The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [161]
Vere... Quia per incarnate Verbi mysterium .. .
The Latin words blended into the mystery, and Studs would have given anything to have received Holy Communion on this Christmas Day. He prayed sincerely, saying Our Fathers and Hail Marys, his mind filling again and again with visions of heavenly rejoicing about the shining thrones of the bearded and powerful Creator of Heaven and Earth, of other Masses, of the Church through the ages, the Popes celebrating Mass in Rome centuries ago, missionaries celebrating in far-off heathen Asia... I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... Envy flashed in his thoughts, and he wished that he were in Father Doneggan’s place, celebrating the Mass, exercising the greatest and most mysterious powers that man could have, and that only could be exercised by him who was consecrated in the priesthood.
He thought that perhaps his mother had been right, and that he had had a vocation, and that he should have studied for the priesthood. Perhaps he had scorned a vocation, and that was the reason why he was always feeling that there was some-thing more in life that he could never seem to get, and couldn’t even name. Perhaps his heedlessness to the call from God Almighty meant that he would be unhappy all his life.
Adeste fideles! Adeste fideles!
Regem angelorum.
Venite adoremus, venite adoremus
In Bethlehem.
The tune of the Christmas song ran through his mind, again drawing it back to boyhood, and boyhood Christmas days, and that Christmas morning that he had come home from five o’clock mass, and had been given a ten-dollar gold piece by his old man, and in the afternoon, he and Dan Donoghue had gone to a show and seen Salome, and in the picture, Theda Bara as Salome had done the dance of the seven veils, stripping off veil after veil, and the scene had suddenly changed before the last veil had come off, and they had been so damn disappointed. He was sad because he had grown up, and because the years passed like a river that no man could stop. Oh, come let us adore, oh, come let us adore, Christ, Our King. He had all the old feelings he had used to have on Christmas day, feelings he could not find words for, feelings that ran through the songs sung in church on Christmas...
Pater noster, qui es in coelis...
Again, the bell knelled through the hushed church. Studs bowed his head in unison with the people, and tapped his breast. His thoughts were vague. His body and mind seemed separated, his mind swimming away free and in a sea of melancholy, his body heavy and sluggish like a dragging weight.
He listened to the choir singing, a sweetness and strength in their voices and in the song:
Agnus Dei, qui Collis peccata mundi...
He watched Father Doneggan bowing his head low and silently reciting the prayers in immediate preparation for the reception of Holy Communion. Through his mind there ran a communion song:
Oh, Lord, I am not worthy,
That Thou shouldst come to me.
But speak the words of comfort,
And my spirit healed shall be.
He felt like a plain, ordinary low-down bastard. He vowed that he would receive Holy Communion next Sunday. But he knew he would always be sorry for having done what he had last night. And he thought of her next to him, and tried to wish she and he were engaged, and going to Communion together this morning, and... He bowed his head as the bell rang for the Domine non sum dignis.
Mass would soon be over. He wanted it to be, and he didn’t want it to be over, because maybe if he didn’t work fast now, he would never see, or never get a chance with the girl who was next to him. And he was tired. The church seemed to get more and more stuffy, and he was almost falling asleep. He kept side-glancing at her, and he wanted her more and more with every glimpse. He faced the altar, all his confidence shattered, and wondering whether or not she was thinking of him, or even secretly laughing at him. He tried to regain his confidence by assuring himself he was Studs Lonigan, and that Studs Lonigan had done things, was real stuff, and tough, too.
He arose for the last gospel and people commenced leaving the church. He heard her whispering pardon me, the voice striking him will-less. She had to repeat it. He turned. She smiled, and he didn