The illicit buzz grew as the other boys noticed their absence. Alex noted that a few of the boys looked concerned, even frightened. A couple of the seventh graders began to sniffle, as though they'd suddenly realized something bad had happened. Alex felt a familiar wave of resentment, which he ordinarily fought to keep under control, but this morning welcomed as an old, reassuring presence. Rich babies, he thought. What did they know of missing parents, needy sisters, thirty-dollar flashlights. They were protected by their mommies, their nannies, their maids. The nannies and the maids knew, though, Alex was sure of that.
"Silence!"
The buzzing stopped. This was the voice of authority. Alex stared up at an elderly priest. He was ramrod tall, and gaunt, with thinning white hair, bushy black eyebrows, and a mouth that looked as though it had never smiled.
"Oh God," Kevin whispered. "It's the living dead."
"My name is father Francis Patrick Xavier Mulrooney," he announced in a voice so cold it sent chills down Alex's spine, in spite of the hothouse atmosphere of the chapel. "Due to the extraordinary circumstances in which the archdiocese finds itself, I have been called out of retirement to be acting headmaster of St. Vincent de Paul Academy. Fathers Shea, Donnelly, and Delveccio have been temporarily reassigned."
Not even Father Mulrooney's rocky stare could keep the boys from reacting to the news that the three most important members of the faculty, including Father Shea, the headmaster, and Father Donnelly, the assistant headmaster, were now gone.
"Quiet," Father Mulrooney said. "Two other members of the faculty, Mr. Davis and Mr. Vanich, will not be returning. They will not be replaced for the remainder of the school term. If you have any questions about your classes, you may bring them to me during my office hours. In addition to being acting headmaster, I will teach Latin and advanced theology. Previous to my retirement, I instructed in both those subjects at St. Vincent de Paul Academy. It is quite possible I taught your fathers those very subjects."
Not my father, Alex thought.
"In addition, two members of the custodial staff and one of the kitchen workers will not be returning," Father Mulrooney said. "It has proven impossible to contact another of the kitchen workers, so it can be assumed she will not return. Since we find ourselves so short staffed, additional responsibilities will fall upon this student body. After Mass is celebrated, the class officers are asked to meet in room twenty-five to further discuss what will be required of their classmates."
Alex cast a quick look at Chris Flynn, who, sensing his gaze, glanced back and shrugged.
"It is the belief of the archdiocese that the occurrences of the past few7 days are but a taste of what is to come," Father Mulrooney continued. "Unpleasant though it is to contemplate, we must assume deprivation and death lie in wait." The grim expression on his face inspired several boys to begin weeping.
"Look for inspiration in the lives of the early Christian martyrs," Father Mulrooney said. "They marched bravely to their deaths, sure in the knowledge of life everlasting."
"But they died for something!" one of the boys in the sophomore section called out.
"Silence!" Father Mulrooney thundered. "This is chapel, not the Roman forum. None of us has the right to debate God's decisions."
Even the boys who'd been crying stopped, as though tears had been proclaimed sinful.
"For as long as I am acting headmaster, attendance at morning Mass will be mandatory," Father Mulrooney said. "For the remainder of this week, if you have an open class hour because of the departure of our faculty members, you are to come to chapel for prayer and contemplation. A cruce salus"
Alex wondered if Father Mulrooney would say the Mass in Latin, but the priest intoned the usual English words instead. It felt good to hear them in a setting so familiar. He knew Father Mulrooney was right. It wasn't for him, for any of them, to debate God's wisdom.
"Thy will be done," he whispered under his breath. "Thy will be done."
Wednesday, May 25
At the end of the school day, Alex went to the headmaster's office. Neither of the two clerical workers he was used to seeing was there. With no one to tell him what to do, he simply knocked on the headmaster's door.
"Enter."
Alex opened the door. It felt strange seeing Father Mulrooney sitting behind Father Shea's desk. He realized with a start how much he was going to miss Father Shea, who'd encouraged his dreams more than anyone else except Mami.
"Excuse me, Father," Alex said. "I just wanted to tell you I won't be in school tomorrow morning. I'm not sure about the afternoon yet."
Father Mulrooney raised his formidable eyebrows. "If you already know you're going to take ill tomorrow, you must know when you're likely to recover," he replied.
"I'm not going to take ill," Alex said. "It's a personal matter."
"That's hardly an acceptable reason," Father Mulrooney said. "We all have personal matters, as you so dramatically put it. Regardless of what is happening right now, school must come first. Although I appreciate that you came looking for permission to play hooky, I'm afraid I cannot grant it."
Alex swallowed his anger. "I have to go to Yankee Stadium," he said. "I've made a reservation. They're holding unidentified women's bodies there. My mother's been missing since last Wednesday and I'm going to look for her." He stared Father Mulrooney straight in the eye and dared him to object.
"I see," Father Mulrooney said instead. "There's no one else in your family that can do this?"
"No, Father," Alex said.
"Very well," Father Mulrooney said. "I appreciate your giving me notice of your absence, Mr. Morales. If you cannot make it back for afternoon classes, I will understand."
"Thank you, Father," Alex said.
Father Mulrooney nodded. "I will expect to see you in school on Friday," he said. "Unless, of course…"
Unless Mami is dead, Alex thought. Unless I find her dead body lying there with all the other unidentified dead bodies.
"Yes, Father," he said. "Unless."
Thursday, May 26
Alex walked down from his home to Forty-second Street Thursday morning around the time he would have left for school, far earlier than he needed to, but he couldn't risk missing the bus.
He hadn't told Bri or Julie, pretending instead that he was going to school. If he found Mami, then he'd tell them. He wasn't sure what he'd say if she wasn't there. They could keep on hoping then, but he hadn't figured out whether that was a good thing or not.
New York was no longer a ghost town, but there were few signs of life. The buses, police cars, fire engines, and ambulances drove swiftly, no trucks, cars, or mobs of pedestrians to slow them down. Most of the stores were still closed, their steel gates locked and protecting whatever had survived the days and nights of looting. The farther downtown he got, the more police officers he saw. They looked aimless and bored, as if they were uncertain what they were protecting.
It was a pleasant day, but no one smiled as they walked by. Alex realized he heard almost no conversation. People walked because there was no other way to get to their destination. Eyes were downcast, as though no one wanted to acknowledge what other people might be feeling.
He could see the Umpire State Building in the distance, and it reassured him to know it was still there. Alex had heard the Statue of Liberty was gone. He'd been there once on a class trip. Never gone to the Empire State Building, though. He was glad he'd still have the chance.
He hadn't felt like eating breakfast, and although there was still plenty of food left, he'd started to get nervous about when it would run out and what they'd do when it did. But the walk made him hungry, and it was then he realized there weren't any street vendors selling pretzels or hot dogs, roasted nuts or souvlaki. Strange to see a New York where you couldn't get a complete meal on the street.