Building a Mystery
Note and Disclaimer: Never mind and never will be. It's been a while since Father Mulcahy graced this board. I hope you enjoy this new short.
You woke up, screaming aloud,
A prayer from your secret God.
You feed off our fears
And hold back your tears.
Oh, give us a tantrum
And a know-it-all grin,
Just when we need one
When the evening's thin.
Some nights, it is heaven to be sleeping without noise in one's head. I always felt like a champion and the best representative of God on Earth those times. Other nights, such as this one, there are nightmares of every sort. It took a strong man to battle the depths of hell and it is a failure that clouds over me. I never felt up to the challenge each time and hung my head in shame when it is lost.
This was no different from the other instances. Earthly things never bothered me as much as they did at that moment and that was the worst emotion I ever experienced. I wrapped myself with my blanket like I was protecting myself from the monsters under my cot. Fear and guilt baked into me like a hot sun. Then, I felt shame, more so than ever before, and it coated the heat in a cold ness that made my teeth chatter. What was a surreal world seemed so far away, yet too real to shake off.
I knew that I wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep and that being in my quarters will not calm me. I rose from my cot and kept the blanket close. I didn't even turn the light on to see my way out. With blackout conditions in effect, I saw no point anyway. The darkness could eat away some of the nightmare. The rest I would have to face alone.
The Mess Tent seemed empty and a good place to rest and recoup. After running into Klinger and telling him the new password, I rushed there and was disappointed to find a few lonely souls. Some of sleeping off of a shift (or a few drinks). Others were sipping coffee and enjoying each other's company in a way I couldn't. Sighing, I found the most remote corner and sat down. I wrapped the blanket closer and closed my eyes.
This did not black out the images in my head. I opened my eyes and soon noticed that I was not to be alone this night. Radar was awake, oddly enough, and spotted me. He came over with come coffee and sought some conversation, but I was in no mood for it. I had to pretend that all was well with me though and perked up enough when he mentioned something that happened.
Radar went into some dilemma he was facing. I listened with little interest and nodded here and there. My mind was elsewhere still, even though a distraction was at hand. The terrifying dream had stayed inside of me, eating at me like a plague of locusts, and paralyzed me in a dreadful wish to be left in peace. At the ending at Radar's speech, I waved him away after spilling some biblical nonsense that I couldn't remember.
Radar wasn't letting go though. "Father's what's the matter?"
"Nothing, Radar," I reassured him. I hurdled deeper into the blanket. "It's just another night here. There's nothing to be concerned about."
"I think there is," he persisted. "You seem a little sad."
"Well, maybe so," I admitted, "but I cannot continue to be."
"We're all a little sad here," Radar reminded me. "I'm sure you miss your church back home."
"It wasn't really mine, Radar. I shared it with many other priests."
"But do you miss the people there?"
I had to think about it for a minute. "I suppose so. They do not remind me of all of you though. They seem a world away."
"Are you scared too?"
This was a question I had to ponder carefully. Was I truly so scared? And if so, what was to be frightened about? All I had to worry about was some dream that found me in a compromising situation that meant life or death to me and mine. Radar waited for my reply patiently. It took a minute to form it.
I answered Radar carefully. "I think anybody will be foolish to say that they are not. But I believe that it is also a test."
"What kind of test?" Radar inquired.
This I had to work out. It played in my mind like a record, played over and over again. It all went back to being here in Korea. War was something that everybody eventually had to face, whether it was here, in another country or in somebody else's own hell. It could come in different shapes and shadows, but it was all the same. Fear and guilt were something the Devil sent to everybody.
"Of how we handle our own demons," I explained. "Sometimes, negativity is sent to us as a way to see ourselves in a mirror. How we conduct ourselves defines us and what we take here and now will shape us in the future. Hopefully, we will follow the path of God."
Radar nodded enthusiastically. "I see."
I didn't believe that he did and continued. "Radar, I think the way we handle our fear is normal. To run away, to hide or to face it is up to us. What we decide will help us in the future. We just hope to emulate goodness and strength."
From there, I picked up some speed. I forgot the pictures of death and destruction. Instead, I tried plucking passages from my favorite books in the Bible and painted a different portrait of a mercies and loving God. I was so lost in my ranting that I soon gained my former desire. The Mess Tent was now empty.
I looked around in disbelief. Yes, this had been what I wanted all along. However, I did not mean to carry myself away in my vocation. How selfish it was of me!
But this also was good for another reason. For the moment too, I forgot what the Devil had sent me. Radar had been the godsend I needed. He reminded me that I still had a role here. I was important and had a purpose, even though I did not save lives. I was supposed to save souls.
Indeed, it was best to keep up the pretense that I was a human, but without the same needs as everybody else. Yes, it was a foolish man that did not say he was scared. It was another to admit it and know that it can be conquered somehow. All it took was a little faith, hope and love.
It did not make me any less frightened though. Humbled and shivering, I got up and went back to my quarters. I thought about this Sunday's sermon. I thought it best to get it down before I forgot about the colors, sounds and textures of an imaginary situation gone wrong.
You're a beautiful,
A beautiful fucked-up man.
You're setting up
Your razor wire shrine.
'Cause you're working,
Building a mystery.
Holding on and holding it in.
Yeah, you're working,
Building a mystery
And choosing so carefully…
Inspiration for this story came from Sarah McLachlan. The title came from her song of the same name. During a concert, she mentioned the song was about those who had hide their insecurities behind a facade. This story is for those people.