The Brothers' Lot - Kevin Holohan [48]
In a puff of saltpeter far too small to fully cloak Brother Tobin’s bulk, the tea trolley was wheeled back offstage and Saorseach was left to stand in wonder at the divine apparition that had just changed his life.
“He looks like someone just stuck a dead fish up his hole,” whispered Lynch.
Scully elbowed him sharply in the ribs, almost knocking his Saorseach O’Rahilly statue out of his hands.
“Ye bad bastard! I nearly dropped me holy Action Man!” hissed Lynch, somehow without moving his lips. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Pollock watching them suspiciously. Lynch knew full well that any sort of misbehaving carried extra severe punishment on Venerable Saorseach O’Rahilly Day.
The pageant dragged along, showing Saorseach O’Rahilly taking over the old mill in Dunbally and turning it into a school, chasing urchins off the streets and into the clutches of his staff; the formation of the Brotherhood; O’Rahilly’s dementia and death from something that very much resembled syphilis but was referred to as a “fever”; the later miracle of the hurling triumph of Carlow over Cork which was ascribed to the intervention of O’Rahilly; and finally, the bloody-nosed Halpin as Pope granting permission for the limited veneration of Saorseach O’Rahilly on the basis of that miracle.
“We will now make our way, in an orderly fashion, to Saint Werburgh’s Church for the celebratory mass.”
Diarmaid DePaor was already on his feet and at the door, badly in need of the comforting isolation of the Department of Education. He would certainly not be attending any celebratory mass.
16
Giz a go of yer doll!” “Does yer sister know ye took that?” “Did ye forget to put on the dress?” “All ye need now is a little pram!” jeered the denizens of Markiewicz Mansions, the decrepit flats that had to be traversed to get to Saint Werburgh’s Church.
Seething with shame and fury at the Brothers for this humiliation, the boys walked four abreast holding their little statuettes of Venerable Saorseach O’Rahilly above their heads.
Once inside the church of Saint Werburgh they were herded into pews and the form master of each class was posted on an outer aisle while the Brothers patrolled the center aisle, leathers at the ready.
“What about me fuckin’ lunch?” muttered Lynch to Scully as they sat down.
“This is it.”
Father Flynn took the altar and cleared his throat into the hollow echoing silence. “In order to prepare ourselves to celebrate this mass in honor of the intentions of Venerable Saorseach O’Rahilly, let us all look into our hearts in preparation for a full and cleansing confession. We will also be offering up our prayers for the prompt recovery of Brother Kennedy.” He bowed his head and peered deep into his soul. He vowed to try to be less judgmental of Brother Loughlin in future.
Suddenly, with military precision, a troop of hard-faced priests who had been drafted in from neighboring parishes filed out of the sacristy and down the two side aisles, each one slipping into his confessional and slamming the door behind him.
Expertly the form masters ushered the boys into the confessionals from each pew and back to their places via the center aisle, making a lovely little production line of confession, contrition, forgiveness, and penance.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It is two weeks since my last confession. I disobeyed my mother. I used bad words. I took the name of the Lord in vain. I told lies.”
The priests absolved boy after boy of sins learned by rote at the time of first communion and unchanged since. The theological implications of someone like McDonagh claiming to have disobeyed a mother he did not have and then being absolved of this nonsin would have so addled the minds of any of the clergy present that it was best to not even think about it.
The standard three Hail Marys were doled out as penance for these standard sins. Once in a while there was a real one, though this was not the day for heartfelt confessions. None