Noah is a boy of eight years with almond brown eyes and soft black hair, and he loves dragons and elephants. Right now, he and his dad Frank are sitting around their living room coffee table, a snowstorm whipping through the darkness outside the windows...

“I'm here too,” a dragon says, lurking in a corner of the room in attacking position. “I am the Bewilderbeast and I'm from the children's show ‘Dragons’ – my body is as big as ten stacked oxen, and my wings are covered with sharp black spikes. My tail is gigantic and deadly. And by the way, I have blood-red eyes.”

Now an elephant speaks up and trumpets: "Törööö! I am Benjamin. You may think I’m big and scary, but I am gentle. I love sugar cubes more than anything: eating them is my passion. How yummy! Otherwise, I'm the quiet type: I avoid quarrels and wouldn’t even hurt a fly.

Noah and Frank want to play Uno (a card game). Frank shuffles the cards, putting the neat stack on the table while reaching for a freshly opened beer bottle. He takes it and empties it in one go.
Noah follows his father's drinking movement, quietly observing.

When Frank has finished, Benjamin asks: "You know what, Noah?"
"What?" Noah wants to know.
"Oh," Benjamin growls.
"Did you just say something?" Frank asks.
"No, I was just thinking out loud," his son answers, as the Bewilderbeast grumbles to him:
"I hate it when Frank drinks."

Then the great dragon snorts until embers like fireflies come out of his throat. They swarm around the living room and settle everywhere like glowing neon-yellow dust.

"Don't like dirt on the table," Noah complains.
"You're right, Noah. The cards are well-shuffled and I'm quite able to do so", Frank says after opening his second bottle. He drinks it half empty and hums, "Playing cards is great fun, you know. When I was little younger than you are now, I used to thrill and entertain everyone with my card tricks at my grandmother's wonderful birthday party."

While Frank talks, Noah secretly mimics him.
"Ha! That was something," Frank adds, running his fingers through his hair and licking his lips. "If only they hadn't always drunk so much. That bothered me as a child. I often lost myself in my thoughts, thinking about how to build the biggest house of cards in the world, while grandma and grandpa danced and bumped into each other causing hearty roars of laughter."

Reflexively, Frank grabs the half-full beer bottle and drinks it up.
"After the party, they lay drunk on the carpet," Noah says quietly.
Frank doesn't seem to hear that and adds: "In the end they were laying on the carpet, drunk. Oh yes, good people, but they couldn't help their drinking."

Noah repeats in a whisper: "But they couldn't help their drinking."
Frank doesn't take notice; he gazes at the empty beer bottle. His thighs bob up and down and again. Frank licks his lips. "You know what, Noah?" he says. "You deal the cards. You know, eight for each player, and no cheating."  

After Frank has jumped up and left the living room, the Bewilderbeast hisses: "Frank is no good, because he only talks about himself, about his childhood. But what about you, Noah? That ****** me off," he roars ravingly. He spits fire again, this time without regard for Noah, forcing him to take cover under Benjamin's belly, beside his knobby legs.

The ruby-red eyes of the Bewilderbeast cut the living room's twilight with their brilliance and he spits out one fire salvo after the other, just as a flamethrower does...

"Please stop!" Noah is shouting, but the dragon only responds "Forget it. Everything here must burn. We have to erase your father's memory, only then he will learn to love you. You also hate the living room, don't you? – because Frank drinks here all the time."

"Don't let him fool you,” Benjamin is humming. "The wild beast spits fire, that's all very well, but breaking things... That," Benjamin yawningly mumbles "he can't do."  

Then the fire subsides, while Noah crouches between Benjamin's legs, eyes wide open. Frank comes back, another beer bottle in his right hand, drinking. When he sees Noah curled up, he snorts with laughter and spits the beer in his mouth on his son. Noah does not seem to register this. Frightened, he stares at the Bewilderbeast who, in a resting position with one red eye open, is waiting for the next attack.  

