Backbone > Frankly Speaking
Answering the Call
by Frank Crocitto; Illustration by Leslie Bender

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When the priest arrived on the scene the bridge was lit like a night game. Squad cars, their roof lights flashing maniacally, staved off traffic. Cops with dour faces moved impatiently among the cars.
The sergeant in charge, pink-jowled, pear-shaped, opened the cab door like a doorman.

—Quite a night, huh, Father?

—Thank you, my man, the priest said, slamming the cab door.
He buttoned the top button of his coat and flipped up his collar.

—No hat? asked the sergeant.

—You want me to wait or not? called the cabbie.

The priest and the policeman looked at each other. Droplets fell from the brim of the sergeant’s hat.

—I can wait. I’ll turn the meter off.

A young cop, sporting a drooping moustache, swaggered over.
—He’s climbing up, Sarg.

The sergeant, the priest, and the cabbie looked up at the lonely figure on the bridge.

With the help of two cops the priest reached a girder below the boy. The taste of chicken lingered in the priest’s mouth, his tongue worked at some strings stuck between his molars. The call came before he could finish his second bowl of soup, so the ride to the bridge was threaded with the worry that he hadn’t eaten enough and wouldn’t sleep that night.

—You gonna be all right up there, Father?

Tightening his grip on a cable the priest smiled bravely down.

—Just be careful. The metal gets slick in the wet.

—I’m careful, answered the priest.

—We don’t want to lose you, the sergeant joked.

For a moment, as he glanced over the black water and the shadows of the city, Father Dantine burned with anger at the situation he found himself in, at his mechanical response to the call, at the stupidity of Irish cops. Mostly he loathed himself for letting himself get out of shape. The seminary and five years at Saint Rose of the Saints had done him in.
—Go home, came a dark voice from above.

—I am perfectly at home, the priest retorted cordially.

The hollow sound of his words made him wince.

—Yeah, I’ll bet you are. Get outa here, padre.

The priest inched closer so he wouldn’t have to shout. His mind and emotions were in a swirl. To steady himself he focused on the soles of his shoes and on his hands as they gripped cable after cable. A tremor took hold of his arms.

—Why can’t you goody-goods mind your own damn business?! I’m warning you.

Silently, the priest continued to sidle along the girder. What possessed him to answer this call? There had been many before it he had ignored. He rummaged through his memory of psychology texts and counseling manuals he had once read.

—What’re you, deaf?!

The priest looked up at the object of his errand. A trickle broke across his hairline and wandered across his forehead. It turned at his eyebrow and rolled into the corner of his eye.

The youth, dark-haired, a thin growth above his lip, wearing a red jacket, moved away. He clapped and fluttered his hands to the beat of an inaudible song.

—Hold on to something, you idiot! the priest shouted.

—You talking to me?! the boy asked hoarsely.

—You, stupid, I’m talking to you, yeah! Father Dantine could hardly believe the words leaping from his mouth were his. You stupid idiot!!

—How would you like to be kicked off this bridge, padre? I’m not stupid. I wish I was stupid.

—Anybody who endangers his life like this is worse than stupid.

—Then we’re both stupid. The youth turned away.

At bottom both mentally and spiritually lazy, Father “Bob” felt the soft life he’d fallen into at Saint Rose’s to be heaven, a God-carved niche. He played the accordion whenever there were parish events. His freckled, red-haired charm titillated the ladies and amused the gents.

—You’re inconveniencing a lot of folks, son, you know that? You better watch out. A person can fall off.

—I didn’t invite you here, padre.

—Somebody did, snapped the priest. Come on, son, what’s this all about, huh? You want to make a big show? So you’ll get on the 10 o’clock news? Is that what you want? Huh?

Carelessly the boy swung on a cross-cable. He landed and looked out toward the Brooklyn docks.

—Hey, come on, now. I can tell you’re a sharp kid. Let’s talk. Father Bob’s voice was warm and coaxing. He was confident he had hit on the right tone.

—What’s your name, son? I know you’ve got a name, huh? Why don’t you come on down and let’s have a cup of coffee?

The youth looked thoughtfully down at the priest and, with fine deliberation, spit.

—Son of a—! You got it on my coat! You know that?

—I’ll do better next time.

—Why don’t you come down—so I can punch your teeth in, punk?!

The boy smirked.

—Is that the way to talk to somebody you want to save?
The sharp air, that salt tang of the river, the mist that was increasing to a drizzle, and the untrammeled banter with the boy invigorated the priest.

—Father, the sergeant called. You wanna come down? The priest waved him away.

—I hope you got a good reason for being up there, son, the priest said in a kindly voice. And not because your girlfriend told you she doesn’t love you anymore…

—The next time you call me “son” I’m gonna piss on you, padre.

—You do and I’m going to climb up there—so help me—and throw you off the damned bridge myself! And you won’t have to jump!

L ater when the two were sitting in a grimy coffee shop, Hector unfolded a damp, yellow sheet of paper and slid it across the table to the priest.

—This your chicken scratch? Father Dantine smiled.

—Can you read it? Everything isn’t a joke, Father.

—If I put on my glasses I can, the priest said smiling.

—Then, damn it, put them on, your holiness.

Recognizing he was pushing his hispanic friend too far, the priest put on a serious face and examined the paper.

—What’s this supposed to be? If I may ask…

—It’s supposed to be questions. If you can’t read I’ll read them to you. You don’t take me serious. You’re no different than the rest. You want me to read them to you?

—The rest of who?

—Never mind who. Do I need to read you the questions or not? The priest returned to his reading.

—Well? asked the boy.

—I’ve read your questions.

—Well?

—Well what?

—What are the answers? No professional bunk, if you please.

The waitress came, poured more coffee.

—You a priest? she asked. Father Dantine nodded.

—You’re cute, she chirped over her shoulder.

The priest looked back at the paper. Hector watched his eyes shifting as he read. After a time he looked up and into the boy’s dark eyes.

—Numero Uno: I only know what I’ve been told or what I read, nothing first-hand—not directly. Like everybody else. That’s the fact of it. To question Number Two I’d say: “Search me.” I don’t know what the value is of knowing you exist. Maybe you steer yourself better. And maybe better things happen. But I don’t really know. Three: I don’t have the foggiest idea where ideas come from. All I know is they pop into my head. And they pop out again. I don’t know to where. Never thought about it before. How am I doing?

—Just keep going, Hector grumbled.

—This one’s a good one: I, truthfully, don’t know. Because I wasn’t there when the universe began, and I don’t know anybody else who was. But people believe whatever they want. Number Five and final: People get away with murder—all the time. That’s why we keep at it. If you can get away with murder you can get away with anything. That’s what I believe. But it’s what I see, too. Not only what I believe. You asked. I answered. And you? What do you think?

The boy had a pimple high on his left cheek, which he’d been poking and scraping at as the priest spoke until it was raw. He took the paper and tore it and scattered the pieces like snowflakes across the sticky tabletop.

—The question that matters is—to me—is: If I stretch my arm out as far as I can, will an arm come out of eternity and take hold of my hand?

The priest smiled and motioned to the waitress, who was leaning over the counter, looking his way.

—Anybody can get the answer to that one, he said quietly.

—Think so?

—Not by jumping off bridges, of course. Yeah, I do. I do think so.

When the waitress arrived she put her hand on her hip.

—Are you all done, sweetie? she said.