The Brothers' Lot - Kevin Holohan [44]
Before either of them felt compelled to break the awkward silence that was growing, it was shattered by the metallic retching and hawking of the Jezebel Laundry van turning into Greater Little Werburgh Street, North.
“About bloody time!” Brother Loughlin shouted after it. He brushed past Father Flynn and hurried his bulk down to the yard to berate the laundry men.
“They’re here! They’re here!” cried Brother Tobin as he ran toward the bathhouse, or “balnearium” as Brother Loughlin insisted on calling it. The Brothers stood around the swimming pool—sized ice bath in their bathing cassocks, teeth chattering.
“Right Brothers, time to mortify the flesh that is our cross to bear!” cried Brother Loughlin as he entered. The Widower Frawley followed behind him with his arms full of new cassocks, underwear, and sandals. He set to hanging them in each Brother’s cubicle. Loughlin checked the buttons on his bathing cassock and leapt into the pool. One by one the Brothers followed him into the pool with degrees of enthusiasm ranging from the gleefully masochistic to the condemned man.
Once all were in the pool, Brother Loughlin led a decade of the rosary for the intentions of the Brotherhood and the prompt beatification of Saorseach O’Rahilly, and then one by one the Brothers moved in front of him where he submerged their heads in the traditional symbolic rebaptism of Venerable Saorseach O’Rahilly Day.
“Venerable Saorseach O’Rahilly, bend me to your will,” intoned Brother Loughlin as he dunked each one in turn before finally dunking himself.
The rebaptism completed, the Brothers went to their cubicles, removed their bathing cassocks, and dried off.
Brother Loughlin cleared his throat ceremoniously: “Venerable Saorseach O’Rahilly, shield me from the temptations of the flesh and all that is fleeting, corrupting, and tawdry in this life!”
With that, all the Brothers pulled on their brand-new tweed underpants and stepped out of their cubicles.
“Venerable Saorseach O’Rahilly, guard my heart from the lures that might distract me from the path of duty.”
The Brothers donned their tweed undershirts which, like the underpants, were artfully designed for maximum discomfort and mortification of the flesh. Years of experience had perfected the nuns’ design, and with wear they would become increasingly uncomfortable, bulking at the seams and growing ever itchier.
“Venerable Saorseach O’Rahilly, place my feet on the righteous path and keep them there, step after step in yours.”
The Brothers put on the tweed socks with a lot of falling over and near disaster when Brother Cox, somewhat worse for wear from the naggin of gin he’d smuggled in the night before, bumped into Brother Tobin who almost fell head-first into the pool.
“Now, armored against the evils of the world, we don the sandals and outer garment that will proclaim to all our unswerving dedication to Venerable Saorseach O’Rahilly and the Brotherhood of Godly Coercion.”
The black gala cassocks and birettas with their bright red trim and the new sandals completed the ritual. The Brothers marched out of the bathhouse scrubbed raw and ready to take the world by the scruff of the neck and teach it some manners.
Mr. Pollock sat at his desk and consulted the roll book. “Now then. In honor of the day that is in it, we will dispense with lessons as usual and instead prepare for the forthcoming celebrations by reacquainting ourselves with the life of Venerable Saorseach O’Rahilly, the esteemed founder of the Brothers of Godly Coercion.” He blessed himself reverently as he uttered the honored name.
“Mr. Sullivan, you will begin.”
Mr. Pollock opened the slim hardback of The Life of Venerable