His Father's Son: To save the son he loves, a desparate father must confront the ghosts of his past (22 page)

The paper was an eye opener, he thought. It was full of stories about the Irish economy, which was flagging entirely, but sure hadn’t that always been the way. Even when the papers said jobs and riches were coming round the corner he never saw any sign of them. Politicians were great at spinning a yarn but sure wasn’t the globe awash with Irish youngsters looking for work; it made him wonder what he had come back to. The whole world had let in people like him for the last five hundred years, and just what would they have done back when they had the famine if great starving boatloads were turned back? None of it filled Joey with high hopes, and when he arrived in Kilmora he realised he must have been reading the paper, cover to cover, for close on two hours.

“Jaysus, are we here already?” said Joey.

“Tis Kilmora.”

“Well, thanks for the lift. I would like to give ye something but, well …”

“Go way outta that,” said the bogman, and Joey was happy his gratitude was enough for him.

When he hoisted his bag back onto his back he tried to take as wide a look as he could at the village. There were changes in the place for sure – it looked the same size, but somehow seemed to have turned into something else entirely. Everything was where he remembered it. There were houses and buildings had changed colour with fresh paint, but they were all where he knew them. Most of the bigger houses had been turned into shops selling Aran jumpers and green rugby shirts and silly tricolour hats with IRELAND embroidered across the front.

There were houses he remembered from years back that had taken boarders, now with signs saying GUESTHOUSE swinging above their doors. Old cray pots and tattered fishing nets had been tied up outside the houses to make them look quaint, but Joey thought it was all far from natural. Sure, any fisherman would be embarrassed beyond the life of him at the state of those nets.

When he walked the streets he saw faces he didn’t recognise, and some of the faces were definitely foreign tourists. He felt like a tourist himself, like he was just visiting, and then he started to panic. There would be faces he remembered soon enough; this was Kilmora, sure, didn’t his own father and mother live here. He felt the heart galloping in him. He knew Marti could be here and he wanted to find him, and then all his nerves were clattered together and he saw a face he did recognise, right in the middle of the village, over by the water fountain and the cross.

Marti had never been to the Mass before and he wanted to ask Pat what would happen but he didn’t want Brother Declan to say it’s a report ye are on now for sure, so he kept very quiet and walked in line with Brother Declan’s class of boys all the way there. The church was a very old building with lots of very old glass windows with the pictures from the Bible like they had at Saint Joseph’s School. The church looked scary on the outside, thought Marti, but when everyone went inside it felt very calm entirely and the big old ceiling with the wooden beams looked nice so far away that he felt he could float up there like a bubble.

The light came through in lovely rays and made patterns like the shapes of the windows on the floor. Nobody spoke and everyone was very quiet and sat with their hands together and looked at the front to the man who had the collar on like the brothers but was dressed all in white and not all in black. Marti liked the church inside. He wondered if Mam would let him go to the Mass all the time now, because he liked the church so much. But then he thought Mam would say no and he wondered if he would be in trouble and maybe even get the hot arse for going to the church when he wasn’t even supposed to be listening to Aunt Catrin when she talked about the church.

All the boys from Brother Declan’s class had to go on their knees in front of the man who was dressed all in white and opened their mouths while he dipped a little biscuit in a big gold cup. The biscuit was put in their mouths and Marti wondered what it would taste like until he was told to open up his mouth and he found it had no taste at all. He made the signs that were the cross like everybody else and then he went to sit in the pews with all the other boys. Everybody seemed to know what to do and what to say, except for him. They all looked very peaceful and quiet, even the boys who made the most noise usually, and they all looked like the angels in the pictures that were on the walls.

The church was like nowhere Marti had ever been before and even though he didn’t know what to do or what to say, he didn’t think it was at all like Mam had said it was. He had expected bad things to happen in the church when Mam had said he was never to go there, but it didn’t seem like a bad place at all. He wondered why Mam got so mad angry whenever anyone said a single thing about the church. She got so angry sometimes she would shout, even at Aunt Catrin, and he could see the look on Mam’s face when she was mad angry and he knew it was big trouble he was in for sure.

The boys from Brother Declan’s class started to shuffle along the pew and over to a little box that looked like a shed with a pointy roof. Marti wondered why there would be a little shed in the church. He asked one of the boys was it the toilets and the boy started to laugh very quietly and said to another boy, “He thinks the confession is the jacks,” and there was more of the very quiet laughing.

The boys queued outside the little wooden box and there was none of the usual chatter and fooling from them, and Marti wondered was it because God was watching. When the first of the boys went into the little box, Marti saw there was a small seat and there was someone to talk to on the other side. He wondered who it was on the other side and what was said. Some of the boys spent a long time inside and when they came out, they looked very white, like they had been given a fright. Marti wanted to know what it was they had heard or saw and then he started to get scared every time the queue of boys shuffled forward a few more steps. All those with the white faces had to kneel and pray in the church when they came out, but some of the boys would be very quick inside the little wooden box and when they came out they had the wide smiles. Marti watched them walk straight to the back of the church and sit, looking happy with the wide smiles for all to see, and he wondered would he have the smile or the white face when he came out.

When it was his turn to go in Marti’s hands were trembling and his heart was beating fast. He sat down on a bench and his heart started to beat so fast that he could almost hear it echo off the walls. It was very dark inside with not a speck of light to be seen, and Marti felt like he did when he had the bad dreams about monsters and would wake up scared in the night and wondered was the monster in the room with him. His voice was very low when he said, “Hello, hello is somebody there?” A tiny door appeared in front of him. It was slid across very fast and then there was the sound of a throat being cleared, and a man spoke.

