Death at Christy Burke's

by Anne Emery

  “Could be.” He smiled at Aidan, and Aidan looked as if he was almost ready to smile back, but he beat down the temptation and gave Brennan a sneer instead. Brennan ignored it.

  “Let’s go find something to eat.”

  “After you. You stick your head in first.” He pointed to the bins.

  “How about a change of diet?”

  “Fuck off and leave me alone.”

  “I’m going to go and find us something to gnaw on.”

  “Us?”

  “Yeah. I’m a little peckish myself.”

  “Go then. There’s your exit line. I won’t hold my breath waiting for you to come back with the food.”

  “You’re thinking I won’t?”

  “Do I look like a fuckin’ eejit?”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Right. So, sayonara. I won’t set the table waiting for the feast to be delivered.”

  “O ye of little faith. Here, take this. I need it, so I’ll have no choice but to come back.”

  “Your wallet? Are you daft?”

  “That remains to be seen. Here. I’ll take out enough cash to buy us dinner, and you hold on to this till I get back. Get yourself out of sight there, so you don’t get into any more trouble. See you in a bit.”

  Brennan took out twenty-five punts, leaving two fivers in the wallet. He handed the wallet to Aidan, then pushed himself up off the curb, and walked away without looking back. Was he in fact daft enough to believe the street kid would wait for him and return the wallet when he came back with the food? No. Chances of this fellow being anywhere in sight when Brennan returned were slim to none. But so be it. It was all he had to offer Aidan as a show of faith in him. Brennan wasn’t naïve enough to really have faith in him, but he suspected nobody had ever shown him any trust in living memory. Brennan would come back as promised and if, as expected, Aidan and the wallet were long gone, well, he’d call and cancel his credit card in the morning and hope he was right in thinking there was a limit on how much a card holder had to pay in the case of a stolen card. Whatever the case, he’d get it sorted. His driving licence could be replaced, and he could get by without the two five-pound notes he had left in the wallet. Now, where in the hell was he going to find a restaurant or a take-out place open at this time of night? He approached a street light and peered at his watch. Three-fifteen, on his second night without sleep. The image of his bed rose before him like a mirage. His eyes felt as if they had sand in them; he closed them for a moment and wondered what would happen if he fell asleep standing up. But he pushed himself; he had a job to do.

  He walked for a few minutes and spotted a pizza joint with a take-away service. It appeared to be closed but, when Brennan put his hand against the window and peered inside, he saw the owner slumped over a table with a bunch of receipts. Brennan rapped on the window, and got a scowl and a gesture from the owner. The message was unmistakable. Get lost! But Brennan waved his money, and persuaded the man — bribed him — to open up and make a pizza with everything on it. Brennan leaned against the building trying to stay awake for the twenty minutes it took to prepare and cook the pizza. He bought two bottles of ginger ale to go with it. There were also cartons of chocolate milk, and he got one of those as well. He grabbed a fistful of napkins, and handed over all the cash he had, twenty-five Irish pounds. Juggling his purchases, he walked back to the spot by the rubbish bins where Aidan made his home.

  No sign of him. Well, no surprise there. Why wouldn’t he abscond with the wallet and credit card? Whether the boy would ever look back, and recall that a complete stranger had showed some faith in him, Brennan would never know. But for now, he didn’t feel like walking away. He didn’t have the strength. What he did have was a pizza that smelled delicious. And Brennan realized he was famished. He sat down, with the box on his lap, and placed the drinks on the pavement beside him. He felt his eyelids getting heavy. He could no longer resist. He closed his eyes and sank into sleep.

  “Could you not watch with me one hour?”

  Brennan heard the words of scripture, and knew he should poke himself awake for the homily. His da would smack him in the side of the head if he fell asleep during Mass again. He tried to lift his head up from the pew in front of him. He turned his head. Hard surface; it scratched his face. He opened one eye and saw what looked like a gob of spit not ten inches from his face. He reared back. And heard laughter above him. Where was he? He blinked at the shadows around him. Jesus the Son of God and Mary the Immaculate! He was lying face down in the street. It was filthy. He bolted upright, and started wiping his hands down the sides of his suit.

