climbed the rickety stairs to the belfry. Leaks in the roof had rotted some of the wooden steps and parts of the railing. A long snakeskin lay across the top step. Father Nicky smiled and said, “I think that snake’s still in here.”
Cheney Falgout was terrified. He had heard ghost stories about the church. The first story was about a man who had hung himselffrom the rope that rang the church bell and how the bell only rang once as the dead man slammed into the wood siding. The second story was about the bell also. One afternoon it rang so many times that everyone in Amalie and Cypress Bay came running. Just as the crowd gathered outside the church, an old priest appeared on the belfry walk and did a swan dive, his black cassock spreading like the wings of a monstrous vulture. These stories were on Cheney’s mind as he stepped over the snakeskin.
When he and Father Dubois emerged onto the walkway around the top of the steeple, the child instinctively breathed deeply, inhaling the salty air, smelling the bay. He looked for the dock on the canal where his father moored his shrimp boat, a big, long hauler. Cheney breathed deep, over and over.
When they were back downstairs in the church, the priest showed Cheney the baptismal fount where he had been christened. Father Nicky allowed him to sit in the clergyman’s center cubicle of the old oak-and-pecan-wood confessional. He then guided Cheney round the communion railing to the altar.
As Cheney stood by the altar, his heart raced to be standing so close to God. Father Dubois reached down and lifted the little boy to a sitting position on the altar. He placed the chalice between the boy’s legs, and let him touch its gold surface and the jewels set on the side of the cup. Then the priest set the chalice on the floor.
With a hand on the boy’s chest, the priest gently pushed him onto his back. Cheney stared at a large crucifix mounted on the wall behind him. Light flooded in through a red, green and blue leaded glass panel on the rear wall high above the sanctuary. From where he lay, the crucifix and everything else looked upside down.
“Now Father must do something very important,” the priest said. “It’s a physical inspection kind of like at a doctor’s office but a little different. You are going to be an altar boy before Christmas. You will be on this altar at Midnight Mass. Everyone will look at you as a holy boy. Father is going to make you a holy boy. What we are doing right now is a secret, a secret that only priests and special boys know. There are lots of secrets you will know that youcan never tell anyone, not even your momma and daddy. This will make you feel really good. And after this, Cheney, you will be Father’s boy.”
Father Dubois unzipped the boy’s jeans and removed them. As he was pulling the child’s Winnie the Pooh jockey shorts off, the priest unfastened his own pants and let them fall to the floor, pushing his boxer shorts to his knees. The boy shivered and then he felt Father’s mouth pushing down between his bare legs.
Cheney had no idea what was going on. He felt cold on the marble altar, scared in his head and icky down there. He had no idea what was happening. He could feel the priest’s left hand stroking his face, sometimes running through his hair. He felt the priest’s right arm kind of banging against his left leg.
The priest made a noise Cheney had never heard any person make. Then Father Nicky took his mouth away, pulled up his pants and fastened his belt. He helped Cheney dress and lifted him to the floor.
The boy hung his head. He felt like he was going to be sick.
Afterwards, Father Nicky had taken him to Thiberville, forty miles away, where they visited a mall and Cheney got more birthday gifts than he could have dreamed of: a pellet gun and ammo, a tackle box and fishing gear, camouflage clothing, a pirate puppet, and a jam box and a stack of music cassettes.
Over the next three years, everything had
Cheney Falgout was terrified. He had heard ghost stories about the church. The first story was about a man who had hung himselffrom the rope that rang the church bell and how the bell only rang once as the dead man slammed into the wood siding. The second story was about the bell also. One afternoon it rang so many times that everyone in Amalie and Cypress Bay came running. Just as the crowd gathered outside the church, an old priest appeared on the belfry walk and did a swan dive, his black cassock spreading like the wings of a monstrous vulture. These stories were on Cheney’s mind as he stepped over the snakeskin.
When he and Father Dubois emerged onto the walkway around the top of the steeple, the child instinctively breathed deeply, inhaling the salty air, smelling the bay. He looked for the dock on the canal where his father moored his shrimp boat, a big, long hauler. Cheney breathed deep, over and over.
When they were back downstairs in the church, the priest showed Cheney the baptismal fount where he had been christened. Father Nicky allowed him to sit in the clergyman’s center cubicle of the old oak-and-pecan-wood confessional. He then guided Cheney round the communion railing to the altar.
As Cheney stood by the altar, his heart raced to be standing so close to God. Father Dubois reached down and lifted the little boy to a sitting position on the altar. He placed the chalice between the boy’s legs, and let him touch its gold surface and the jewels set on the side of the cup. Then the priest set the chalice on the floor.
With a hand on the boy’s chest, the priest gently pushed him onto his back. Cheney stared at a large crucifix mounted on the wall behind him. Light flooded in through a red, green and blue leaded glass panel on the rear wall high above the sanctuary. From where he lay, the crucifix and everything else looked upside down.
“Now Father must do something very important,” the priest said. “It’s a physical inspection kind of like at a doctor’s office but a little different. You are going to be an altar boy before Christmas. You will be on this altar at Midnight Mass. Everyone will look at you as a holy boy. Father is going to make you a holy boy. What we are doing right now is a secret, a secret that only priests and special boys know. There are lots of secrets you will know that youcan never tell anyone, not even your momma and daddy. This will make you feel really good. And after this, Cheney, you will be Father’s boy.”
Father Dubois unzipped the boy’s jeans and removed them. As he was pulling the child’s Winnie the Pooh jockey shorts off, the priest unfastened his own pants and let them fall to the floor, pushing his boxer shorts to his knees. The boy shivered and then he felt Father’s mouth pushing down between his bare legs.
Cheney had no idea what was going on. He felt cold on the marble altar, scared in his head and icky down there. He had no idea what was happening. He could feel the priest’s left hand stroking his face, sometimes running through his hair. He felt the priest’s right arm kind of banging against his left leg.
The priest made a noise Cheney had never heard any person make. Then Father Nicky took his mouth away, pulled up his pants and fastened his belt. He helped Cheney dress and lifted him to the floor.
The boy hung his head. He felt like he was going to be sick.
Afterwards, Father Nicky had taken him to Thiberville, forty miles away, where they visited a mall and Cheney got more birthday gifts than he could have dreamed of: a pellet gun and ammo, a tackle box and fishing gear, camouflage clothing, a pirate puppet, and a jam box and a stack of music cassettes.
Over the next three years, everything had
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