The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [412]
“Amen.”
“Oremus, et deprecemur Dominum nostrum Jesum Christum, ut benedicendo bene,”—the priest again made the sign of the cross with his right hand,—”Dicat hoc tabernaculum, et omnes habitantes in eo, et det eis Angelum bonum custodem, et faciat eos sibi servire, ad considerandum mirabilia de lege sua: avertat ab eis omnes contrarias potestates: eripiat eos ab omni formidine, et ab omni perturbatione, ac sanos in hoc tabernaculo custodire dignetur: Qui cum Patre et Spiritu Sancto vivit et regnat Deus in scecula sceculorum.”
“Amen.”
Catherine’s attention strayed from the prayer book to the priest kneeling at the bedside, her gaze concentrating on his dark curly hair, and she thought that he was a handsome young priest, and he was strong and healthy and he was bringing strength and the grace of God to her poor, sick Bill, his dying body stirring on the bed. Her glance turned to the flame of the holy candles on the table at the priest’s right, then back to his purple stole. She heard the continuous half-sung words of the Latin prayer, a prayer which lifted and flew on wings to heaven, a prayer to restore his health, or to prepare him for the joys of heaven. But if he died, oh, she couldn’t bear the thought! Bill, her Bill, she would come to him in Heaven. And now the priest had risen, turned toward her and Mrs. Lonigan, and she could see his face, thin and drawn, the cheeks pinched inward, a saintly-looking face. He was talking, pray for him and recite the Penitential psalms. Mrs. Lonigan beside her flipped the pages of the prayer book, and Catherine looked, her knees stiff from kneeling, silently mumbling a Hail Mary.
Studs looked up, and saw high above him the extended right hand of the priest, and he wanted them to know it was a joke, but they didn’t even listen to him when he told them.
“In nomine Pa—” the priest made the sign of the cross, “—tris et Fi—” again he made the sign of the cross, “—lii et Spiritus—” and again his fingers traced the cross in the air, “—Sancti, extinguatur ..”
The three kneeling women looked into the prayer book, reading in slow and frightened words that mingled with the priest’s solemn Latin.
“Remember not, O Lord! our offences, nor those of our parents! and take not revenge for our sins.
“O Lord! rebuke me not in Thy indignation, nor chastise me in Thy wrath.
“Have mercy on me, O Lord! for I am weak; heal me, O Lord! for all my bones are troubled.
“And my soul is troubled exceedingly! but Thou, O Lord! how long?
“Turn to me, O Lord/ and deliver my soul; oh, save me for Thy mercy’s sake!
“For there is no one in death, that is mindful of Thee; and who shall confess to Thee in hell?”
And the priest with his right hand over the suffering head of Studs Lonigan, an intense pride in his ascetic features, slowly intoned.
“Patriarcharum, Prophetarum, A postolorum, Martyrum, Confessorum, Virginum, atque omnium simul Sanctorum. Amen.”
And the priest dipped his thumb into the holy oil, while the window curtain moved slightly and the three bystanders bent their heads toward the prayer book in Mrs. Lonigan’s hand. The nurse recited the Psalms without conviction in her voice, thinking that he would die soon, wondering, drowsy and tired, would she get all her pay. Mrs. Lonigan and Catherine recited with fervor, fear and piety in their faces, struck with awe and wonder by the un-understood Latin and the mystery of the sacrament which would save their beloved from the fires of Hell.
“Blessed are they whose iniquities are forgiven, and whose sins are covered.”
“Blessed .. .”
“Per istam sanctam Unctio”—the priest administered the Unction on the closed eyelids of Studs Lonigan in the form of a cross,—”nem, et suam piissimam misericordiam, indulgeat tibi Dominus quidquid per visum deliquisti. Amen.”
“I have acknowledged my sin to Thee; and my injustice I have not concealed,” the three bystanders intoned.
The priest wiped his thumb with a fresh ball of cotton, and dropped the cotton onto an empty saucer. Mrs. Lonigan watched as he again dipped his thumb into the oil, and she thought that her son might once have been such a man, a priest, bringing solace and strength to the dying, and she saw him not on the death bed, but as the priest, reciting the Latin words, bending over one whose soul was flying.