  The laughter continued. He looked to its source, and saw a young fellow standing there, an expression of pure delight on his face. What was his name? Aidan.

  “Some of us can handle sleeping rough, and some of us can’t. You look a little confused, Brennan Xavier Burke.”

  “How do you know my name? Did you just quote scripture at me?”

  “Sure I did. Just ’cause I live in the street doesn’t mean I’m thick, right? You’re not so brilliant yourself, if you can’t suss out how I know your name. I’ve got your wallet, remember?”

  “Ah. Right.”

  “I see you got us some pizza. I don’t like anchovies, but I’ll pick them off, rather than send you back for a new one.”

  “Good of you, my lad.”

  Aidan sat down, and jerked his thumb at the spot beside him. Brennan joined him.

  “Don’t worry. No slime right there. And it wasn’t me who spit on the pavement. But you have to learn to dodge a lot of that, and used condoms, and lumps of dog shite. You get used to it.”

  Brennan was going to have a hard enough time getting used to the idea of picking up a piece of pizza and eating it without washing his hands first. But he was going to have to tough it out, and not show his squeamishness. They began to eat in silence. Brennan indicated the ginger ale and the chocolate milk. Aidan nodded, and picked them up.

  “Want your wallet?”

  “Em, yes, sure.”

  “Here.”

  Brennan took it and put it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

  “Aren’t you going to look in it?”

  “No.”

  “I took a fiver out for emergencies.”

  “Fair enough. This pizza isn’t half bad,” he said.

  “I’ve had worse,” Aidan agreed.

  “When we finish up here, I’m going to take you to a friend of mine who’ll help you out.”

  “Some kind of holy Joe?”

  “A holy type, but one who doesn’t blather on about it.”

  “Oh yeah? Who’s this gaffer then?”

  “A sister.”

  “Carries a big stick, right?”

  “No stick, no pain. Sister Kitty will get you fixed up.”

  “Yeah, right, she’s going to —”

  “Aidan, shut the fuck up and eat.”

  The boy looked at him in surprise, then resumed eating. When mealtime was over, he had consumed six of the eight pieces, and the soft drink and chocolate milk.

  Not long afterwards, they were standing in front of the convent near Parnell Square. It was shrouded in darkness.

  “Shite! We can’t expect them to be up before the sun,” Brennan said.

  “Too bad. So I’ll just run along now.”

  Brennan took Aidan gently by the arm. “No, you won’t. Hold on.”

  He remembered being in Kitty’s room with Michael and the others. The view was to the east, he recalled; they had walked up to the third floor, and almost but not quite to the end of the corridor. So which window would be hers? Not the last one. Second last? He had no choice but to chance it.

  He bent down and picked up a couple of stones. He pegged one at the window. Perfect hit. But no Kitty. He pegged another one. A light flashed on in the ro
om, and a curtain moved. Could she see him?

  “Kitty!” he called out. “Kitty! It’s Brennan.”

  He turned to Aidan, who was standing there gaping at him. “We’ll just have to wait.” And wait they did, with no result. “Might as well have a seat till she spies us. Or comes down.”

  They dropped to the grass and sat, staring up at the massive old building.

  “Only hope I got the right room,” Brennan muttered. He was ready to keel over and pass out asleep on the grass. He’d slept on worse. Just a few minutes ago. The situation struck him as so bizarre he wondered if he was hallucinating from lack of rest. Sleep deprivation was a form of torture; it wreaked psychological havoc on the person . . . What was that? A siren in the distance. Trouble again somewhere. Was it coming closer? No. Yes.

  “Jesus the Christ and Saviour of the world!” He scrambled to his feet.

  “You’ve put the fucking guards onto me, Brennan, you amadan!”

  “No, no!” He grabbed Aidan by the sleeve, and pushed him into a hedge at the side of the property. “Stay in there, and keep your head down!”

