Bribing God

I’m reading a Machado de Assis novel at present: Dom Casmurro. Prior to this I read one of his other novels: Epitaph of a Small Winner.

He is a literary genius.

I feel a close affinity to “Bentinho”, the protagonist in Dom Casmurro, particularly as he has a penchant for bribing God with promises of multiple recitals of Ave Marias and Paternosters in return for favours. And of course, when God grants the favours, Bentinho promptly forgets his Ave Marias and Paternosters and nevers fulfils his side of the bargain. I too had a penchant for bribing God in this way. The last bribe occurred about five years ago when my new cat, Jane - recently acquired from the Lort Smith Animal Hospital – escaped shortly after installing her in my house. She took an instant dislike to Pablo, the current reigning feline, and sped off down the road and escaped to a neighbour’s second storey balcony! I then requested some divine intervention by promising to attend 9.30 Mass at Holy Rosary every Sunday for all of eternity. God took the bait and promptly returned the missing cat. However, I didn’t keep to my end of the bargain until five years later when I eventually rolled up at the doors to Holy Rosary one Sunday morning last year.

And what a pleasant surprise I received. Father Bill’s sermons stir up so much emotion within me that I have been known to shed tears! He is a most intellectual man and 9.30 Mass at Holy Rosary is an event I look forward to with much eagerness.

Now, having said all that, I fell off the RC bandwagon in January this year after my darling brother’s wedding in the Cook Islands (another story, another time). On my return to Australia I started partying heavily and could no longer raise my head from the pillow in time to make Father Bill’s 9.30 edition. However, to make up for it I did manage to slip in a few Ave Marias before head-meets-pillow post-party. But I can’t shift the old RC guilt trip.

But, I did go to Mass at Easter down at St Joseph’s. And what an interesting experience that was. Father Tric is not quite like Father Bill. Poles apart. And that was the one occasion when I really did need my Sunday Missal as I couldn’t understand a word of the service, nor the sermon. Anyhow, the internal architecture was really lovely and I thought how lovely to be married in such a nice church.

(Post script: By the way, neither Pablo nor Jane reside with me any longer – Pablo developed a severe allergy to Jane to the point whereby he was “spraying” on every appliance, chair, bed, computer, carpet & wall in the house… and I in turn developed a severe allergy to Pablo whereby I was dosed up to the eyeballs with cortisone. Subsequent to this, Jane was adopted by a lovely lady in Werribee and Pablo retired to the Mornington Peninsula where he now reigns over my parents… but that’s another story for another time).