Tony Deyal MANY YEARS ago, as a teenager staying at my cousin Cynthia's place in the sugar factory compound of Woodford Lodge in Central Trinidad, I heard a loud screaming late one night. Cynthia, my cousin Stella and I ran outside to investigate the cause of the disturbance.
A young man ran bleeding and begging for help into the yard. He was pursued by a cursing and shrieking group of what turned out to be transvestite homosexuals who were bent on grievous bodily harm. It turned out that man had committed what was, to them, the cardinal sin. Having dallied with them, he had sprung the news that he was going to get married - to a woman. They congratulated him profusely and invited him to a final fling, a sort of bachelor's party for old times sake. When he arrived for the celebration they all set on him and started to beat the sin out of him to the extent that he had to flee and seek safety in our home. While Cynthia and Stella took the poor man inside, I stood outside exchanging insults with the group. They had become subdued and relatively silent and after a few cursory cusswords, they left sullenly, honour (if nothing else) satisfied.
This was my first ever encounter with aggressive homosexuals or any type of homosexuals. Like any other schoolboy attending school in San Fernando, I knew about the homosexual named "Hinds" and joked about his sixty-seven varieties. We laughed when two characters were thrown out of an "ole mas" contest. Their band, "The Streets of Port-of-Spain" presented too vivid a depiction of Buller Street. We made jokes like the one about the Australian homosexual they could not get out of Sydney. In those days, attending a Catholic Secondary School run by the Presentation Brothers, we all made priest jokes. However, they were the most innocent kind like the one about the old priest who got so sick of all the people in San Fernando confessing to adultery that he threatened to quit. So the congregation came up with a code word. They would say they had "fallen".
Things went well, until the priest died. About a week after the new priest arrived, he visited the mayor of the town and seemed very concerned. The priest said, "You have to do something about the sidewalks in town. When people come into the confessional, they keep talking about having fallen." The mayor started to laugh, realising that no one had told the new priest about the code word. Before the mayor could explain, the priest shook an accusing finger at him and said, "I don't know what you're laughing about, your wife fell three times this week."
Now the innocence of my youth has gone the way of the Garden of Eden where, according to one youngster, the damage was caused by Cain and a bull. The Boston Globe newspaper won a Pulitzer Prize for exposing homosexuality in the priesthood. American late-night comedians are having a field day with the Catholic Church. Jay Leno said, "The Church reaffirming celibacy - it's kind of like Clinton reaffirming monogamy" and "The House Transportation Committee is now considering a bill that would allow pilots to carry guns for protection. I've got a better idea, why not give guns to altar boys, give them a fighting chance." Leno's rival, David Letterman, announced, "Bush said we're going after white-collar criminals and I'm thinking 'Gee I wish the Catholic Church would do that.'"
It was against this background that the investigation of a Catholic priest in Trinidad by the Archbishop raised eyebrows and ire. Various anonymous accusers had easily got the Archbishop to have a meeting with the congregation to hear complaints against the priest. It was reported that the priest had spoken about a relationship with a woman at some point when he had temporarily given up on his vocation. He had spoken to young people about pornography and sex. Many wondered why the Church, which was so silent about homosexuality, and protected priests who had abused children in the confessional, should suddenly publicly pillory this priest. There were concerns that the Achbishop had not so voraciously pursued two other priests who were suspected of having sexual relations with young boys. Was it because this priest's sin was different and reputedly committed with a female instead of a male? If that was the case, instead of having a cow, the Bishop should have demanded a Papal Bull.
Before I could decide whether I would have to rescue yet another human being, the priest was cleared and allowed to continue to work in a supermarket chain. While we can all pray, "Our Father, who art in cold storage", it is possible that the whole chain of circumstances rests on an ancient error. Many years ago, in an old monastery, a new monk arrived to dedicate his life to God and to join the others copying ancient records. The first thing he noticed was that they were copying by hand, books that had already been copied by hand. He had to speak up. "Forgive me, Father Justinian, but copying other copies by hand allows many chances for error. How do we know we aren't copying someone else's mistakes? Are they ever checked against the originals?" Father Justinian was startled. No one had ever suggested that before. "Well, that is a good point, my son. I will take one of these latest books down to the vault and study it against its original document."
He went deep into the vault where no one else was allowed to enter and started to study. The day passed and night fell. The monks were getting worried about Father Justinian. Finally one monk started making his way through the old vault, and heard deep, racking sobs. "Father Justinian," he called. The sobbing grew louder as he came closer. He finally found the old priest sitting at a table with the new copy and the original ancient book in front of him. It was obvious that Father Justinian had been crying for a long time. "Oh, my Lord," sobbed Father Justinian, "the word is 'celebrate'"
Tony Deyal was last seen asking what do you call a nun who sleepwalks? A roaming Catholic.
