Redemption - Leon Uris [105]
“Status quo.” Conor laughed. “Now, there’s a line our daddy used to describe the British plans for Ireland. And just what do you think you’re going to do about it, wee Dary?”
“Oh, Rome is the largest and oldest and most powerful game the world has ever known, and my presence will not be remembered. But my people will love me as a wise and compassionate priest.”
“You were so certain that the dogma was infallible, once. What changed you, Dary?”
“You changed me, Conor. The deeper I went into the priesthood, the louder your words called to me. The shirt factory fire changed me. I went to Derry as a novice to help after the carnage and I saw their private hells, but I was unable to do anything about it. For two years now, I’ve asked myself over and over, how can I give up earthly things without even knowing what they are…what is it that I’m to be giving up? I must be able to confront earthly matters on the other side of the threshold. Isn’t that really what God wants of me?”
Where would this awakening take him, Conor wondered. Would he become a paragon among his fellows or a pariah to be cast out? Once a priest takes the forbidden fork in the road, it is near impossible for him to retrace his steps. Few do.
“Conor, you must never forget the fact that I am a priest and I am not going to be involved in republican matters. I told you that if you did not leave the Brotherhood I would not be there for you. I’ve never rested well since those words. I am a Larkin and an Irishman and your brother. I’ll be there for you.”
“You don’t know how much that means to me.”
“You see, man, I do have faith. Our father and our grandfather needed to come to God in the end. I’m not counting on you. However, I’m not counting you out.”
“I understand,” Conor said, loving his brother more profoundly at this moment than ever.
“Well, now,” Dary continued, “what about yourself? That Shelley girl still has her spell over you, hasn’t she?”
“I forget about her more each day.”
“To hell you do. If you could see the look on your face, they grew better-looking potatoes during the famine.”
Conor leapt from the chair, jammed his hands in his pockets, and paced, turning abruptly at the confines of the small room as though it were a cage. Dary knew his brother was about to burst.
“We’re a hell of a lot alike, you and me. We’ve both taken sacred vows to unyielding institutions where marching orders are to be obeyed. Our lives cannot be normal lives with normal aspirations. We’ll spend them in barren little rooms like this trying to infuse a spark of hope in the hopeless. And we both travel farther and faster without human baggage. You see, the Irish Republican Brotherhood all but demands an army of celibates as well.”
“This sounds like your decision, not hers.”
“What decision was there to make? To have her follow me to her death?”
“It could be that that is all she desires from life. From the looks of you, life holds no hell worse than the two of you being apart. If she is as miserable as you are, and I suspect she is, then you’ll both die early from longing for each other. You must take what pleasure there is for you and hold on to each other while it lasts.”
Conor was stopped cold and for the first time he was the younger brother in need of Father Dary’s strong hand.
“The way you’re flirting with it, it could happen to you, Dary.”
“No, it won’t,” Dary answered firmly. “I’m daring to venture because I am determined to know the difference between what God means and what man distorts. This much I believe entirely. Celibacy is a truth of the Church. I cannot serve a woman and divide my commitment to God. I know that.”
“Aye, so you do, and you’re strong enough to stop that temptation at the threshold.”
39
The big night had come and gone for Seamus O’Neill. His play, The Night of the Pilgrim, had not only