a shack that’s falling down around him, why the church roof leaks and why the people in Cutter’s Creek are living in third-world conditions while you’re living like royalty in a multi-million dollar mansion.”

“I can understand that you are not privy to the day-to-day functioning of a diocese.  This house is not just my home.  I occupy a very small part of it.  It is used to receive parishioners from all over the diocese, as well as receiving and entertaining church dignitaries and others as well.”

“A hostel for the very rich and powerful?” I asked. Then, “Has there ever been a parishioner invited to this house who’s not worth at least a million dollars?”

Before he could respond, Jason chimed in.

“Anything like Jesus Christ entertaining that crowd of five thousand on the mountainside and feeding them loaves and fishes?”

“See here, you are not a guest, but an intruder in this house. I must ask you to leave!” he said with great indignation.

“Not till we get some answers,” Jason said.

I saw the bishop nod to the priest.

“Stay put!” I told him.

He slinked back into his corner.

We had all been standing till the bishop went back around behind his desk, I thought to create a barrier between him and us. Jason plopped down in one of the ornate chairs across from him, splayed his legs out and groped his crotch.  I did the same, minus the groping part.

“There seems to be some question over the ownership of the lumber and materials that were donated for the renovation project,” Jason said.

“There is no question; donations of whatever kind are made to the parish, which is within the diocese,” he said as calmly as he could.

“How much of the Sunday collections from that church are siphoned off to the diocese?” I asked.

“Oh, I suspended assessments from that parish a long time ago.” he said with a wave of his hand.  “But none of this is any of your business. Now I must ask you to leave.” He started to stand up.

“Sit down!” Jason barked. 

The man fairly collapsed into his chair.

“It is very much our business,” Jason said. “You see, bishop, Father Colby is one our sons and we don’t like the way he’s being treated.” I saw the color drain from the bishop’s face.  “How much of the collections from the wealthier parishes go to help the poor parish of Cotter’s Creek?”

“Well, we don’t have what you would call wealthy parishes, but I would have to have my secretary check into that.”

“There’s some wealth somewhere,” I said, looking around the room. “Who’s paying for this palace? And that big Mercedes?” I asked.

“Are you his secretary?” Jason asked the priest. He practically melted in his robes. “Bring out the books.”

“Now see here!” the bishop blurted indignantly.

“Stop saying see here! Bring out the fuckin’ books!” Jason bellowed.

The bishop was scared out of his wits. I imagined he and the priest were both trembling under their robes.  The bishop nodded to the priest and he got up to leave.

“You go with him,” Jason said to me.

I went with him to a small ante room just off the bishop’s palatial office.  Despite being visibly frightened of me the priest was able to voice his feelings.

“This is an outrage,” he said as he opened a safe hidden behind a large painting.

“We like to call it justice,” I said dryly.

Back in the office the bishop and Jason sat in silence. The priest set the heavy, ornately bound book on the bishop’s desk. Jason waved for him to bring it to him. The priest hesitated then started to pick it up but the bishop slammed his hand down on the book.

“I will NOT!” he bellowed. “I will NOT have you delving into the affairs of the church.  This matter is closed!  You will leave, NOW!”

I had taken the other chair and neither of us moved. When Jason didn’t say anything for a moment, I did.

“Bishop, we are going to get an accounting of the affairs of your diocese, and here’s how and why,” I said in an even tone.  Jason later said later it was a dangerous tone. “For example, there is the matter of the illegal confiscation of a private vehicle that had my name on the title. There is also the matter of naked teenage boys cavorting around in your back yard as we speak. Knowing the natural promiscuity of normal teenage boys, and they didn’t act like they were being held against their will, we’ll let that slide for now. But it won’t look good on the front page of the paper. The truck is another matter, one that leaves you open for criminal prosecution.  Now, we’re going to forget the demand to pour over your books.  I suspect there will come a time when prosecutors will be doing that. Here are the conditions for letting these issues go unreported for now.  You will not extract a dime from Father Colby’s parish. Instead, you will provide a clothing allowance…..”

“He’s taken the vow of poverty,” the bishop said.

“Fuck your vow of poverty!” I bellowed. “I’m doing the talking, you do the listening. On top of a clothing allowance, you will purchase the proper robes that a priest wears throughout the year; the various colors for different feast days. You will provide medical and life insurance coverage for Father Colby and every member of that parish. And you will provide a monthly stipend to the parish to be used in any way Father Colby sees fit, without question or accountability. The diocese will be removed from the truck title and my name will be added back. You will however provide insurance coverage for the vehicle as well as gas, maintenance and repairs. One of your diocesan credit cards would be a convenient way of doing.”  I looked at the priest. “If you would be so kind as to get one, we will deliver it to Father Colby.”

“We don’t have credit cards,” the priest said.

“Sure you do,” I said.

“And you can go to hell for lying,” Jason put in.

I turned back to the bishop as he was waving the priest to get the credit card.

“And finally, you will see that Father Colby remains in this parish for as long as he wishes. Do you think you can do that?”

“I believe we can see our way to accomplish all that you’ve asked,” he said in his best bishopric tone.

“Very good,” Jason declared, smacking his knees before he shoved himself up out of the chair. We thank you for your cooperation, your understanding, and your charity.”

The priest found his legs and showed us out and led us down the long carpeted hallway.  Suddenly, Jason stopped and turned around. The bishop was still standing at the open doorway, probably wondering about the wrath that had just been sent down on him.

“You know, Bishop, I think it’d be nice to have a big picnic and invite everyone from that parish.”

The man didn’t say anything.  If we’d been closer, we would have no doubt seen him glaring at us. Jason did get closer.  He took several steps back toward the office and the bishop put his hands on the doors as if to close them.

“Just wanted to say….I like your taste in boys,” he said with a wink and a smile.

With an audible huff, the bishop pulled the doors shut.

At the door we cordially thanked the priest was no doubt thankful for our departure.

“That went well,” Jason said as we were driving down the lane toward the parting gates.

“I hope it all ends well,” I said.

He laughed, shaking his head.  “You were like a lion in there.”

“He touched the wrong buttons,” I said.

To be continued...