HOODED EYES, SLEEK BLACK HAIR, A LONG, AQUILINE NOSE AND VERY THEATRICAL HAND GESTURES.
| Our mother used to hustle the five of us kids off to Catholic mass on Sunday mornings. “Hustle” feels like the right word, because we were always late. It took me years to figure out that she preferred arriving late, because there was no small talk to be made, no church friendships to navigate or maintain, and there would only be room for us to sit together in the very back. This last aspect was also helpful for exiting the church, because she believed that it was our sacred duty to “beat the traffic,” and leaving before the mass ended was the only way to do that. The church was made of stone, very much in the style of past centuries of church-building, and for a kid it was like visiting a castle. I think it’s only fair to mention that in my formative church-going years, we hadn’t yet figured out that I needed glasses, and so I had to squint to make out who was addressing us in mysterious Latin intonations, that pale figure up front wearing the elaborate costume. If we took Holy Communion, then I would try to sneak an up-close look at him, but it was always hasty and furtive, as it felt somehow forbidden. What I could remember from these glimpses was hooded eyes, sleek black hair, a long, aquiline nose and very theatrical hand gestures. During this time I happened to catch the 1931 film Dracula on TV, with Bela Lugosi’s mesmerizing turn as the legendary vampire. You might be able to see where this is going. I knew there were these two intimidating figures, both living in castles and wearing exotic costumes, and both quite concerned with the consumption of blood. One of them was all about trying to get other people to drink it, and the other seemed to want it all for himself. One of them was confined to the TV, but the other one was local and free to wreak havoc among the unsuspecting villagers: us. I shouldn’t pretend that my confusion lasted a long time, it didn’t. I was able to discreetly check with one of my sisters about these castle-living, blood-obsessed creatures in our midst, and she reassured me that the local one was of no immediate concern. Of course, the times being what they are, the priest I was concerned about later suffered allegations of sexual abuse of a minor while serving in a subsequent parish, and his likeness has been removed from sites where he had been honored as “The Good Father.” Which leaves me with a different lingering confusion: maybe I was onto something, and sensed something a little bit predatory in our “good father.” Or perhaps my memory is being a bit of a prankster, crafting a story where none existed. In any event, I’ll leave you with a pair of portraits, one of Bela Lugosi in his most famous role, and the other of Monsignor Mario Costa. |
