At Swim, Two Boys - Jamie O'Neill [61]
“It is gratifying to hear it.”
“In any case, your reverence, I am very much involved in helping the people myself. Any number of clubs I run for them, the photograph club, the communion club to help with the new communions and that, the Christmas club, any number of things I do in a self-help sort of a way. And I make no stipulations, they can spend the money where and how they choose, I charge no interest and what interest accrues goes straight in the kitty to be shared out one and all. Which is more than can be said for some of these sharpers that go by the name of tallyman. I won’t pretend it is not sometimes a trial knocking on the doors come rain or shine, but in the end there is a great satisfaction to be got from helping the people look out for themself.” There was no immediate acknowledgment from the priest, so in clinch to his argument Mr. Mack concluded, “For isn’t it a wise teaching that tells us, Father, that God helps those that helps themself?”
“That is an adage, Mr. Mack. It is no teaching of Catholic orthodoxy. Indeed there is the smack of Larkinism in its constant utterance. In future you would do wise to charge an honest rate for an honest toil. Leave charity, or spying as you call it, to those the Church has appointed to that task.”
The mountain had labored and brought forth a rat. The priest stood and on soft soles glided to the window.
“So far I have heard nothing that would persuade me to act in your defense. And much that would encourage to a contraposition. These medals you carry on your chest.” He scratched the windowpane where a smudge had lodged. “Ribbons, gongs, stars. There is a species of ant in the tropical forests—you may have read it in the Missionary Annals—that captures the eggs of a rival nest to rear them as soldiers of its own. These soldiers are renowned for their curious loyalty.”
Mr. Mack detected a firmer footing and warmly he said, “It is the Irish Catholic we gets at home, Father, and we reads it every Friday by the fire together. Prior, that is, to saying the Rosary. That and the Messenger of the Sacred Heart. But if your reverence would recommend the Missionary Annals I’ll be happy to subscribe.”
“No doubt.” The priest sniffed. “However, as regards the present business I do not see how I may be of assistance. The Church has many sons and many daughters, each of whom she cherishes. It is an article of our faith, nonetheless, that the law, even the inequitable laws of the foreigner, is to be observed.”
“But the world will know me for a law-abiding man.”
“Evidently there are those who would disagree.”
He had been bidden to go. Bowing backwards out and twisting his hat, Mr. Mack opened the door behind him. “Father, may I say one more thing, Father?”
“Say away.”
“Only this, Father. There is such a thing as natural justice. And natural justice requires that a man ought not be condemned where no crime was intended. The poster was torn, I allow, but it was no crime on my part that I tore it. In fact I will go the further and say—”
The heels squeaked on the deal. “Which poster is this?”
“The recruitment poster. I wrote the canon explaining the case.”
The priest was at the desk, reading rapidly. “Are you the man responsible for the posters?”
He was poised to pounce. Mr. Mack said forlornly, “Father, I fear I am. But ’twas no crime on my part.”
Before he knew enough, his hand was being pumped in a fast eager grip. “No crime at all. Let me shake the hand of an Irishman. Mr. Mack, is it? Dia dhuit, Mr. Mack. Dia agus Muire dhuit. Let me shake the hand that would shame this parish to its senses.”
Morning had dawned innubilious and still while Brother Polycarp paced the street, impatient for Men’s Mass, the rose window of the parish church reflected a perfect blue.
“Hello, men.” Hello, Brother.” Fine day.” Fine day it is, Brother.” You won’t miss Mass?” We won’t.” Don’t waste your earnings, boys.” We won’t, Brother.”
Lads of the village at toss-school. Small sheepish smiles from them and a fumbling away of the makes and the stick.