Chapter 68: The Bitter Pill

January 9, 1986, McKinley, Ohio

“Vladyka...” I protested.

“Mischa,” he said firmly, cutting me off. “Do you trust me?”

Until about ten seconds previous, I would have replied ‘implicitly’ but suddenly I was unsure. His decision felt horribly wrong, and in my mind, there was simply no justification for it. I couldn’t fathom what else might have affected the bishop’s decision, even with my grandfather hinting at larger problems in the parish. That was especially true given my grandfather had implied that the problems had nothing to do with Deacon Vasily.

There was, though, only one possible answer to his question, because to say what I was thinking was tantamount to asking to be laicized. That would accomplish nothing, and if I felt it was the right course of action, I could take it in the future. For now, the only thing to do was what I’d told Elizaveta I could do - obey my bishop.

“I do,” I replied. “But...”

“Mischa, do you believe I’ve acted rashly, and without careful consideration and prayer? That I acted precipitously?”

I didn’t, but that didn’t preclude making a mistake or coming to a wrong conclusion. But again, voicing that would lead to a result I didn’t want without significant contemplation and a conversation with my wife.

“No, I don’t believe so,” I replied. “I’m likely to get serious grief from my grandfather.”

“He drove up to Columbus to express his opinion once I informed the Parish Council of my decision.”

Which explained why the bishop had not been available by phone when I’d first called. And I was sure my grandfather would be calling soon, as he was not willing to swallow the bitter pill which Vladyka had prescribed. I suspected Tasha would be equally upset, but I was not going to bring her into a conflict between my grandfather and my bishop, though she might interject herself, something I’d counsel against.

“I’m sorry,” I replied.

“Your grandfather’s actions do not reflect on you, Mischa. I’ll let you go.”

“I would like to talk about this situation with you, at an appropriate time, if there ever is such a time.”

“Just let it be, please, Mischa.”

“It’s difficult, as I consider Vasily Antonov my friend.”

“And he’s my spiritual child. Do you think this decision was easy?”

“No, Vladyka, I’m sure it wasn’t.”

“I will see you during my Lenten visit. Have a good evening.”

“And you as well.”

We said ‘goodbye’ and I hung up. I turned to see Elizaveta standing with her hands on her hips, looking aghast.

“I can’t believe it!” she exclaimed.

“Neither can I,” I replied. “It makes no sense to me. My grandfather is already on the warpath; he drove up to Columbus to confront His Grace. Tasha is certainly equally upset, and I can’t speak to either of them about it. I really can’t say much to you about it, either.”

“I thought they would publish the results from the Spiritual Court.”

“The proceedings, but not the deliberations. And in the end, no matter what might have been said during the deliberations, the decision rests entirely with Vladyka ARKADY.”

“Is there any appeal?”

“To the Synod of Bishops, but there is very little chance they will overrule the decision of the local bishop. Clergy are his purview, and to overrule him, they would have to believe he acted capriciously or for personal gain. Neither of those is true, which means they would defer to his judgment.”

“Always?”

“I suppose if he were mentally ill, or they discovered evidence he was pressured into the decision. If anything, he was pressured to decide the other way.”

“Mental illness?”

“He accepted enthronement, which I’d say is an indication of not being in his right mind, because nobody in their right mind would want to be a bishop. Otherwise? No. I have experience, though it’s limited, with that, and I don’t see any signs.”

“Angie?”

“Yes. And Liz and Jocelyn, though their cases were acute, not chronic, like Angie’s case.”

“What’s the difference?”

“In layman’s terms, a short-term, single occurrence, versus a long-term condition. That’s not exact, but close enough for what I was trying to get across.”

“You mean because Angie has a diagnosed mental illness but Jocelyn and Liz were just very depressed?”

“Something like that, yes. But depression can be a long-term thing, too. And my comment before was not meant to be disrespectful, and I probably shouldn’t have said it.”

“I think I understand what you mean. You would never want that role and would refuse it.”

“So long as I’m married, I’m safe! I intend to be married until I draw my last breath!”

“So I’m your defense against being a bishop?”

I chuckled, “There is a reason why nearly every priest and deacon marry before ordination! And it’s not just about being able to have sex!”

Elizaveta laughed, “I can’t imagine signing up to be a monastic! Especially not after I learned how awesome sex is!”

“It is!”

“So what are you going to do.”

“Obey my bishop, and in doing so, try to maintain a good relationship with my grandfather and with Tasha.”

“Because you can’t say anything?”

“And because they’ll assume I agree with His Grace. I can’t, under any circumstances, disagree with him publicly or privately, with the possible exceptions of speaking to you and Father Nicholas.”

“Can’t you just say that the final decision rests with the bishop?”

“Yes, of course, but then you know the next question - ‘do you agree with the decision?’ - and what possible response can I give to that question beyond ‘no comment’?”

“What do you mean?”

“If I say anything that implies I disagree with him, I can get into serious trouble. If I say that I agree with him, I’d be lying.”

“So what will you say?”

“That I’m bound by the rules to say nothing.”

The phone rang just then.

“Your grandfather?” Elizaveta asked.