"Oh boy, beer's e'rywhere!" Frank slurs as he slams the beer bottle on the table and bends down to Noah to take him into his arms.
"****!"
Frank runs into the bathroom to grab a towel, and comes back, carefully rubbing Noah's hair dry.
"Ew," grumbles Noah. "I hate that."
Frank looks at Noah uncomprehendingly: "The hair have to be rubbed off. Don't they?"
"Don't believe him", the Bewilderbeast hisses. "He's lying to you, Noah."

At the same time, Benjamin is saying to Noah: "You see, Frank loves you. He's rubbing your hair off. And he feels bad about the spilled beer."
Noah's face is white as a sheet. "Stop it, stop it, stop it," he whispers and covers his ears.

Frank looks at his son with concern. He lets the towel down and slowly takes Noah's hands off his ears, brushes a wet hair, which sticks to Noah's forehead, from his face.
"Can't look at you when you're in this state", Frank says gently. Without hesitation, he pokes Noah in the stomach with his fingers and tickles him so that Noah breaks out, first tentatively, into laughter.

He tries with all his strength to shake off his father's hand, but it doesn't work, although Frank has to make funny movements to tickle him any further. The two become entangled with one another and cannot stop the laughter.
But then Noah stops laughing and asks: "Daddy, why do you drink beer?"
Frank doesn't seem to have expected such a direct question. He pauses for a moment and answers: "Because it tastes good. Why do men drink?"

Noah shrugs his shoulders. "I'm not a man yet. But if it's good, why do you drink so fast? I always think you don't like the beer."
"Well," Frank grumbles, "I don't drink that fast. What makes you think that? It’s a matter I would have to deal with more closely, it needs to be weighed up and thought through thoroughly before jumping to conclusions."

The Bewilderbeast whispers furtively: "He's lying, Noah. Do not believe a word he says."
Benjamin says: "Frank is addicted to beer. But he doesn't want to hurt you."

This time Noah keeps calm. And he goes on to ask the next question: "Do you like it or not?"
Frank's eyes roam the room like he's looking for something. The Bewilderbeast snorts quietly; Benjamin, being in a good mood, is eating a handful of sugar cubes.
"Well, you know Noah – I like beer. But I used to drink it much slower."

Noah looks at Frank seriously and sadly. You mean when Mom was still alive.
Frank answers with his eyes. And nods, hardly noticeable.
Father and son remain silent. "You see," Benjamin says: "You and dad are connected by something: By the death of your mother Ruth."

The Bewilderbeast says: "Frank drinks the beer because he can't stand your grief, Noah. And he loves Ruth much more than he loves you. He wishes you had died instead of her."
"Can we turn on the music, daddy?"
"Which song?"
"Tears In Heaven," Noah answers. "You know, by Eric..."
"Clapton." Frank replies. Then he gets up and goes into the next room to play the song on YouTube.
"Is the sound bar turned on, Noah?"

Noah checks and notices countless glittering lights buzzing around the speaker block, sparkling like stars in the Milky Way. Noah is magically attracted by this sight, stares at the lights with his mouth wide open and reaches out his index finger...
"Noah!" Frank shouts. "Is the system on or off?"
"No," Noah answers. "The stars are no longer there".
"What? Don't be stupid," Frank grouses as he returns to the living room. He pushes Noah aside. "Let me check it out." Frank bends down to the sound bar, fiddling with the wiring. "No wonder, Noah. The optical cable broke. Did you do that?"
Noah looks at Frank, meaningful and meaningless. "You know what, dad... Why don't we play cards instead?"

Frank seems unhappy and is stepping fidgety from one leg to the other, takes the beer bottle off the table and realizes in frustration that it's empty. "**** it," Frank scolds, but then he looks at Noah and blushes.
"I've got an idea!" Noah suddenly exclaims. "Let's make a deal, dad. You get yourself a beer."
"And then?" Frank asks skeptically.
"Tonight, you drink it slowly. Are you scared?"
"Scared?" Frank asks while he hurries off.

