Thomas M. Disch Read Free Page A

long hair and the gold chain around his neck and an earring in his left earlobe, was actually the more feminine of the two. Father Cogling had been reproved by his pastor on more than one occasion for making disparaging remarks about the fashions adopted by what Father Pat called “the youth culture.” As though young people lived in a separate world with its own norms and customs. As though they were Ubangis or Hottentots! But it was true, as Father Pat had many times pointed out, that there was nothing inherently immoral or indecent in hair that touched one’s collar or, for that matter, in an earring. Such things were not declarations of degeneracy, at least not necessarily. So, as reluctant as Father Cogling was to tolerate such fads and foibles, he held his peace. If firemen wanted to look like fairies, so be it. His lips were sealed.
    The prayer concluded, Father Cogling smiled a wise, priestly smile and made eye contact with each of the four young people in turn. Then, his eyes still focused on Alison, he said, “We all must be so grateful for our mothers.
    I know I am. Not only for my earthly mother, who passed to her reward some time ago, God bless her, but even more the mother I share with all of you here, and with”—he dipped his head reverently—”Jesus. Our mother who is the Queen of Heaven—the Virgin Mary.”
    Out of the corner of his eye he saw Alison’s fiancé making a characteristic grimace, italicized by the thin line of his mustache. “That presents you with some difficulty, Mr.… ? I’m sorry, my memory isn’t what it was.”
    “No problem,” the boy said. “You can just call me Son.”
    “Son?”
    “Yeah. I got to call you Father, right? So you can call me Son. Who needs last names?”
    “Well, Son,” Father Cogling resumed imperturbably, “you seem to have some difficulty with the idea of the Virgin Mary. Many Protestants do, including some theologians. It is one of what they like to call the scandals of our Faith.”
    “I’m happy to hear I’m not alone.”
    Alison whispered, “Greg, please.”
    Father Cogling raised his hand as though in benediction. “I prefer to think of these matters as mysteries of the Faith. Mysteries in the sense of puzzles that the rational mind, unassisted by Faith, can never solve. The Virgin Birth, for instance, is in some ways a more mysterious, or challenging, concept than Christ’s conception in the Virgin’s womb.”
    “Excuse me, Father,” Denise interrupted, “but I don’t see the distinction.”
    “The distinction is that Mary remained a Virgin after the birth of the Christ child. In the Latin phrase, she is Mater inviolata .”
    “No shit,” Greg marveled. He had the decency at once to blush.
    Father Cogling smiled benignly. “It is amazing, is it not? It defies common sense. It is … miraculous!”
    “You mean,” Denise asked, “that it was like a cesarean section? He wasn’t delivered normally?”
    “Indeed: He was delivered supernaturally.”
    “You’re saying,” Greg put it as bluntly as possible, “her hymen wasn’t broken. The baby came out through the hymen.”
    Father Cogling nodded.
    “That is weird. That is incredible.”
    “Hey, come on, lay off it, will ya?” Robert Howell counseled. “Give the guy a chance.”
    “Ah, but Robert,” Father Cogling insisted, “he’s quite right. It is
    incredible. Quite literally. Without faith it is something one could not believe .”
    “And you’re saying,” Greg insisted, “that for me and Alison to get married in the Church I got to believe that?”
    “No,” said Father Cogling. “I’m only explaining what most Catholics believe concerning the Virgin Mary. Not even all Catholics. No pope has ever declared Mary’s postnatal virginity an infallible truth. I think Pope John Paul may do so: That has been my prayer these many years. But there are some Catholics who are skeptical in that regard.”
    “So,” Greg said, “it’s like Ripley: Believe it or