“Either him or Tasha, but I’d bet him.”

I picked up the handset.

“Deacon Michael speaking.”

“Mike, it’s Mom.”

‘Mom,’ I mouthed.

“Hi. If you’re calling for the reason I think you’re calling, you know I can’t say anything.”

“Were you aware that the bishop dissolved the Parish Council at Holy Transfiguration?”

“No, I wasn’t. Mom, I’m assigned to Saint Michael the Archangel, and I simply cannot be involved in whatever is going on at Holy Transfiguration unless His Grace grants express permission, which he has not done. I asked and was told, politely, in ‘bishop speak’ to mind my own business.”

“Your grandfather didn’t tell you?”

“No, and at this point, I think that’s probably a good thing.”

“Mike, someone has to speak to the bishop and he’s not listening to your grandfather or Mr. Orlov.”

“Mom, it simply can’t be me. Once I accepted ordination and assignment to Saint Michael, I gave up any right to be involved in any other parish without express permission.”

“What can we do?”

“Appeal to the Synod. Someone would need to get in touch with Metropolitan THEODOSIUS and request a meeting, and then file an appeal. I’m not sure about the full process, but it’s in the clergy manual. I do know the first step is to get in touch with the Metropolitan.”

“Who should do that?”

“Usually the Parish Council President after speaking with the priest, but if the Parish Council was dissolved, I’m not sure. I’d say either Mr. Orlov or Grandfather would be the right person, or perhaps one of grandfather’s friends who wasn’t on the Parish Council. But I have to warn you, the Synod won’t interfere with the decisions of the local bishop except in extremis. And that means he acted capriciously or uncanonically.”

“Or to cover his butt?” Mom asked.

“Mom, I need to hang up right now, and this conversation never happened. I’ve said too much and become too involved already!”

“But you don’t...”

“Mom, as Deacon Michael, I’m saying I can’t be involved. Please speak to your priest, your bishop, or the Metropolitan. Good night.”

“Good night,” Mom said sourly and reluctantly.

I replaced the handset, took a deep breath, let it out, then sagged against the fridge.

“What happened?” Elizaveta asked.

I shook my head and sighed.

“This situation will get out of control,” I said. “It will get out of control and we’ll be lucky to live through it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My mom just accused Bishop ARKADY of acting to protect himself.”

“No way!” Elizaveta gasped.

“And now I understand exactly why my grandfather acted the way he did, both when he spoke to me and why he drove to Columbus.”

“What a mess!”

“I’d say that I need a drink, but I really don’t drink.”

“How about a warm bath?”

“That’s a good idea.”

“So what are you going to do?”

I sighed deeply, “I have no idea.”

January 10, 1986, McKinley, Ohio

“Jesus, Petrovich,” Clarissa exclaimed, shaking her head.

“I know,” I sighed. “I really shouldn’t have shared any of this with you, but I had to talk to someone, and I know you’ll never, ever betray me.”

“Or you, me. But I have no idea what to advise other than keep your head down.”

“That much I figured out on my own!” I chuckled.

“So why tell me?”

“I tell you everything. And you keep me on the straight and narrow.”

“Tasha is going to be fit to be tied.”

“No kidding,” I said dryly. “And in other news, water is wet. It’s going to be tough to socialize with her, if she’ll even speak to me.”

“You think she’ll blame you?”

“How is she going to respond when I refuse to discuss it in any way, shape, or form?”

“She won’t take that well at all.”

“No kidding. And family gatherings are likely going to be very uncomfortable.”

“Your grandfather is not someone to take this lying down.”

“No, he’s not. That’s why he drove to Columbus yesterday.”

“And your mom is cut from the same cloth.”

“As I said to Elizaveta, even that short conversation I had with her where I told her the first step to appeal the decision could land me in hot water.”

“What happens if the bishop is engaging in a cover-up?”

“That’s WAY above my pay grade. His brother bishops would decide what to do.”

“Could they restore Deacon Vasily?”

“If they judged that he was improperly deposed, yes.”

“You haven’t said what you think.”

“Because I have no fucking idea, Lissa,” I sighed.

“What do you think will happen?”

“That someone will go public with an accusation and all hell will break loose.”

“Four years later, and I still can’t leave you alone for five minutes without you getting into some kind of trouble!”

“Oh, shush!” I chuckled. “Let’s go get our coffee and get to class.”

“I do NOT relish today’s anatomy lab.”

“Me, either. Cutting into that part of Caitlin’s body just seems wrong. That said, I don’t even want to think about what the students who have male cadavers are cutting into!”

“You did decline the sex change when I suggested it!” Clarissa teased.

I shivered, “Don’t even mention that today. It gives me the willies!”

“Because you’d have to part with your willy?” Clarissa teased.

“Lissa!” I protested.

“You boys and your dicks!”

“I’m quite attached to it!”

“And your pussy cat would be VERY upset if you didn’t have her favorite toy!”

“Her flogger?” I chuckled.

“I figured that ended up in a drawer somewhere.”

“Her nightstand.”

Clarissa laughed, “Who knew?”

“She is Russian, you know!”

“I’m curious...”

