CHAPTER 4
“Excuse me, sir. Did you know that your flight has been cancelled?”
Francis pulled himself out of his half sleep and sat up on his white wooden rocker. A pleasant female ground attendant from United Airlines was making sure that anyone waiting at this gate for a plane to Washington DC, where Brother Francis was to change planes and continue on to San Francisco for the first legs of his journey, knew that the plane would not arrive.
“No I didn’t,” he responded groggily. Thoughts of delays and an unplanned overnight somewhere flooded into his brain before he could stop them. “What do I need to do?”
“You need to go back to the ticketing desk and rebook your flight, maybe all of the flights you have scheduled if you are flying beyond DC. Where is your final destination?”
“Kauai Hawaii.” He said, trying to keep his voice even and his spirit in the present moment.
She rolled her bright blue eyes up toward her silvery wig. “You have a wonderful trip in store, sir. I’m sure re-ticketing won’t be a problem. Enjoy your flights.” She was gone.
At least it wasn’t a call from the monastery saying that someone died. Now I have to go back out to the United desk and back in through security. Got through the first time without making anything beep or having to be frisked within an inch of my life. Can I do that a second time?
“So,” the ground agent said, “you are in luck. Not only were we able to re-ticket you through Chicago, Los Angeles, and on to Kauai, but you will actually get there a little earlier than you would have with your original itinerary.” The frequent flyer monk thanked her, and God, and headed back through security.
Am I being followed? No, maybe just a little paranoia generated from having my schedule disrupted. Then again, those two men were at the gate, now they are here. Maybe they needed to be re-ticketed too. My gut says no. It’s something more than that.
“Brother Francis O’Neil?” a male voice questioned.
The Abbot turned and the two mystery men were right behind him, within inches of his face.
“May I ask who you folks are?” he responded.
The forty-something man took out his badge and flashed it discretely in the monk’s direction. The just about thirty-looking guy looked on.
“We know that you have a plane to catch, Brother. All we need is a few minutes of your time. We had planned to visit you at the Salesian Monastery today but became aware that you were leaving for Hawaii this morning so we headed over here from the hotel.”
“I get my alphabet soup mixed up easily,” the Abbot replied. “FBI, CIA, CCD, RCIA, who do you work for again?”
“We are with the Central Intelligence Agency, the CIA. This is about Leone Striker.”
“Oh I see.”
They non-verbally agreed to sit at a little plastic table near a Subway Shop where travelers could purchase a quick egg sandwich and a coffee on the run.
“We want her back,” the older of the two said. His gray eyes became hard. He had transitioned from a gentleman to an all business professional.
“That’s not up to me gentlemen. She’s a grown woman, and very competent as you know. You are free to speak with her but I really wish that you would give this futile project up and let her alone.”
“Can’t do that, Abbot Francis.”
“I’ve got to get myself through security and on to my plane. Good day men.”
He got up and began walking toward the downward escalator which would take him to security. The men followed at a distance. Brother Francis got in line, so did the CIA agents. As the line moved along, Brother Francis took off the silver profession cross given to him when he took his first vows over forty years ago and placed it in his backpack. His watch, wallet, keys, and some loose change followed. He was dressed in dark blue pants and a cowl shirt, a tunic-like gray garment with a navy blue hood, but would wear more casual attire when appropriate during the trip--especially during the relaxation time between engagements.
An older gentleman at the podium scrutinized his government-issue Doctor of Naturopathy Registration (he liked the photo on this document better than the one on his driver’s license) and the airline ticket. It was in his wallet with his other licenses and photos and issued by the District of Columbia. Maybe his CIA buddies had influenced his choice of identification. “Have a nice trip Brother,” smiled the man as he waved the Abbot through.
“Yes, have a nice trip Brother.” Their voices faded as the two men behind him turned and melted into the crowd, and then disappeared.
The world continues to hound us, even when we simply wish to live a life of prayer and service to others. I love that alphabet soup line. Dealing with health care professionals I see lots of alphabet soup and can sort it out pretty well. Just wanted to throw them off a bit.
He was close to the conveyer belt now. Monastic sandals came off and went into a large and battered gray vinyl bin. Off went his belt and into the bin. The Transportation Security Agent slid the bin onto the moving belt and a large silver box ate it up in order to view the contents of Brother Francis’ belongings.
Through the doorframe-like metal detector he went. No beep again! Wow, that’s two times in the last hour. I’m creating a new record. My profession cross, and sometimes my Office Book, does not always make it through the X-ray machine. Let’s see what happens this time around.
A TSA agent smiled as Brother Francis picked up his backpack and put his pocket items, belt, and sandals back in place with a look of relief, or was it triumph, on his face. He couldn’t resist it. “I guess we can all get dressed again,” Francis announced. It broke the mild tension surrounding the security checking experience.
It was a good thing the monk ate an early breakfast because he wasn’t getting anything to eat for a while. He went right to his gate and got in line, boarded, found his seat and fastened his seatbelt. Within minutes the flight attendant, a large Latino man, locked the door to the small plane and began the usual announcements.
Someone told Brother Francis that the hand and arm movements flight attendants make when pointing to exit doors and emergency aisle lighting really means “I’m getting out of here before you are.”
He took his new Creative Zen MP3 player and earphones out of his backpack, along with a few pieces of candy. Sweets were his favorite vice. Brother Francis’ niece by marriage had given him a glass jar filled with little Dove chocolates. These things are worse, or better, than potato chips, depending on your point of view.
The rich chocolate melted in his mouth as the monk read the little saying printed inside the foil wrap of the candy. “Laugh uncontrollably…it clears the mind.” How Zen!
Monastic life had not robbed Francis of his sense of humor. Quite the contrary, he had developed it into a fine art. He had to control his speech sometimes, for fear of hurting someone. It seemed that the more comfortable the monk was with someone, the more that person became the target of his good-natured quips.
His thoughts went back to a time when he was Postulant Director of his large religious order, before his transition to a more monastic lifestyle in a small community. One postulant actually came to his office and complained that Brother Francis never insulted him. “You cut other people up, why not me?”
Truth be told, Francis had unconsciously been very nice to the young man. His sixth sense told him that the postulant might not take his humor in good spirit. Sometimes no approach works! Such is life—religious or otherwise.
The chocolate candy Zen koan or Asian riddle that helps to pull the mind out of its rigid thought patterns, evoked a more archetypal memory. Though he laughed easily, there was one day in his life when he laughed uncontrollably for several hours of it—and met a person who had been dead for over fifty years.