The Whisper Gate

[snurri]

The Whisper Gate
Originally uploaded by Snurri

"After the Cathedral Basilica was dismantled by the Snake Doctors in June of 1967 (see p.34), the city's archdiocese fell to pieces. Bishop Judge having also been carried off by the winged deconstructionists, the surviving priests were left to find their own roles in the Exile's aftermath. Some became active in establishing or buttressing neighborhood centers to provide food and shelter for the citizenry; others went underground, and over time shed their identities as shepherds of souls. A few became self-professed 'warriors of the lord,' taking up arms in an attempt to drive back those elements of human and extra-human society which they determined to be evil. Notable among these was Father Martin Pereira of St. Sebastian's, martyred during the Day of Two Nights (see p.414-433). . . . One of the few Catholic institutions that remains intact to the present day is the hospice care center of the Bon Secours Sisters on Maple Hill. The sisters even do home care, in some cases, protected by a breed of mastiff named for the order. An adult male Bon Secours stands between 38 and 44 inches high at the shoulder; these dogs are generally reddish or white in color, rarely bark, and have been known to face down roof lions, wood elementals, and on one occasion a pack of rabid (or demon-possessed, depending upon the source) goats. They are good with children and shed little, but are known to drool. . . . One priest whose identity has become woven into the present-day spiritual fabric of the city is Father Peter Frye. Frye was one of the few priests to maintain his parish after the Exile, attracting large crowds to his masses as well as to confessions, prayer meetings, and counseling sessions. Frye was determined that his church should remain a point of stability for his parishioners; when it was reduced to rubble during the May Day Earthquake, the famously level-headed priest lost his mind. He descended into the city's service tunnels, sewers, and subways, never to be seen again. . . . Father Frye's voice was not lost, however, at least according to certain of his parishioners who have made the pilgrimage to what is known as the Whisper Gate. Located in the shallow backwaters east of the Thomas River's widest point, the gate was once a service gate for the city's sanitation department, but today it is rusted shut, keys long missing. . . . In the shadows before dawn, and again at twilight, a voice whispers from inside the gate. 'May God, who has enlightened every heart, help you to know your sins and trust in his mercy.' . . . Not all who hear the voice believe that it belongs to Frye. Some insist that it is god himself, or a long-departed loved one, or even the crocfather Mad Green. . . . Confession, in a city with a damnation complex, is one of the foremost hobbies of the citizenry, and it is not only Catholics who wade into the ankle-deep water to unburden themselves. The confessor, whoever it may be in truth, seems to realize this, offering penance to some, advice to others, and reassurance to many. . . . Recently, the Bottom Feeders (the garbage gang who hold the turf where the gate lies) outraged Whisper Gate regulars by investigating the service tunnel during confession hours. To the surprise of nearly all, the tunnel was entirely empty, save for the voice of the confessor. . . . Some now believe that the voice is that of a spirit; others argue that it issues from somewhere in the depths beneath the city, carried upwards through pipes and ducts to the confessional cage." (p.218-220)