Shortly afterwards he returns, holding an open beer bottle in his hand from which nothing has been drunk yet. He puts the bottle on his lips, drinks the first two sips quickly, pauses, puts the bottle on the table, and rubs his stomach.
"But now I have to go to the toilet, oh my."

By this time, Benjamin is already asleep, a sugar cube is stuck between the tip of his trunk and the floor.
Noah smiles. When his father has left the living room, Noah says, without looking, to the Bewilderbeast: "You see – Daddy loves me. Otherwise he wouldn't drink more slowly. It's that simple, isn't it?"
No answer.

Noah turns around to look. Where the Bewilderbeast huddled, there is now a small dragon figure. Carefully, Noah sneaks up to it, and when he feels that there is no danger coming from the figure, he holds it to his ear and whispers: "Daddy loves me, doesn't he?"

Part 1:
He looked out the third floor window of his office, wistfully, at the last of the students going home for the summer.  The exodus had started Friday and today, Monday, was the last day they had to vacate their rooms.

Father Frank Fitzsimmons O.S.A. (Order of Saint Augustine) was the building prefect for Alumni Hall. It was the university's oldest building and dated back to the Civil War. It had gone through a myriad of uses over the years and was now the largest male dorm on campus.

Father Frank had a heavy heart as he watched the last of the students load up their cars and SUV’s heading either home or to one of the many beach communities along the Jersey Shore.  Villanova University catered to an upper crust student body, and many had summer homes sitting and waiting for their yearly sojourn.

Watching the students leave was not what was weighing on Father Frank’s heart.  For the past six months he had been having a crisis of faith, and his daily interaction with students had been a welcome distraction from the dark empty questions his conscience held.

As the building prefect, Father Frank had an office on the third floor.  His job was to mentor and counsel the more than 300 students who occupied the building from September until May.  He lived in the Augustinian Monastery directly across from Alumni Hall, and it was a short 30 second walk both to and from work.

Normally, Father Frank would have closed down his office and spent the summer in the monastery with the older retired priests.  Many of whom he had had as teachers and professors when he had attended Villanova just 15 years before. This summer would be different …

Because of construction and renovations, his apartment was needed to house several of the older priests who had been suffering with debilitating health problems.  He had been asked to stay in Alumni Hall for the summer, until the work was completed, and the students were back for the Fall semester.

Father Frank knew the first students to come back would be the football team when they arrived for summer camp in mid-August. That would be a full 3 months from now. He was the only young (under 40) priest on campus, and it would be a long and lonely 3 months dealing with the solitude and the weight of his uncertainty.

He thought about moving a cot into his office but decided to stay in the now empty dorm room next door.  Sitting on its twin bed brought back memories of when he had lived in this very building just one floor below.

Frank had been a defensive back on the 1962 Villanova ‘Wildcat’ Football Team that had faced Oregon State in the Liberty Bowl.  Oregon State had the country’s best player and Heisman Trophy winner, Terry Baker, at quarterback.  The game ended with a score of 6-0 resulting from a 99-yard run for a touchdown by Baker.  It would be the only score of the game.  Frank had had one shot at tackling Baker but had missed his chance when Baker juked around him at the 25-yard line.  Although 15 years had passed, the wound was still fresh every time Frank walked by the stadium and the memories came flashing back.

Frank’s favorite coach had been one of the assistants, **** Moore, who everyone called Pappy.  Pappy had a habit of saying just the right thing, at the appropriate time, to keep players motivated and moving in the right direction. Pappy was an Augustinian Brother and had been on campus since being a Chaplain’s Assistant during World War 2.

He also had a physical move that accentuated his instruction. Pappy would lower his shoulder and tackle a player lifting him up while shaking him back and forth. He did this until the player repeated what he had just told him.  It became a badge of honor, on the Wildcat Football Team, to count the number of times Pappy had lifted you off the ground and force fed you the truth.

