“No way that is equal to the Priesthood.”
“I am begging you, Joseph: question everything they tell you. If you don’t…mark my words: you will regret this. Maybe not tomorrow—but ten, fifteen years from now. I can only hope those scales fall from your eyes before it’s too late.”
Dr. Morettialso had an office in his home. Joseph’s father said he knew the man only by reputation, that they had never met face to face. He offered to walk Joseph to the doctor’s house for the examination, but Joseph refused. He could not risk Dr. Moretti seeing his father and realizing they were colored.
The Church might not care that Joseph had African blood, and Bishop England might not care, but what if Dr. Moretti did? He might believe that mulattos were weak, that Joseph’s mind could not survive the rigors of seminary and his body could not survive the rigors of celibacy. The doctor might fail Joseph before he ever had the chance to prove himself.
On the walls of his office, Dr. Moretti had no paintings of dismembered or half-naked saints, only a diagram of the nervous system and a chart for testing vision. The doctor sat behind his large desk with a portfolio open in front of him. He had not looked up since Joseph entered the room. Dr. Moretti wore spectacles, and hehad lost much of his hair. “In addition to the examination, Dr. England has asked me to complete another portion of the application with you. He feels it is appropriate to have an impartial amanuensis. So I have several questions for you, Mr. Lazare, and you must answer truthfully. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you ever struck a Priest?”
“No, sir!”
“These are possible impediments. We must be thorough. An oversight now will only cause disappointment later.” The morning sunlight reflected off the doctor’s spectacles and obscured his eyes. “Dr. England has copies of your Confirmation and Baptismal records already…we’ll also need one for your parents’ Marriage. They were married when you were born?”
Joseph swallowed hard. Dr. Moretti hadn’t asked if they were married when he wasconceived, so Joseph could answer: “Yes, sir.”
“I understand your mother is deaf?”
“Y-Yes.”
“Was she born deaf?”
“She could hear until she was four years old. It was scarlet fever.”
“Have you noticed any problems with your own hearing?”
“No, sir.”
“Good.” Dr. Moretti asked many other questions about the illnesses Joseph had had. Finally he said: “Now, I’ll need you to undress.”
“Yes, sir.” Joseph tried not to sound reluctant. This sudden flutter in his stomach was ridiculous. He was perfectly healthy, and surely the doctor did not need to examine anything below his waist.
Joseph shrugged off his coat and draped it over the nearby chair. He unbuttoned his waistcoat and laid it on top. He pulled his braces from his shoulders, gripped his shirt just above his trousers, and stopped. His nipples were brown too. Would Dr. Moretti be able to tell from those that Joseph was not pure-blooded? Maybe he didn’t need to take off his shirt at all. He looked up.
The doctor stood waiting with his stethoscope. “Your shirt too,” he confirmed.
Slowly Joseph freed the bottom of the shirt from his trousers. He worked the fabric up his back and turned it inside-outwards over his head, so that he could clutch it against his chest like a shield.
“Is there something wrong with your spine, Mr. Lazare?” Dr. Moretti asked as he approached.
“No, sir.”
“Then stand up straight.”
Joseph obeyed. The doctor made him set down his shirt. He pressed the end of his stethoscope against Joseph’s back and asked him to breathe in and out. He listened to Joseph’s heartbeat, studied his pulse, and poked his armpits. He peered at Joseph’s teeth and throat with an amplified candle. Dr. Moretti tested Joseph’s eyes and then his ears.
The doctor concentrated on Joseph’s hands, asking Joseph to spread his fingers and then make fists. Joseph remembered what his cousin had said at the slave pen. A Priest’s hands must be even more important than a slave’s; they would perform Sacraments.
Dr. Moretti made Joseph touch his toes, but he did not ask him to run up any stairs. He returned to the other side of his desk and dipped his pen in the inkwell again.
With relief, Joseph reached for his shirt.
“Now the rest,” said the doctor.
Joseph froze. “Pardon?”
