The Brothers' Lot - Kevin Holohan [49]
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It is three months since my last confession.”
“That is a long time, my son.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Good boy. Go on,” said Fury, glad to have the token nod in the direction of thoroughness out of the way.
“I missed mass. I lied to me mother. I took the name of the Lord in vain and I let the parish priest put his mickey in my mouth.”
The whole chapel turned around as Father Fury’s door exploded open. He burst out and dragged the shocked Maher by the hair, up the aisle, and through the side door. Father Fury was further angered by the braces on Maher’s legs that slowed him down.
Finbar watched the boy struggle up the aisle behind Father Fury and felt his stomach turn over. He could not take his eyes off the braces.
Maher was a quiet boy and a little simple. He had just opened a whole Pandora’s box of trouble for himself. Father Fury was not the right one to be making these revelations to. He had received a call just that morning from the Bishop of Cloynes and Bardgey admonishing him for his somewhat indiscreet and excessive “fraternizing” with the choristers of Saint Bodhrán’s orphanage.
“Settle down now and get on with your confessions,” bawled Brother Loughlin as he followed Father Fury outside.
When Loughlin came back fifteen minutes later and gestured to Brother Tobin to head outside, Lynch turned to Scully and whispered: “Get the body bag, Tobin!”
Scully turned and saw that Lynch was smiling wanly. He knew what Lynch meant. Maher would not be back that day, and it was unlikely they would ever see him again. Getting smacked around like that by a priest usually ended up with the boy disappearing off to the industrial school at Drumgloom or some other institution of retribution and betterment.
From outside the church the desultory praying sounded like a large group of people sighing out their woes for the world to hear.
The locals from Markiewicz Mansions, long tired of being chased away from snooping around the church doors by Brother Boland, were delighted to see this new development. The Black Maria had arrived. This was deadly. They hadn’t seen one in about a week. It was always entertaining when the law came to take someone away.
The Black Maria pulled up outside the sacristy and two guards hopped out. The sacristy door opened and Father Fury emerged with Maher’s collar grasped in his thick ruddy fist. Maher’s nose was bleeding and his face was stained with tears.
“Little animal has lost his mind. Raving he is. Tried to bite me on the neck. Obviously no parental control at all. He should be locked up. I’d say Drumgloom is the place for him.”
“Right you are, Father. Isn’t it fierce all the same, Father,” chirped one of the guards as he grabbed Maher and bundled him into the back of the vehicle.
“You won’t be getting any more trouble from this one, Father. He’ll be locked up before the day is out, and not a minute too soon by the sounds of him,” said the driver over the sounds of Maher banging and screaming in back. The guard handed Father Fury the committal papers to sign.
“Louth man is it you are?” asked Father Fury.
“Oh be gob, yes, Father, Louth be name and loud be nature, wha’?” replied the guard ingratiatingly.
“Good one! I’ll just get these witnessed and I’ll be back to you in a minute,” laughed Fury hollowly, and disappeared back inside the sacristy.
As the two altar boys carried up the bread and wine to be consecrated into the flesh-and-blood sacrifice of Christ on the cross, Father Fury sidled in beside Brother Loughlin and handed him the committal papers to countersign.
“Are ye finished dusting them nooks yet? They’ll be back soon.”
Ray McRae turned around on the ladder and beamed down into the gloom of the oratory at Dermot McDermott. “Nearly there. Just have to do the ones over this window.”
“Well hurry up. I don’t want them back on top of us and the nooks not done.”
“No problem,” beamed McRae, and went back to work.
McDermott turned to go and had his