Part 2:
It took less than an hour to get his new room set up with his personal effects from the monastery, and Frank decided to go for a run … anything to try and escape the questions that became worse during periods of inactivity.

As anyone who has lived alone will tell you, after an extended period of time, the world takes on a new normalcy and the days repeat in quiet monotony.  Frank still took his meals at the monastery but because of the age difference, he didn’t have much in common with the older priests to spark interesting conversations.  Mostly, they reminded him of the almost great victory over Oregon State, and how if they were to play the game again Villanova would surely win.  This was the LAST thing Frank wanted to hear.

Father Frank continued to say the Sunday morning 10:30 a.m. Mass at the campus chapel connected to the monastery.  Other than that, the days dragged on.

It was now Friday, July 5th, and Frank had gone to bed early.
The tower clock, outside his window, showed 2:00 a.m. when he was awakened by a noise on the other side of his door.  After clearing the sleep from his eyes, he decided to take a look.  He knew the building was locked, and no maintenance worker would be working this late.

He walked the long distance to the other end of the hall using his hand, sliding along the left side of the corridor wall, as a guide.  When he came to its end, he turned around and headed back.

To Cut Costs, All Of The Auxiliary Lights Had Been Turned Off For The Summer

Halfway down the hall, he heard the noise again and he stopped.  This time, it seemed to be coming from his room. He started to walk the rest of the way but was suddenly confronted by someone or something in front of him blocking his passage.  As he started to struggle, he was lifted off the ground and shaken back and forth.  Conflicting and confusing memories came rushing back, and he went into full denial as to what might be happening.  Before he could get one word out of his mouth, he was back on his feet and whoever or whatever had assaulted him was gone.

He took a hurried step toward his room and immediately slipped on something wet on the dark floor. Still rattled from what had happened, he rushed back, locked the door, and got into bed. Had it been a bad dream or was it possibly something more … something at face value he couldn’t reconcile?

Frank woke up early still wondering if it had all been a bad dream.  He walked back down the hall and could see what he had slipped on the night before.  A small puddle of water was lying in the middle of the floor.  Looking up, Frank saw nothing dripping from the ceiling.  He went back to his room, got a towel, and wiped up the spill before going to the monastery for breakfast.

Upon returning from breakfast, he was stunned at what he saw.  The puddle had reappeared in exactly the same spot as before. Again, Frank wiped it up and went on with his day, but the small puddle continued to reappear.

Frank decided to take a new tack….

Before going to bed on the second night, he wiped up the puddle with his towel and covered the spot with a stool to confirm it was coming from a leak somewhere above. The next morning the stool was still in place, and had not moved, but the water had reappeared again directly underneath it on the floor.

Every time Frank had wiped up the spot, he noticed that something was happening inside of himself. The water that was cleaned up was washing the conflict and doubt out of his spirit, and he felt a lightness that he hadn’t experienced since his ordination almost 10 years ago.

The water continued to reappear all summer until the first student athletes arrived back on campus.  That first day, there was knock on Frank’s office door and a freshman football player was standing there with a stool in his hand.  “Father Frank, does this stool belong to you?  It was sitting in the middle of the hall and this small bottle was sitting under it.”  “Yes, it’s mine, thanks for returning it.  I used it as a marker in the dark hall this summer.”

Frank looked at the tiny cut glass bottle which was whole in its design … it had no cork or ***** off top.  It was solid all the way around.

Fifty years later, that small bottle sat on Frank’s night table in the monastery across the way. He was now one of the older priests having spent his life in service to the university and students he loved.  Since that Summer Of Doubt, so many years ago, his faith had been as secure and contained as the Holy Water inside the bottle.

Every time he looked at it, he made a silent prayer that started with … “Thanks Pappy.’

Kurt Philip Behm: June, 2024