“I do get to play with the toy on occasion.”

Clarissa laughed hard as we walked into the building, but that meant our conversation had to cease, or at least turn into something which was suitable for public consumption. We got our coffee and joined our friends to walk to the lecture hall. The lecture description and the video demonstration were disconcerting, but actually doing the dissection was unnerving. Maryam, who had somewhat come out of her shell over the course of the first five months of medical school, was thoroughly embarrassed, and had real difficulty participating in the dissection. Fran took pity on her and did the work Maryam should have done, though none of us would say a word to any of the professors about that.

For Peter and me, viewing the dissections done on the male cadavers was cringe-worthy, and neither of us lingered long in viewing, and then hurried to the showers afterwards.

“That was just, well, I don’t even know what word to use to describe it,” he said as we dressed after our showers.

“Weird doesn’t seem to cut it,” I agreed. “I think either ‘disconcerting’ or ‘unnerving’ comes closest, but even those aren’t sufficient to explain how I felt about the female dissection, let alone the male!”

“Urology is right out!” Peter declared.

“I bet!” I exclaimed, shaking my head. “You’ve narrowed your choice to just surgery, right?”

“Yes. And the way the Match works, you basically go in as a general surgeon and can choose to specialize. I’m going to apply to as many major surgical Residencies as I can get interviews. My backup will be trauma, as that’s the one place it’s fairly easy to transition to another specialty for your second year.”

“So hoping someone washes out and you can pick up their spot?”

“Exactly. I talked to Doctor Bernard and Doctor Mertens and they both suggested that strategy as the one to best ensure success.”

“Sounds like a good plan. I’ll apply to probably a dozen programs, with the top three being trauma, and the rest a mix of trauma and internal medicine.”

“Won’t that be a bit tricky? Trying to convince your lower choices to list you?”

“I’ve talked a bit with Doctor Warren here and Doctor Gibbs from the hospital about how to apply and interview without telling the lower-ranked programs that they’re not my first choice. But before we get there, we have to nail our Part Exams! The first one is in about fifteen months and it’s make-or-break to move to Third Year. But we’re all in good shape.”

We finished dressing, joined the girls for lunch, and then headed to the steam room for our usual thirty-minute relaxation time. The girls had adopted the same plan, though the steam rooms were not co-ed, so our group couldn’t be together, even wrapped in towels as some of the women did.

“You seemed a bit distracted during lab,” Peter said. “And not just because of the anatomy we had to dissect.”

“Just some stuff going on at church. Well, not my parish, but the one my mom and grandparents attend. I kind of got dragged into it and it’s created a bit of strain in some relationships. It had me a bit preoccupied.”

“Church politics?”

“Something like that,” I replied. “Unfortunately, I can’t really discuss it with anyone.”

I’d violated those rules to discuss the situation with Clarissa, but as I’d told myself earlier, there was no way she’d ever betray me, and I needed someone outside the mess to use as a sounding board, and there was nobody better suited for that than Clarissa.

“I’m not sure what it would be, but if there’s anything I can do...”

“Thanks, but at this point, I’m more or less along for the ride.”

When we left the steam room, we met the girls, then headed to the lecture hall for our Practice of Medicine class. We were focusing on case studies, which meant reading medical histories and lab results and reviewing symptoms to learn how to perform differential diagnosis. We were allowed to use our handbooks, but looking things up was far too slow for working in the ER, and that meant I was going to need to memorize as much of the book as possible, a daunting task at best.

Of course, that was in the future, and had to take a backseat to preparing for the ‘Step 1’ exam, which we’d take at the end of Second Year, as Peter and I had discussed. That was the basic knowledge test covering everything we’d learned in our undergraduate science courses, as well as everything we’d learned in our anatomy, physiology, and epidemiology courses, and what we’d learn in pathology, which was the focus of our second year. We’d learned, so far, how the body’s systems were supposed to work; during our second year, we’d learn how they failed due to disease or injury.

When class ended, Clarissa and I walked together to our Mustangs which were parked side-by-side. We got into our cars, drove away separately, only to meet again about an hour later at the Chinese restaurant with Elizaveta, Abby, Sophia, Robby, and Lee. After our meal, we headed to the theater to see Spies Like Us, which starred Chevy Chase and Dan Aykroyd. We all loved the film, and afterwards, got ice cream before Elizaveta and I headed home, where we found a note taped to the door of the cottage that Tasha had called my in-laws and asked that I call her. It was too late to call her, so I made a note to call her in the morning, and then Elizaveta and I went to bed.

January 11, 1986, McKinley, Ohio

Band practice on Saturday morning went well, and Kim let us know that we had a date for our Summer concert at Milton Lake - Friday evening, July 11th. She also had a date for the ‘Battle of the Bands’ - Saturday, March 1st. And, finally, an end-of-the-semester gig at Taft, set for May 23rd, at the football field.

“That’s almost like a real rock concert! “ José remarked. “Do we have an opening act?”

“Just Robby and Lee,” Kim replied. “They’re totally awesome, and it sucks that they’re going to Stanford next year. They’ll work Prom, and the Taft concert, but we’ll need someone for the Summer gig.”