Falconer+-+John+Cheever

Falconer 107
He took off his robe and while the other men put on ties and
jackets he tried to invest his white shirt, his issue fatigues and his
basketball sneakers with respectability. He did this by bracing his
shoulders. He saw himself in a long glass and he saw that he
looked emphatically like an escaped convict. There was nothing
about him—his haircut, his pallor, his dancy step—that a halfblind
drunk wouldn’t have put down as a prison freak. “His
Eminence would like to speak to you,” the monsignor said. “Please
follow me.”
A door was opened and he went into a room a little like the
priest’s front parlor at home. The cardinal stood there, now in a
dark suit, and held out his right hand. Jody knelt and kissed the
ring. “Where are you from?” the cardinal asked. “Saint Anselm’s,
Your Eminence,” said Jody. “There is no Saint Anselm’s in the
diocese,” said the cardinal, “but I know where you’re from. I don’t
know why I asked. Time must play an important part in your
plans. I expect you have about fifteen minutes. It is exciting, isn’t
it? Let’s get out of here.” They left the parlor and the cathedral. On
the sidewalk a woman knelt and the cardinal gave her his ring to
kiss. She was, Jody saw, an actress he had seen on television.
Another woman knelt and kissed his ring before they reached the
end of the block. They crossed the street and a third woman knelt
and kissed his ring. For her he wearily made a sign of the cross;
and then they went into a store. The acknowledgment of their
arrival was a matter of seconds. Someone of authority approached
them and asked if the cardinal wanted a private room. “I’m not
sure,” he said. “I’ll leave it up to you. This young man and I have
an important appointment in fifteen minutes. He is not wearing
the right clothes.” “We can manage,” the authority said. Jody was
measured with a tape. “You’re built like a tailor’s dummy,” said
the man. This went to Jody’s head, but he definitely felt that vanity
was out of place in the miracle. Twenty minutes later he walked up
Madison Avenue. His walk was springy—the walk of a man going