A Priest, A Rabbi, and An Atheist

A Priest, A Rabbi, and An Atheist

By Benjamin Herrington

“Your drink, sir.” the waiter said, placing a fresh glass of scotch on the table next to Phillip.

“Thanks. Here, for your trouble.” Phillip handed the young man a folded twenty-dollar bill.

“Thank you, sir.”

Phillip was working on his third glass of scotch. The aroma from his Cuban cigar filled the air with that smell you love if you’re an aficionado and despise if you’re a non-smoker. He loved this place. He took full advantage of his private club membership.
   
    Only a privileged few were able to enjoy the level of comfort provided by the Aristocrat Club. The members were insurance executives, real estate conglomerates, politicians, and other rich and powerful people. Although the club had taken great pride in the retraction of rules barring women and minorities, there had only been white, male members. Phillip was the first black member, or at least that was the story. The truth was that Phillip was really the first one-quarter black member.

    A tall, lanky older priest interrupted Phillip’s solitude. Father Sartorio, or Tony as he was known to his confidants, had been the beneficiary of his father’s vast estate. He entered the priesthood later in life, after finding God in a cantina in Tijuana.

“Mind if I have a seat?” Tony asked.

Phillip gestured to the chair in front of him.

“Help yourself father.”

“And how do you find yourself this fine afternoon?”

“To be perfectly honest, your excellence, I have yet to find myself anywhere or anyway other than in this chair, relaxed. And you?”

The priest pulled over an ottoman, leaned back in the chair and put his feet up.

“I’m well, quite well. Blessed even.”

The waiter returned to take Tony’s order.

“Cognac, please and thank you.”

The two men resumed their conversation.

“Listen Phil, I thought about your proposal.”

“And?”

Tony sighed. “I’m in.”

“Yeah? Why the changed of faith?”

“It’s not so much a change of faith, Phil. It’s more of a restoration of hope.”

“Remember father, hope is a non-factor in my business.”

“Yes, I believe I’ve heard you say that once or twice before.”

“I’m telling you Tony, this is the chance of a lifetime. We’re looking at a minimum of  three million dollars profit each.”

“I asked God what to do and he said that I should have some faith.”

“In me?”

“I suppose.”

“He said that? Funny, I’m not so sure I can say the same about him. I can, however, tell you are going to be a much richer man when this thing goes through.”

“I have a fairly vivid imagination.” Tony joked, “Are you sure you can make such a grand guarantee?”

“Hey, what did Santa Claus tell you? Have a little faith in me for once.”

The two men were interrupted again, when the waiter returned with a half-full snifter of cognac. Phillip finished what was left of his third glass of scotch.

“One more please, garcon.”

“Scotch, sir?”

“Yup.”

Just as the waiter turned to leave, a short portly man wearing a yarmulke and carrying a glass of red wine came over and sat down in the chair adjacent to Tony.

“Good afternoon gentlemen.”

“Hey Morty.” Phillip nodded towards the priest. “Tony and I were just discussing the deal. He’s in now. God told him to do it.”
“Is that true?” Morty asked, turning in his seat to face the priest. “You’re in?”

Tony smiled. “I’m in, I’m going for it.”

“Tell him how God told you I was right?”

“Now, Phil, no one said you were right, just to have faith.”

Phillip rolled his eyes and traced the outline of a fish on the floor with his foot.

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with all of this fisherman talk, here.” Phil replied.

“You’re a real shit sometimes,” the Rabbi grinned, “But when you’re right, you’re right.” Turning his attention back to the priest, Morty said “I’m glad you’re in on this, Tony. It’s comforting to know that another man of faith is involved when you’re dealing with the devil.

“Amen!” Tony smiled.

The waiter returned with Phillip’s fourth glass of scotch. He exchanged his empty glass for the full one and handed the waiter another folded twenty-dollar bill. Raising his fresh glass of scotch Phil chuckled and added. “I’ll drink to that.”

“You drink to everything.” Tony said as he sipped his cognac.

“Yeah, but only single malt.”

Phillip took a slow, deliberate sip and closed his eyes for a moment.

“I don’t know how you drink that stuff.” Morty said.

“I don’t know how you guys don’t. Everything you need to know about life is here in this glass.”

Phillip held his glass out in front of him and stared intently into it, as if he was searching for some meaning hidden deep within the glass.  

“You take it in. You savor it. You enjoy the initial flavors…and then you wait, as each new detail introduces itself to your taste buds. If you take the time to enjoy it, to truly appreciate it, it rewards you with an air of contentment. Drink it in too quickly and you become disoriented and lose your way. That’s life.”

“Ahh, the theology of single malt scotch.” Morty laughed.

“Wait. You put all your faith in alcohol and bust my balls for believing in God? That’s not religion, that’s alcoholism.” Tony joked.

All three men laughed. Phillip put his glass down on the table next to him and searched his pockets for his lighter. He began to relight his cigar. Letting out a few puffs of smoke, he continued his sermon.

“My point is simple. Life isn’t to be rushed or feared or abused, it is to be enjoyed. You’ll never know the sweet odor of a rose if you don’t stop to smell a few.”

“Eat, drink, be merry. What every makes you happiest.” Morty said.

“Exactly! That’s what matters. Anyhow, what are you men of the cloth going to do with all your new money?”

“Well Phil, you know me, fifty percent is going to the church. The rest? I’ll probably travel a little, take care of some family and friends.”

Morty nodded in agreement.

“That’s very noble. I’m retiring and moving to Boca with the wife. This will be a nice little egg to buy a nice little nest with. What about you Phil?”

“I’m gonna reinvest most of it. I have a lot of grandkids to leave money to. And of course I’ll be buying a few cases of scotch.”

“Single malt, right?” Tony asked.

“Yes, of course.”

Phillip took one last sip and placed the empty glass down on the table next to him.