  Brennan got Aidan squirrelled away, and not a moment too soon. A garda car came roaring up to the convent, and two guards got out. At the same time, a light went on over the front door of the convent, and a nun emerged, fully dressed. Fierce-looking. Not Kitty. One of the officers went to speak to her; the other peered into the gloom in front of and beside the building. Brennan emerged and stood in plain view. The guard saw him and shouted to his partner. They both converged on Brennan and seized him by the arms, one cop on each side.

  “I can explain,” he said.

  “You’d better.”

  The nun called out, “Have you got him? He was throwing stones at our windows and shouting something. I couldn’t make it out, but I did hear the name Brennan.”

  “I’m here to see Sister Kitty.”

  “Is that a fact?” The nun’s eyes bored into him. “If so, I’ll have to have a word with Sister Curran about the company she keeps. So, what’s your problem, which prompts you to terrorize our community in the middle of the night?”

  “I don’t have a problem.”

  “You do now,” one of the guards asserted.

  Then Brennan heard the voice of Kitty Curran. “What’s going on, Sister?”

  “You have a gentleman caller, Sister Curran, though ‘gentleman’ is hardly the appropriate word.”

  Kitty caught sight of Brennan then, and he watched her expression go from incomprehension to barely concealed amusement.

  “Oh, I can take care of this, Sister Ermenilda. Guard, you may release him.”

  “Do you know this man, Sister? We were given the name Brennan. Is that correct?” The guard looked at Brennan’s soiled clerical suit and Roman collar. “Is it Father Brennan?”

  The other guard eyed the first and wiggled his hand in the well-recognized pantomime of a glass being lifted and lowered.

  But Kitty had an answer for them: “No, it’s Mister Brennan. Please release him, guard. He’s harmless. Really. He’s known to some of us here.”

  “If he’s Mr. Brennan, why the priest suit?”

  “Mr. Brennan did attend the seminary. Didn’t you, dear? But the sem is very challenging. Intellectually, if you know what I mean. Not everybody is able for it. But there’s nothing wrong with that. We all have different abilities and gifts. And some of us have been touched by the angels. Like poor Mr. Brennan here.” She gave him a mawkish smile. “Some of the sisters here in Dublin watch out for him, make sure he has a meal, gets his hair trimmed, takes a bath once in a while. I can see his clerical costume is getting a little shabby again, but we’ll fix that up for him. You can release him to me, guard. Honestly.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Oh, yes. Come inside with me, darling.”

  The guards released their grip on him but stood by warily in case he had to be wrestled to the ground. He returned Kitty’s simpering smile, and said in a singsong voice, “Thank you, Sister.”

  She came forward and patted him gently on his injured left cheek, then took his hand. He began shambling towards the door with her. They went inside. The other nun looked at them uncertainly, then headed upstairs.

  “Well, Mr. Brennan,” Kitty said to him when they were alone, “do you have something to tell me, or have you really taken leave of your senses?”

  “The first thing I have to tell you is thanks for bailing me out. The second is that there is someone else lurking in the bushes outside. If he’s still there.”

  He filled her in on Aidan, and she readily agreed to help. They waited until the guards were well and truly gone, then returned outside, where the day was just beginning to dawn. Brennan sent up a prayer that the young man had not scarpered. But there he was, crouched in the hedgerow where Brennan had left him. He crawled out and stood, and Brennan introduced him to Sister Kitty.

  With his eyes on Kitty, Aidan jerked his head in Brennan’s direction, and asked, “So, what’s the real story? Is he a priest or some sort of head-the-ball, or both? I went through his wallet, and his cards just say Brennan Xavier Burke. Nothing about ‘Father.’”

  “Have you spent any time with him, Aidan?” Kitty asked.

  “A bit.”

  “What do you think?”

  Aidan glanced briefly at Brennan, then looked down and scuffed his shoe along the ground. “I think he’s what he’s supposed to be.”

