Memorial Bridge by James Carroll Read Free Book Online

No one knew better than his students that Corrigan was a mediocre lawyer for whom teaching was a refuge. "...has done his duty. Now I must do mine. And my duty is to decide whether the
intention of the lawmaker is served by applying the law in a particular case. It is a question of...?" Now both the dean's eyebrows shot up, indicating the interrogatory.
    "
Epikaia,
" Dillon said at once.
    "Precisely." Father Ferrick sat back, satisfied. "The truth, Mr. Dillon, is that you are quite well prepared for your torts exam, aren't you?"
    "I believe so, Father."
    "You haven't missed a step here in five years." He indicated the file. "You have compiled an excellent record. It would be an understatement to say that your professors, until now, have rated you highly."
    "I appreciate that."
    "It's not what they did; it's what you did." Father Ferrick paused, not troubling to conceal a glint in his eye that was at once admiring and self-satisfied. "It would have reflected badly on what we teach here if you had failed in your duty as a Catholic. The human body is the temple of the Holy Ghost and must be treated as such, even after the immortal soul has departed from it."
    The pieties breezed by Dillon, familiar and meaningless.
    "There's something else, Father," he said without meaning to. Suddenly it felt as if the grill of the confessional were between them, and now his words came unbidden, in a guilt-stricken rush. "I also stayed at the yards because my partner needed me to. That is"—here it was, an admission of the lie, the only way to undo it—"my partner was there. I wasn't alone."
    Father Ferrick waved his hand dismissively. If this was a hollow spot in the wall of the case that had just convinced him, it was not a hole he cared to open.
    Dillon felt relieved, but also foolish for being so easily teased by his own conscience.
    Father Ferrick had picked up a page of Dillon's scholastic transcript. "You did your college work at seminary."
    "That's right."
    "But you left?"
    Dillon answered, but only to himself. Of course I left. I'm sitting here, aren't I? He could feel the color coming into his face.
    "You left after third theology."
    "Yes, just before ordination to the deaconate. Just before vows."
    "Do you mind my asking why?"
    "Why I left?"
    "Yes."
    Dillon wanted to look out the window, to see the beauty of the evening, the shadows on the street, the men and women going out to shows. What could he possibly say?
    For an instant he was back in the rector's office, the rector staring harshly at him, waiting for an explanation. Sean Dillon had been selected to go to Rome for his doctorate, and
this
was his response? Sean Dillon had been housed, clothed, fed and educated from the age of twelve, and
this
was his response? But Sean Dillon had had no response.
    Now he said simply, "I left because I'd lost the sense of my vocation."
    The Jesuit sighed dramatically. "Well, it's too bad. We hate to see the Church lose a good man." His teeth squeaked as he inhaled through them. "Do you ever reconsider?"
    Dillon shook his head.
    Ferrick dropped the transcript and folded the file shut. "The law is a noble calling too." He smiled. "I hope you can keep your sense of
this
vocation."
    "I hope so too, Father." But then it hit him that he had just done the same thing to himself. He'd come within an inch of ordination, and now he'd come within an inch of the bar. Only to fall short? The nightmare was that his first failure to follow through would repeat itself again and again through his life. Dillon knew that that was exactly what the rector and all his disappointed seminary teachers expected would be his pattern. Or was it only that they hoped so?
    Was this the real reason he'd stayed with Hanley, undermining himself without knowing it?
    Father Ferrick surprised Dillon, cutting through the glue to say abruptly, "I want you to take that examination right away. Did you say you can do it tomorrow?
    "Yes."
    "I will speak to Professor Corrigan. He won't