Ekeldema: A Tale of Babel

At the word, ‘rosary,’ the priest had smiled.

Perhaps he thought, ‘Here’s a man who may raise a holy child!’

Back to business, his smile dropped. Then he asked,

‘Dimas, so you want a girl who prays. That’s good,

But why come to me instead of meeting girls normally?’

I gulped. Father Tell hit me a good question.

Goodness me, why couldn’t I meet girls normally?

I answered, ‘Father, good question. Ah—err…’

A period of silence followed, ten seconds at least

Which felt like forever. I continued my answer.

‘I… I… look it’s about time you knew this about me.

I’m not a very good person. I have no taste for romance,

And I feel alone because everyone around me to me’s like a pagan.

If I had to do myself the disservice of meeting girls normally

At bars, those monkey-man clubs, or… or at a church

Where precious attention should be given to God

Then why—the very thought disturbs me.

If I had to do all that to meet a girl,

I tell you, I’ll find a prostitute.

As an adult, those girls are like video games,

No longer expensive like when I was a child.

Having a stable income puts it all into perspective.

I shouldn’t have—great, I’m sounding crazy now,

But I asked you Father, because I thought

You would offer me the right call, know virtuous people

Who you may introduce me too.

For the sake of God, I’ve kept mostly to myself,

So even though those around me try to introduce me

Their choices are not Catholic nor Christian,

And oh please, I pray they’re Catholic

Because I know a person who isn’t

And if I married a girl like him

I may well be arguing doctrine my whole life,

Or throwing tape on her to shut her up.

But now I’m speaking too much.

I should just get to the point.

I’ve read my Bible, all of it,

And I know how this was done.

Whoever you suggest, I may not have ever met,

But even if we haven’t met,

Then I’d like to get to know her like Isaac,

Not in any romantic play devised

By Satan’s Hollywood films for which

All plays of romance are simply based

On keeping the thrills of adultery in lawful marriage

Which is wholly impossible by all sense.

Of course, I see you laughing now,

You’re confused on what I mean.

Well take Jane Eyre for example.

Nodding now, I see. You’ve never heard of Jane Eyre?

Well you see, it’s a novel about a Victorian girl,

An orphan girl, who becomes a maid

To a tall handsome man with dark hair and mental issues.

Now, there’s nothing wrong with that,

But where the romance is

Is that the man is already married,

And Jane Eyre is fallen in love with a man already married.

So how do they get married in the end?

The wife dies only in events orchestrated,

Apparently literally by God in the novel,

And Jane Eyre gets married to a man

For whom if “God” did not kill his wife

Would have never gotten lawfully married to the man,

And the worst part is is that this book is touted

As a top ten on every classic or best romance novel list.

It’s like, “Oh! If it weren’t for God

I may marry this married man!”

Suppose if it weren’t—

Suppose if—what else were you to expect?

Jane Austen, the author of this classic was an Englishman.

Suppose that King Henry VIII thought to

If it weren’t for the Church I may divorce my wife!

But what I hate, is that every man, and every girl

Centers their dreams off of romances like these,

Where every marriage is just a lawful means

To sin as sinners do on an forniticous, adulterous bed!

They love love which is impossible

And what can be more impossible

Than finding love with a married man!’

It was at this point that I coughed.

Why could I only speak eloquently

When I hated on something? A mystery.

Father Tell looked at me, eyes wide.

As he did during confession, he kind sunk into his chair.

Here, I decided to recollect myself.

I said, ‘Excuse me for the outburst, Father.

If you’re willing to help me,

Then I’ll outline clearly what I have and what I ask.

Would that be permissible?’

‘Yeah, you may do that.’

‘Okay, I have a house. My income is enough

To pay it off in seven years, so I’ll own it.

However, since I care about my family,

I share it with my brother and sister

Who have decided to make that ridiculous decision

To rack up debt in college. Excuse me again,

I didn’t mean to be mean about it.

My brother’s fine, but my sister’s devotions

Are simply wasted on serving her own self.

Still, I care for her so I help provide for her living

Until the comes where she finds a spouse.

Just know, I have the means to care for the family

God decides to gift me. Never mind that

I already care for the one he gave me.

As for my moral state. I pray for you to judge

Whether or not I’m virtuous enough,

Or rather since I’m lacking virtue

Whether or not I’m doing good

In seeking a woman with virtues I may not have.

Now, for the kind of woman I’m praying for:

Chaste, my age or younger, virtuous,

She prays every day, she prays rosaries.

Yeah, that’s it. That’s all I ask.’

‘You aren’t going to say anything about looks?’

‘Father, do you have the Hunchback of St. Mary's

Slinked away by the bell? I’m vain, so I won’t

Marry her if she was seriously ugly,

But I mean ugly in that she’s lacking in the seven virtues.

Beauty makes vice tolerable, but only for a time.

A woman can keep all of her virtues for life.

So yeah, if the girl had missing teeth and a lazy eye,

I actually wouldn’t mind if she had virtues,

But please Father Tell, don’t make me take that test.

Rebekah was beautiful was she not?’

‘Yeah, she was,’ The priest replied

And leaned back into his chair.

Then he closed his eyes.

Wrinkles lined across his face.

To my surprise he didn’t speak right away.

When he came to, he took he sighed

And asked me a series of questions.

Needless to say, I didn’t get a wife that day.

Not that I expected Father Tell to have a list of maids,

But in our discourse, it became clear to the man

That I hated everything to do with what

People of the day called ‘romance’

And that no one he could name off the top of his head

Could be well compatible with my wretched soul’s demands.

Rather, Father Tell, with his eyes on the clock,

Ended our discussion with the promise that he’d look.

For me he said, since I asked and was the only man

Who put him up for the task.

He didn’t call me back for a month and a half,

But when he did call back, well it was then I learned

Why when you’re choosing which man

To introduce you to some girls, You choose a married man.

An unmarried man will never show you the best girls,

No he tries to keep the best girls for himself,

But a man who has no stake—his charity knows no bounds.

Who could have less stake than a priest who made his vows?

52 - A Tale of Babel (Book 2-IV)