  Kitty had a plan ready for Aidan; she had worked with the poor and troubled when she lived in Dublin before, and she still had connections now. She dug out some clean clothes and sent him off for a shower, then went to work on the phone. She found him a place to stay and set up a couple of appointments for him later in the day. When he emerged pink and glowing from the bathroom, she told him what she had lined up for him, and assured him that she would be going with him to his new quarters. She and Brennan sat with him in a small parlour until one of Kitty’s helpers arrived to pick them up. Brennan went outside to see them off.

  He held out his hand, and Aidan grasped it. They shook. Brennan wanted to take the poor, unfortunate child in his arms and let him weep the tears of a lifetime. But he would leave that to someone much better in that line than he was. Kitty Curran.

  All he said was, “Aidan, if ever you get the urge for pizza at four in the morning, Kitty will know where to find me.”

  Aidan just nodded, without words. Brennan did not break the handshake until Aidan did. He made the sign of the cross over the boy, gave him a blessing, turned and walked inside the convent.

  Brennan returned to the little parlour and sat in an armchair. He felt himself drifting off to sleep. He leaned back and slowly sank beneath the rim of consciousness.

  He awoke with the sun beating down on his face through the window. It took him a few minutes to realize where he was. Then the whole long night and morning came back to him. He looked at his watch. Twenty to nine. Christ. He was due to say the old Latin Mass at St. Audoen’s at nine. Where was Kitty? She had left with Aidan. Brennan got up and found the bathroom. When he saw himself in the mirror, he could scarcely believe his eyes, which were watery and bloodshot, underscored with dark circles. His face looked grey, and he had a big red gash on his left cheek. His white collar was now brown, with a streak of blood on it, and his suit was dirty and even torn. He worked up a lather of soap and washed his hands and face. His only earthly desire now was to brush his teeth. He would have to stop at a pharmacy and pick up a brush and paste before Mass. He had to go.

  Kitty was waiting for him when he came out of the bathroom. “Brennan, you look as if you haven’t slept in a week. And what happened to your face? And your suit? I didn’t want to ask with Aidan here.”

  “I was in a fight, and I slept on the pavement.”

  “What? How did you . . .”

  Brennan shook his
head. No time for explanations. “I’ll tell you all about it next time I see you. For now, could I annoy you for one other favour?”

  “Why ever not?”

  “Toothpaste. And is there any chance in the world that you have a spare toothbrush?”

  “Did I not just produce clothing out of thin air for another man in need?”

  “You did.”

  “Wait two seconds and I’ll be back with toothpaste and a brand new brush.”

  He waited, she returned with the necessary items, and he went in and cleaned his teeth. When he emerged again, she said, “You still look like hell. Go home and go to bed.”

  “Mass time. Got to run.”

  He wrapped his arms around Kitty and held her close. “Thank you, angel.”

  “You’re welcome, dear, simple Mr. Brennan. Young Aidan was very grateful for your help. He kept saying, ‘He gave me his wallet to hold. Can you believe that?’ What was that all about?”

  Brennan waved off the question and left the convent on the fly.

  He got to the church with two minutes to spare, ran up the aisle, made a quick genuflection and sign of the cross, and entered the sacristy. He stopped for a few seconds to catch his breath, then vested for Mass. He took care with the white alb, making sure he did not get any blood on it from his face. Then he donned the green chasuble with the gold cross on the back, placed a black biretta on his head, and took a deep breath. It was at that moment that two young boys came barrelling into the sacristy.

  “Sorry we’re late, Father! The bus . . .”

  Brennan held up his hand. “No worries, lads. I’m late too. I’m Father Burke.” They caught sight of his wounded face and gawked. “Get yourselves dressed, and we’re on.”

  Father Burke walked up the aisle behind his altar boys. He noticed Monty and the MacNeil on his left. They did a double take when they saw him. No wonder, with him looking like the wrath of God. But he soon forgot all that, as he became suffused with the divine love that surrounded them all in the neoclassical interior of the church. He sang the Mass as it had been sung for over a thousand years, the Gregorian chant sounding raspy this morning but, as always, perfectly in tune.