“How long has it been since your last confession?”

It was a loud, very old man’s voice from the other side of the little wooden box. The voice sounded angry like the brothers sometimes did when a question was asked and they were in no mood for a wrong answer or to wait for the right answer. Marti wondered who the very old man was and what he should say. It was all dark and strange. He could see only a little bit of light from the side where the man was talking from and he thought it was odd entirely for a grown-up to be sitting about in some manner of dark little box.

“How long is it since your last confession, child?” he said again. Marti thought he would be in terrible trouble if he was caught going to the church and eating the little biscuit when he wasn’t supposed to even go inside, so he told the very old man a lie, “It was a long time ago.”

“All right so,” said the man, “and have ye done any bold things since then?”

“I have.” He heard his voice starting to crack when he spoke and he knew it was the sadness inside him. He knew he had done bold things because Aunt Catrin had said he was forever acting the giddy goat. Bringing the guards to the door was bold beyond belief and shouldn’t he be ashamed of the life of him when it was a sick mother he had in need of the love and comfort of her only son.

“What have ye done?” Marti didn’t know what to say and it was a very long time before the old man spoke again. “Have ye cursed?”

“I have,” said Marti.

“Uh-uh, and have ye been a bold boy for yeer mammy and daddy?”

Marti dropped his head so low that his chin rested on his chest and made it hard for him to speak properly. “I have.”

“What have ye done, child?”

Marti knew he had done lots of bold things lately but he didn’t care about the fire or the bike or the fighting or even bringing guards to the door. He only cared about the worst thing of all, the thing that made him fill with tears whenever he thought of it. “I have stolen money and made Mam come to Ireland and leave Dad behind in Australia.”

“Now, now … how did ye manage that, child?” The man’s voice had changed and he didn’t sound like the brothers at all now, thought Marti.

“I just did it. I am very bold … I took the money from Mam’s purse when she had the Black Dog and now I’ve no dad and I’m sad too.”

Marti started sobbing into his chest and he knew he was going to be the very worst of all the boys. He would look whiter than any of them and he would be kneeling at the prayers for longer than any other boy. He felt sad and he felt unhappy but he didn’t care about the white face or the prayers; he only cared about what he had done to his mam, and his dad, who he hadn’t seen for a very long time and who was all alone now.

The very old man on the other side of the little wooden box leaned forward and spoke in a whisper, “I’m sure your father, even though ye are separated by distance, still loves you a great deal.”

Marti felt the wetness in his eyes start to overflow and run down his cheeks. “I love him too,” he said. “C-can you give God a message, to tell Dad I love him, so he can come to Ireland and make Mam laugh and chase away the Black Dog, so she doesn’t need to go in the Cabbage Farm and leave me with Aunt Catrin?”

The man went very quiet and Marti wondered had he said something that you shouldn’t say in the church. There was no noise for a long time and then the very old man moved. There was a rustle noise like a curtain makes when it’s pulled and then he let out a long breath and said, “I shall pray for ye, my child. Go away and say three Hail Marys and two Our Fathers. God is great. God forgives ye.” Marti saw the very old man make the signs that were the cross before the little door and then he told Marti to go back and join the class of boys.

When Marti went out the light in the church hurt his eyes and then another boy went inside and Brother Declan moved his hand at a row of boys where Marti was to go and sit down. All the boys in the row were saying the Hail Marys and the Our Fathers. Some said the prayers in the Irish and some said them in English and Marti had to listen to the ones who said them in English and try to copy them.

When Marti was halfway through there was a hand placed on his shoulder and a voice said, “Driscol?” It was Brother Michael, and he looked very confused and maybe a bit angry too, thought Marti. “What are ye doing in here, Driscol?” he said.

“I was told by Brother Declan,
Brother
.”

“Ye were told, have ye taken the Mass?”

“I have, Brother,” said Marti.

“Ye have. Oh Lord.” Brother Michael’s big old grey eyebrows were forced so far to the top of his head that they looked like they might disappear entirely. Then he made the signs that were the cross himself and called over to Brother Declan, who was still at the little wooden box and pointing to boys to go and sit down.

“Yes, Brother,” said Brother Declan.

“Was it ye who told this boy to take the Mass today?” said Brother Michael.

“This boy, yes it was. I hope ye have confessed to the trying time you gave us all this morning, Driscol.”

“
The confession too!
” said Brother Michael, and then there was a great sigh and a look upwards and he made the signs that were the cross again, very quickly. “Brother Declan, this boy is from an
agnostic
family. Ye are only after making a heathen take the Holy Sacrament.”

“Oh,” said Brother Declan.

“Oh. Yes,
oh
,” said Brother Michael. “I will have a fine time explaining this to his mother, will I not. It’s wasted at Saint Joseph’s ye are, Brother Declan, shouldn’t ye be on the missions in Africa!”

In the middle of Kilmora the water fountain and the cross stood where they had always been. All of the village’s roads and streets ran into or around the two granite landmarks and if there was a manoeuvre or an errand to be performed it would be done in full view of them or not at all. Joey remembered the dread and fear he had felt passing by them in his final days in Kilmora. There was always a group of crones in shawls and headscarves, clucking away like proud hens, at their vantage point. The group of them would gather to pass judgement on the village’s affairs and Joey knew himself and Shauna were never far from their lips.

As he approached Joey saw the water fountain and the cross had only one slender figure to keep them company. He recognised the man with his head turned close to his shoulder in an unnatural pose, trying to focus on him. When Joey put down his bag and stood before the man he thought it was as if the old raw order of the place had been defeated by this one slight figure alone.