Free Greenwich by Howard Fast

food and looking with interest at Harold Sellig, whom he had not met before.
    â€œWould you agree, Monsignor?” Mary Greene asked. “I read Daniel Berrigan. I mean, I’m not asking whether you agree with Father Berrigan, but I think that is his point of view.”
    The monsignor glanced at Sellig, raising an inquiring brow.
    â€œI never read Berrigan,” Sellig said. “That’s a cross I bear, an odd thing for a Jew to say, the books I should have read but never had the time to and never will, I suppose.”
    Smiling, the monsignor nodded. “Not so odd, Mr. Sellig. You’d be surprised to hear how many Jews I know who carry crosses—invisible ones, of course, but still very heavy.”
    Castle entered the conversation for the first time. “Where,” he asked, “did you get your ideas about assassination, Harold?”
    â€œWell, Richard, not out of books. I had a long lesson in Vietnam.”
    â€œOh, please! We’re not going to talk about Vietnam,” Muffy said. “I am so tired of Vietnam.”
    â€œYes, words change their meaning,” Herb Greene said. “That’s one of the things that make linguistics so fascinating. Assassination is an unusual word, derives from hashish. They say a group of fanatics addicted to hash murdered designated religious and political opponents by strangulation. But it is a fairly precise word. I know the Mafia has a whole vocabulary for the same process, but assassination is still political. Forgive me, I have a genetic inclination to lecture.”
    â€œIt’s fascinating,” Sally said, and wondered why her husband frowned at her. She almost never spoke or offered any opinion when Castle’s friends were there, but this comment seemed unremarkable.
    The next course came and the wineglasses were topped off. Sally hadn’t touched hers. She knew that a single glass of wine loosened her tongue, and she felt safer when she did not talk.
    â€œI’m not dodging your question about Dan Berrigan,” Donovan said to Mary Greene. “But you’re absolutely right. He does expand the responsibility for murder and in that responsibility, he includes war. But I must add that his views on the subject are not the views of the majority of the church.”
    Herb Greene said, “I’m tempted to ask whether they are your views?”
    The monsignor smiled. “I’m glad you’re only tempted.”
    â€œBecause of being married to a Catholic for some thirty years,” Greene explained, “I’m frequently tempted to ask questions that shouldn’t be asked.”
    Sellig, Jewish and married to a Presbyterian whose faith was as negative as his, said nothing, listening warily. By now the discussion had involved the entire table, and Sister Pat Brody said sharply, “I do read Dan Berrigan and his brother, Philip, and you’re absolutely right, Mary. That’s his point of view, and someday, God willing, it will be the whole church’s point of view. And if you were to ask me, Mr. Castle”—softening her voice—“how I came to this decision, I would answer that it came out of prayer and years in places like El Salvador.” She finished her glass of wine.
    Sellig was relieved that his wife was not present, knowing that if she had been, she would have found some excuse to take him aside and say to him, “Harold, will you please not continue to inflict that damn book of yours on anyone and everyone who will listen.” And while he was brooding over this, the monsignor confessed, “I have your manuscript on my desk. I’m trying to find time to read it.”
    â€œDo you have an extra copy of the manuscript, Harold?” Mary Greene asked, not mentioning that he had already sent her husband one, which she had given to the monsignor.
    â€œI’m afraid I do,” Sellig replied, looking somewhat confused. “In my car as a matter of