Part 28 (1/2)
As soon as I was asked to approach the witness stand, I locked my gaze on Shay's. He stared back at me, silent, blank. The clerk approached, holding a Bible. ”Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you G.o.d?”
The leather cover of the book was finely grained and black, worn smooth by the palms of thousands who'd recited a vow just like this one. I thought of all the times I'd held a Bible for comfort, a religious man's security blanket. I used to think it contained all the answers; now I wondered whether the right questions had even been asked. So help me G.o.d, So help me G.o.d, I thought. I thought.
Maggie's hands were clasped lightly in front of her. ”Can you state your name and address for the record?”
”Michael Wright,” I said, clearing my throat. ”Thirty-four twenty-two High Street, in Concord.”
”How are you employed?”
”I'm a priest at St. Catherine's.”
”How does one become a priest?” Maggie asked.
”You go to seminary for a certain number of years, and then you become a member of the transitional deaconate ... learning the ropes under the guidance of a more experienced parish priest. Finally, you get ordained.”
”How long ago did you take your vows, Father?”
”It's been two years,” I said.
I could still remember the ordainment ceremony, my parents watching from the pews, their faces lit as if they had stars caught in their throats. I had been so certain, then, of my calling-of serving Jesus Christ, of who Jesus Christ was. Had I been wrong then? Or was it simply that there was more than one kind of right right?
”As part of your duties at St. Catherine's, Father, have you been a spiritual advisor for an inmate named Shay Bourne?”
”Yes.”
”And is Shay here in the courtroom today?”
”He is.”
”In fact,” Maggie said, ”he's the plaintiff in this case who was sitting beside me at that table, isn't that correct?”
”Yes.” I smiled at Shay, who looked down at the table.
”During the course of your training to become a priest, did you speak with paris.h.i.+oners about their religious beliefs?”
”Of course.”
”Is it part of your duty as a priest to help others become familiar with G.o.d?”
”Yes.”
”How about deepening their faith in G.o.d?”
”Absolutely.”
She turned to the judge. ”I'm going to offer up Father Michael as an expert on spiritual advice and religious beliefs, Your Honor.”
The other attorney shot up. ”Objection,” he said. ”With all due respect, is Father Michael an expert on Jewish beliefs? Methodist beliefs? Muslim ones?”
”Sustained,” the judge said. ”Father Michael may not testify as an expert on religious beliefs outside of the Catholic faith, except in his role as a spiritual advisor.”
I had no idea what that meant, and from the looks on their faces, neither did either attorney. ”What's the role of a spiritual advisor in the prison?” Maggie asked.
”You meet with inmates who would like a friend to talk to, or a voice to pray with,” I explained. ”You offer them counseling, direction, devotional materials. Basically, you're a priest making a house call.”
”How was it that you were chosen to become a spiritual advisor?”
”St. Catherine's-my parish-received a request from the state prison.”
”Is Shay Catholic, Father?”
”One of his foster mothers had him baptized Catholic, so in the eyes of the Church, yes, he is. However, he does not consider himself a practicing Catholic.”
”How does that work, then? If you're a priest and he's not Catholic, how are you able to be his spiritual advisor?”
”Because my job isn't to preach to him, but to listen.”
”When was the first time you met with Shay?” Maggie asked.
”March eighth of this year,” I said. ”I've seen him once or twice a week since then.”
”At some point, did Shay discuss his desire to donate his heart to Claire Nealon, the sister of one of his victims?”
”It was the very first conversation we had,” I replied.
”How many times since have you discussed with Shay his feelings about this transplant?”
”Maybe twenty-five, thirty.”
Maggie nodded. ”There are people here today who think that Shay's desire to become an organ donor has everything to do with buying himself time, and nothing to do with religion. Do you agree with that?”
”Objection,” the other attorney said. ”Speculation.”
The judge shook his head. ”I'll allow it.”
”He'd die today, if you let him donate his heart. It's not time he wants; it's the chance to be executed in a way that would allow for a transplant.”
”Let me play devil's advocate,” Maggie said. ”We all know donating organs is selfless ... but where's the link between donation and salvation? Was there something that convinced you this wasn't just altruism on Shay's part ... but part of his faith?”
”Yes,” I said. ”When Shay told me what he wanted to do, he said it in a very striking way. It almost sounded like a weird riddle: 'If I bring forth what's inside me, what's inside me will save me. If I don't bring forth what's inside me, what's inside me will destroy me.' I found out later that Shay's statement wasn't original. He was quoting someone pretty important.”
”Who, Father?”
I looked at the judge. ”Jesus Christ.”