The San Sebastian Chronicles, Part IV
Wherein a Wartime Confession is Contemplated.
Once the laughter had died down and I had repacked my pipe, Desotto, Johnny the American Volunteer, and I resumed our chat. We still had some minutes until dinner.
Johnny was a little dumbfounded from Nuzzo and Gabler’s utterly titanic display of mole-whacking. He stammered, “Sargentay, I don’t know about you, but I have to say, that was wrong, it was just downright sinful. They shouldn’t be — ”
(Continued from…)
“What did you think of our national anthem, Johnny?” I asked.
I changed the subject because I would not be put in the position of having to defend the morality of Nuzzo’s and Gabler’s epic-scale pantomime of a self-pleasuring cartoon stick man. Yes, of course, it was borderline pornographic, and it made light of a mortal sin. But was folly not necessary in war time? Would God, infinite in His mercy, not forgive us, especially considering the fact that we were all kept here away from our wives for so long? I am sure he would.
I would bring it up with Father Koblenza, S.J. at the next confession nonetheless. I am sure he would discourage such behavior in the future, but would also reassure me that, assuming my sin in merely acquiescing in Nuzzo’s and Gabler’s gargantuan, penumbraic chicken-choking was even mortal at all (thus necessitating confession before I could receive the Holy Eucharist at Mass, and not venial, which would be absolved by the Act of Contrition during the Mass), it was worthy of a light penance considering the dire circumstances of war — he was quite Jesuitical after all, Fr. Koblenza was.
He was also easy on the penancesas a rule, the chaplain. I could usually have mine complete by the time I reached the narthex of the church in town. Further regarding the likely ease of my atonement for the supreme-sized, shadowy-simulacrum-of-seed-spilling affair, I was not too anxious (not that you should be anxious in any case; you should be hopeful and expectant in returning to full communion and a state of grace with and within the Holy Church) because one could easily hear the confessions going on in the antipodal booth of the confessional in the church in town, and that had once set me at ease regarding Fr. Koblenza’s penances.
I should say at the outset that I try not to eavesdrop during confession when another sinner is in the opposite booth, but I am certain that is only a venial sin, eavesdropping, so I don’t mention it during confession (though, perhaps doing it intentionally and hiding it makes it worse?). Also, I did not construct the flimsy dual confessional booth at the church in town, with such flimsy, sound-penetrable screens as it had. And, of course, I’d never tell another soul what I heard within its sacred confines (you, reader, excepted, obviously).
At any rate, when awaiting confession in the confessional booth in the church in town one could easily hear the confessions in the antipodal booth and once I heard an Undercorporal on the other side. I thought it may have been Undercorporal Verdanz, but it could have been Undercorporal Hasschler. At any rate, and you, reader, must never repeat this, but this man confessed that he had not only engaged in onanism dozens of times since his last confession mere days ago, but that he had had in that time also had extramarital carnal relations with two young girls from the village in the hay barn past the mill, and one of them was married!
What’s more, he confessed that on a patrol in no man’s land after a skirmish he had come across a wounded Austrian — though he may have been a Slovak, albeit one in an Austrian uniform — and the man had been wounded. He, the penitent, said he recognized this wounded suspected Slovak as a sniper who had shot our Hauptcorporal-Major Kilmztsch through the hand while Kilmztsch was smoking on watch. So, this penitent Undercorporal next admitted — to my shock as I prepared for confession by saying my prayer and thumbing my rosary! — that he had not captured this Slovak (or Austrian) as a prisoner war and taken him to the infirmary for treatment as should have been done. (The Slovak had apparently been knocked unconscious during the battle [his helmet was dented as evidence of this, I believe, although I could not hear clearly at that point] and had gotten tangled in barbed wire and was unable to return to his trench, and had up to then been unable to yell to his comrades because he’d been knocked out.) Instead, the Undercorporal confessed regarding the injured Slovak (whom he recognized by the brass eagle on the top of his helmet) rather than capture him as was his duty by the laws of God and war and gentlemanly conduct, he, the penitent Undercorporal, had put his boot over the Slovak’s mouth and bayoneted him sixteen times until the man had died in a gurgle of his own blood and bile!
Can you believe it?! If or if not, you will be likely be at least surprised by what happened next. Father Koblenza, S.J., understanding confessor and well-trained Jesuit that he is, after offering some words of gentle scolding to the penitent Undercorporal, followed by some words of understanding regarding the dire circumstances of war, followed by some words of solace and encouragement to do better, he, Father Koblenza, S.J., pronounced a penance for this Undercorporal of ten Hail Marys, two Our Fathers, and a promise to say a rosary before the next Mass! For bayoneting a wounded and helpless man sixteen times!!
What’s more, so long and shocking to the soul and vicious and relentless had been the Undercorporal’s confession of this murder, that I believe Father Koblenza, S.J. had, by the time he pronounced his penance, forgotten about the selfsame Undercorporal’s antecedent confession of having spilled his seed into his kerchief dozens of times and of having extramaritally intercoursed with two young girls from the village, one of whom was herself married! In fact, I highly suspect that the Undercorporal had drawn out in gory, overlong, apologetic detail the story about the heartless killing of the injured Slovak sniper in precisely the hope that Father Koblenza would forget about all of the Undercorporal’s vole catching and fornicating (if you’ll pardon me for suspecting the worse of him).
All that to say, if ten Hail Marys, two Our Fathers, and a promise to say a rosary before the next Mass is the going rate for bloody murder of a helpless man, I am fairly confident that my penance for passively failing to prevent a play-acted act of marmot-clubbing will be pretty light, even considering that the massive, mimicked masturbatory interlude was on a leviathanic scale nearly beyond the ability of a man to fathom.
Now, as to my question to Johnny: “The national anthem? Quite fine. I thought it was quite fine,” Johnny said. “Very, uh, varied andsortofmarchyandsing-songy. Very regal. Regal indeed.”
I raised an eyebrow, “A little better than some interminable drinking ditty, don’t you think?” I winked at Desotto.
“Oh, yes,” he beamed. “You should hear ours!”
“To Anacreon in heaven!”
“Beg pardon?”
“It is a Sebastiano saying. It’s like, ‘I can only hope,’ you might say.”
Johnny nodded. “To Anacreon in heaven.”
Continued…
