The Gathering Read Online Free PDF Page A

Catholic Church was on gambling. It seemed to the young student that the priest waffled. Most of the time gambling was bad; however sometimes it could be a harmless, innocent recreation.
    To Mike, in his youth and with his rigid upbringing, everything was black or white; nothing was gray. His Church was the only guaranteed source of truth in life. It was one, holy, Catholic, and apostolic. He lost a bit of respect for any visiting priest who was willing to compromise.
    In a more capsulated way, Manny was confident that he could beat anyone at anything. Mike had no comparable self-confidence. Mostly, he just couldn’t bear to lose. Thus he was reluctant to wager. Even in situations where he might be reasonably confident of winning, it went against his conscience to take money from the loser. What with one thing and another, Mike couldn’t stomach gambling.
    It didn’t surprise Manny that Mike didn’t want to continue the game. It
was
too hot. Only a wager could have motivated him to any further outdoor physical activity today.
    They retrieved the tennis ball and walked back toward the slight shadow cast by the huge buildings. En route, Manny continued to bounce the ball as if he were dribbling a basketball.
    “You gotta play with that thing?” Mike said.
    Manny snickered. “Sore loser.”
    The two were in the same phase of development. Each was about five feet five. Each was thin. They would both grow to be adults, but not in the near future. Judging from their parents, Manny would be heavy-set; hirsute, with dark black hair; and ruggedly handsome. Mike, should he favor his father, would grow only a few inches taller than he was already. Possibly five feet nine or ten. He would remain slender; his hair would stay reddish brown until it turned gray or white. Eventually he would lose much of it to male-pattern baldness.
    But for now both had a great deal of growing up to do.
    “Maybe,” Mike said, “I’d be sore if we’d had any money on it. But we didn’t have a bet.”
    “Yeah, that’s a snowball’s chance in hell. Or maybe a warm water’s day in Lake Huron.”
    They laughed.
    “Don’t get me wrong,” Manny explained. “I don’t mind playing any game for fun. I just can’t feel the killer instinct unless something’s riding on it. I don’t know … it’s just the way I am.
    “Take you, for instance,” he continued. “You’re not bad at all. You can stay even with me pretty well. But you don’t do as well as you could. There isn’t any time that you ever go for the jugular. I’ve seen you sometimes when we’re playing: You get an opponent on the ropes— and then you back off.”
    “Winning isn’t everything.”
    “It’s something.”
    Mike shook his head. “You know, it’s a good thing you’re gonna be a priest.”
    Manny stopped bouncing the ball and stood still. “What in hell has anything we just talked about have to do with becoming a priest?”
    “Well, if you weren’t going to the seminary, you’d probably get involved with varsity sports. Certainly the major stuff: football, basketball, baseball. You’d be playing for Redeemer. And Redeemer’s in the top league.”
    “Yeah? So?”
    “You said it yourself: There’s no betting on games in high school or college. That’d take you out of serious contention. You’d want to play pro ball. But you’d never get there because the amateur leagues wouldn’t pay you. So you’d never make it to the majors.”
    “How long has it taken you to figure out my future?”
    “Actually, just now. But it’s been in the back of my mind for a while. It fell into place when you were just talking about how you’ve got to have something riding on the game before you go for the jugular.”
    Manny studied his friend. “You may have something there. But I don’t think so.” He shrugged. “The question will answer itself if and when I become a priest.”
    “One step at a time,” Mike cautioned.
    “One step at a time, eh, guy? Well,