The Dark Path by David Schickler Page B

ship’s anchor.
    â€œWhat happened?” she asks. “You look keyed up.”
    â€œThere was a woman at church . . .” I try to tell the story, but it comes out puny and false.
    â€œDid you believe her?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    Mara squeezes my hand, but looks off at some clouds. She knows that whether or not I believe the story, I want to, whereas she requires only the day and the sky and Dubrovnik and me.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    BACK IN TÜBINGEN I will myself not to fret about Mara’s upcoming July visit. For a while I distract myself, because Tübingen is summer-beautiful. Each morning there is bright dew on the lawns around Waldhäuser Ost. The Neckar River is rapid with bubbling mountain runoff and every day is sunny. Graham and I have classes all day on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, but then, incredibly, a five-day weekend each week. We throw Frisbees and cook dinners with Audrey and Nicole.
    And then Mara arrives. Her first night in town there’s a giant party in a dorm called Studo. Beer flows and there’s no air-conditioning and the dance floor is a packed, bouncing fire hazard. Mara’s wearing a peasant-green dress and purple, pottery-made earrings I bought her and we dance and dance.
    When “Love Shack” comes on, we tug each other down a hall. Clattering into an empty, echoing women’s shower room, we sneak into a shower stall, kissing and groping. I hike up her dress and pull off her underwear and she leans back against the wall. I’m hard and ready and Mara’s eyes on mine are warm with urging. I tell her that I love her.
    I kiss her neck while the B-52s tell me to Just Fuck This Girl Already.
    My arms are wrapped around her. My cock stays on the brink, uncommitted.
    Go on
, I tell myself.
This is what lovers do!
    I kiss her shoulders and neck. We stand there, with me wavering. I wish, God how I wish, that I were anyone but me, that I could believe anything but what I do. When Mara finally sighs, it’s a death knell. I slump against the wall, my cheeks red-hot and emasculated.
    â€œDavid, the fact that you can’t . . . the fact that you
won’t
 . . .it makes me feel like I disgust you.”
    I taste something acidic in my mouth. I stand there naked, sorry. “Mara, please. Mar.”
    She turns away and leans her temple to the tile wall, hanging her head, letting gravity do what it does to her hair. I see the river-rapids scar on her neck, vulnerable and crooked. I reach out and touch it.
    â€œHelp,” I say, like I have a thousand times. “I’m a ship caught in these river rapids. Somebody help.”
    Mara whirls around, her eyes wide and afraid and she hugs me hard. “What’s happening, honey?” she cries out. “What’re we
doing
?”
    Ending, I think.
    Just weeks later we’re back at Georgetown. Mara and I break up and she starts dating and sleeping with a Hawaiian guy named Akoni, and my fairy tale is done.

Chapter Five
    A MONTH LATER, on an October morning of my senior year, I sit in the office of Father Roy Tillermacher and tell him that I want to become a Jesuit priest.
    An hour beforehand I paced around on Copley Lawn, trading telepathies with inanimate objects.
    I’m afraid
, I told a stone wall.
    You’re ready
, the wall assured me.
Take the leap
.
You’ll still be you once you’re a priest. Just a stronger you
.
    I’ll be lonely
, I thought toward the John Carroll statue.
    God’s grace will get you through
, the statue said.
    Finally I closed my eyes.
All right, Lord
.
I love You. I’m all Yours
.
    Father Tillermacher has an office just a couple buildings away from the Jesuit Residence, known as the Jez-Rez. The Jez-Rez is a red-brick building containing Jesuit apartments and the white-linen Jesuit dining hall, which students can visit only with a priest.
    I’m confiding my vocation in Father