The Stories of J.F. Powers (New York Review Books Classics) by J.F. Powers

Author:J.F. Powers [Powers, J.F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781590176597
Publisher: New York Review Books
Published: 2012-11-20T20:00:00+00:00

“A fellow like you might handle that end of it,” Mac said one day in the car. He had been talking about the store part of his dream and how he would put out a big catalogue in which it would be wise for manufacturers—and maybe religious orders, too—to buy advertising if they expected to do business with him. “Interested?” he asked.

Myles was definitely not interested, but he was touched by the offer, since it showed that Mac trusted him. It was time to put matters straight between them. Myles spoke then of his dream—of the great desire he had to become a priest. Not a punch-drunk seminary professor or a fat cat in a million-dollar parish, he said, but a simple shepherd ministering gently to the poorest of God’s poor. He wouldn’t mind being a priest-worker, like those already functioning so successfully in France, according to reports reaching him. “That can’t happen here,” Mac said. Myles, however, saw difficult times ahead for the nation— Here Mac started to open his mouth but grabbed instead for his ears. Myles felt pretty sure that there would soon be priest-workers slaving away in fields and factories by day and tending to the spiritual needs of their poor fellow-workers by night.

“Poor?” Mac asked. “What about the unions? When I think what those boys take home!”

Myles then explored the more immediate problem of finding a bishop to sponsor him.

Mac said he knew several quite well and he might speak to them.

“I wish you would,” Myles said. “The two I’ve seen looked impossible.” Then, having said that much—too much—he confessed to Mac his real reason for taking the job: the urgency of his position with regard to Selective Service.

Immediately, Mac, who had not been paying much attention, released an ear for listening. He appeared ill-disposed toward Myles’ reluctance to serve in the armed forces, or, possibly, toward such frankness.

“I can’t serve two masters,” Myles said. Mac was silent; he’d gone absolutely dead. “Are you a veteran?” Myles asked.

“Since you ask,” Mac said, “I’ll tell you. I served and was wounded—honorably—in both World Wars. If there’s another one, I hope to do my part. Does that answer your question?” Myles said that it did, and he could think of nothing to say just then that wouldn’t hurt Mac’s feelings.

That night, Mac, in his cups, surpassed himself. He got through with the usual accusations early and began threatening Myles with “exposure.” “Dodgin’ the draft!” Mac howled. “I oughta turn you in.”

Myles said he hadn’t broken the law yet.

“But you intend to,” Mac said. “I oughta turn you in.”

“I’ll turn myself in when the time comes,” Myles said.

“Like hell you will. You’ll go along until they catch up with you. Then they’ll clap you in jail—where you belong.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Myles said, thinking of St Paul and other convicts.

“Then you’ll wish you were in the Army—where you belong. I’m not sure it’s not my duty to report you. Let’s see your draft card.”

Myles let him see it.

“‘Flynn, Myles’—that you? How do I know you’re not somebody else by the same name?”

Myles made no reply.

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