Portland, Oregon
Tuesday, Jan. 2, 1992, 8:40 a.m.

    Rev. George W. Gilbert, the slight, thick-spectacled dean of St. Martin DeSoto High School, sat at a small round conference table in his office reading the latest issue of Rolling Stone.  On its cover, heralded as "Father Fantastic," was the man sitting across from him, Rev. Rom Soriano.
     As his boss read, Rom sipped coffee from a plastic cup and looked out the window.  This was the first day of winter term, and he should be in his classroom, preparing his lessons, reviewing his students' profiles, not sitting in the dean's office like some deliquent sophomore.  He had been back in Portland more than two weeks, had been "debriefed" by several officials of the archdiocese, and had ironed out his problems with the head of his order, yet it had been left until this last minute for Gilbert to officially pronounce him fit to return to teaching in his school.  Both men knew that Cardinal McCormick personally had cleared the way for Rom to return to his position — as he had assisted in all Rom's affairs — but because Gilbert could administratively postpone Rom's certification until the first day of term, he had.  It was, Rom knew, Gilbert's way of saying, "You may have friends in high places, but you work for me."
     From behind the magazine, Gilbert grunted.  "Says here they may get Alec Baldwin to play you in the movie, Father."
     "Yes," said Rom, "I read that."
     "And Kim Basinger to play Melody Marven.  Very impressive."  He put the magazine down.  His face showed all of its 60 years and looked like it had been squeezed in a vice.  "You've made quite a splash in the pop culture, Father Soriano.  You've written a book that has already attracted a publisher, a major motion picture will be made about your life, and you're on the cover of the Rolling Stone.  I must remember to detour to Newark the next time I'm sent to Vatican City!"
     "It was an interesting autumn," said Rom.
     "I trust you won't be bored to tears with the resumption of your parochial duties here at St. Martin DeSoto."
     "No, in fact I've been looking forward to them eagerly."
     Gilbert regarded Rom sternly.  "Yes.  Well, I have a school to run.  I am responsible for more than 750 young men, eleven members of the teaching clergy, seven lay teachers and twenty-some-odd administrative and support personnel.  I am charged with keeping academic standards up and administrative costs down. My job is not easy, Father Soriano, and things like this," he said, patting the Rolling Stone, "only serve to make my job more difficult.  I have had to spend considerable time in the last several weeks assuring parishoners and superiors alike that you are a sensible, able teacher who is needed here at St. Martin's, a statement with which I do not completely agree."
     Rom shifted in his chair.  "With all respect, Father, I—"
     "I'm not finished.  No one asked me for my recommendation in this matter, which was to send you to a psychiatric ward to determine why a parish priest should fancy himself Zorro and go on a honeymoon with glamorous TV reporters.  No, apparently someone with a much greater understanding of the human psyche has assured me that this institution of higher learning is best served by your unconditional return.  So I am to certify you for return to St. Martin's, and I do so now."  He took the magazine and dropped it into the wastepaper basket next to the desk. "But I urge you to pray, Father Soriano."
     Rom straightened up, trying to conceal his irritation. "I pray every day, Father."
     "Specifically, I suggest you pray for our beloved cardinal to live a long life.  For when the day comes that he returns to Our Lord, you will find this archdiocese, and particularly this school, a place where foolish behavior is not celebrated."
     "Father, I must —"
     Gilbert stood.  "I suggest you go to your homeroom," he said.  "The first bell will be ringing soon. Can you make your way without encountering any gypsies?"
     Rom stood.  "With all—"
     "Dismissed," said Gilbert.

     Rom made his way through the crowded hallways to his small office.  He gathered up his books but abruptly sat at his desk.  Gilbert's curt dismissal still stung him.  His brief return to secular life, while it ultimately had strengthened his faith, had left him impatient with authority and not a little resentful.  Had he decided to leave the Church, he would be vacationing somewhere right now, trying to spend a handsome publisher's advance which at the moment was being earmarked for various charitable causes.  He would be free of schedules, committees and petty administrators like Gilbert.  He would, in all probability, be enjoying great sex, if not with Melody or Cassandra, with one of the hundreds of women who had called or written, offering themselves.
     The first bell shook him from his reverie, and after a minute he stood and made his way through the now-empty hallway and upstairs to Room 212, his homeroom, now unsure how his students would react to him, unsure whether he was hero or laughing stock.  This is my real penance, he thought — picking up the pieces.  He understood now what Gilbert was saying: Respect is hard won and not easily recovered, even among 16-year-old boys.   He steeled himself and, head down, strode into Room 212, dropped his books on his desk and turned to the blackboard.  The room was silent as he picked up the chalk and started to list the start-of-term forms that were to be completed and handed in before first period.  After a moment he heard some whispers, then a few giggles.  He sighed.  Better to nip it in the bud, he thought.
     He put down the chalk, turned around and faced the class.  There he saw 26 juniors in suitjackets, ties — and black masks.  After a moment of unbearable silence, the boys broke into applause, and Rom Soriano broke into tears.