11,155. RUDIMENTS, pt. 439

RUDIMENTS, pt. 439

(avenel within infinite space)

My first memory of the seminary,

and this has always stayed with

me because it was so incongruous,

was of a table with 5 or 6 'Seniors',

what we called the 4th-year guys,

sitting around arguing about the

'infinite stretch of parallel lines.'

I was a brand-new fresh faced

and newly arrived kid of 12, 

soon to be 13 at the end of that

September. I was fearsomely

nervous, in awe of the place 

and people I'd landed amidst. I

was just beginning a brand-new

life away from home, for what 

I thought would be forever. 

Every step I took was new, and

no matter what else, I looked up

to all these guys who'd been there

and through all this before me.

I had no idea what to expect, 

nor was I used to wearing 

'dress' clothes, suits and jackets,

and ties. Leather shoes. I didn't
even want to be wearing them! All

these things had been stipulated,

as were the rigors of the everyday

schedule and expectation. Right

off, from day one, it seemed

more like a British boarding

school than anything else.

-

I had no idea who these guys

were, nor what they were 

debating about; not exactly 

arguing, even though, for 

such a silly and conceptual 

idea, they were each way 

into it. The idea was (and it

too seemed totally stupid, 

since their reach and their

gesticulations were only

of perhaps six-feet into the

'real'). The idea was how

two parallel lines, ideal and

parallel, (to us) - thus the 

human-sized arm-span I 

mentioned  -  if they were

extended infinitely into

space, would (or would not)

eventually meet anyway.

The factor they were dealing 

with somehow was of the 

'curvature' of space, and of 

the entire natural world. The

working point was, as I there

perceived it, a two-fold one.

Firstly, no matter how 'perfect'

the parallel at our level of

viewing it, it was imperfect

in some way and that 

imperceptible-to-us flaw

would make them eventually

meet. Secondly, the curvature

of space, to their minds, would

cause the lines to meet. Heck,

all I wanted to do was eat  -  it

was the dining hall after all.
This is what they sat there to
talk about? It seemed already to
be as if a set-up for some doctrine 
of crummy faith about how we
can never meet the 'ideal' as
the fallen, Earth-bounds we are.

These guys were off on some

tangent which I could only hope

was not to be a foretelling of my

next four years. The scurvy of

Catholic Doctrine had already

reared its foolish head once or

twice : crucifixes hung everywhere,

there was constant drone-buzz

from out of the chapel area, 

candle-smoke smells permeated 

that entire zone. Outside the 

windows, rows of green peppers 

were growing. (We'd leased 

some of the fields, I'd learn, to

Campbell Soup, from Camden).

That, at the least, I knew was real.

The peppers brought me back to

reality. Flatbed trucks of Camden

black people, rack-body trucks

of day workers, they'd all get

brought in, with their wicker and

straw baskets, hand-picking peppers

and other vegetables. It was pretty

cool. Of course I'd seen farm-field

workers before, in Avenel at the

prison fields at my house  -  but 

they were criminals and hardened 

guys on tractors, working, and being

watched by rifle-toting guards and

line-men. This was different; some

of these girls I found downright

pretty, wearing little kerchiefs 

and ties in their hair, some would 

hum or sing as they worked along, 

seldom looking up, any of them. 

The August and September 

sweats rolled off  the men's 

brows, or they'd mop their heads

with their handkerchiefs. The 

ladies seemed never to sweat. 

I wondered if they'd maybe 

sweat in infinity. Their infinity? 

Or was it all ours, as one? 

One efficient, natural God

for everyone? Would these 

parallel lines, I mused, 

ever meet?

-

I knew right away I was mixed

into something strange. Partially

exotic, and partially just plain

arousing, these folks kept me

occupied. Jeans and dungarees

not yet being the thing, mostly

the ladies wore what were called,

I think, 'shifts'  -  just loose, flat

and unadorned, dresses, to work 

in. Knowing little else, they looked

kind of hot as I watched them 

work. It was a strange dividing

line already : seminary boy, now

peering out from a secluded and

isolated world, seeing these farm 

workers. Bad thoughts, was it?

Who knew. I took better moment

from 40 seconds of peering out

than I ever did from wondering

about imaginary lines meeting 

in an imaginary place somewhere

far outside an imaginary universe.

Was this, already, what this

religion stuff was going to be

about? Hypothetical, conditional,

and all made-up. I'd just learned

to row, and my boat was

already sinking.

-

Believe it or not, I had, like 

everyone else, a 'Spiritual 

Director,' and a 'Vocational 

Director.' I don't recall right

now who was who, but one

was a pipe-smoking guy and

the other wasn't. I think it was

Father Carlton Brick, as one,

(cool name), and the other was

Father Jude. I forget last name

on that one, and am not even

sure I'm correct. They were

both cranky and prying. You

were supposed to go see them

and talk about stuff like this, but

what was I going to say? 'Um,

Father, the pepper girls are 

getting me all hot and bothered.

I think I'd rather be with them,

and  -  actually, I don't much care

about infinity, or lines, or even

whether, like souls, they meet up

somewhere. And, ah, I just got

started here and it's already turning

into a real boner for me, oh, sorry,

I mean problem. Not knowing what

to do, have I lost my vocation?

Should I take a vacation?'

-

These Catholic guys were all 

big on 'protecting' your calling 

from God to be one his special 

lance-men. It was called a 

'vocation,' and they  played it 

up as an extra-special calling 

from God, not to be ignored

or refused. Word was, if you 

screwed it up it was big-time 

Hell for you forever. They 

never told you the slime

that went with it  -  chasing

little boys or, even, little girls, 

no matter at that point. Sleeping 

with parishioners' wives, that 

often went with it too. By 

1967, one full fifth of these 

guys had bailed anyway,

left their own priest jobs, 

got married, or took off 

with boyfriends. I just used

to say, 'What the hell is this?...'

-

Every so often, I'd take a bus

ride back home, to Avenel,

for Christmas a few days, 

or Easter. It was crummy, but

travelling alone was fun. The

bus would run through all those

little towns on the way out of

Blackwood, I guess out to the

Turnpike, at exit three, and

take the road up. That part

was pretty boring, but the

little towns along the way 

first, they were cool. I'd see 

the lights, and the stores, 

houses, and, most importantly 

to me, people. I found I loved

people, to talk with, simple

hellos and all, to watch them

in their walks and ways. The

things they did, how they 

carried themselves, and 

precisely what they looked 

like. I kept an artist's eye out

for all that. And to heck with

the priest stuff; I loved seeing

girls. At least once that was

admitted to, and out of the way,

it was all clearer and I knew 

where I stood, so to speak.

My infinite parallels had

finally met. Hello, Avenel,

it's nice to be home, even

if for but a few days?