The Young Wan

by Brendan O'Carroll

  Agnes returned to her seat and to her thoughts, which were now very confused. It had nothing to do with the priest. It was the letter she had received that morning. It was typed, so she was able to read it; she had difficulty reading if the words were handwritten. She opened her handbag and took it out again. It had the large red maple leaf on the top, and in gold the words “Embassy of Canada.” She read it again.

  Dear Miss Agnes Reddin,

  I refer to your application for an emigration visa and assisted passage to Canada, more specifically Toronto, Ontario, some time ago.

  At the time of your application, this embassy informed you by post that you were below the age for consideration. However, it has been kept on file, and as you are now of the age, your application has resurfaced. Should you still have an interest, I have been asked to inform you of the following:

  Pending the outcome of a medical examination, which will be paid for by this embassy, your application has been successful. You should make arrangements to have the medical check through this office within sixty days of receipt of this letter. You should also supply this embassy with your Irish passport so the visa can be attached.

  Yours sincerely,

  Mr. Stanley DeBruin

  Visa Section

  She remembered her excitement back when she had made the application, at the thought of a new life in a new place. So much had changed since that day. How could she leave now? Connie would be alone, Dolly would probably be in prison for the rest of her life. She folded the letter and placed it back in her handbag. When she looked up, he was standing right in front of her. Marion was holding him by the arm. She had ushered him over to the table.

  “Agnes, I want you to meet Redser Browne,” Marion announced.

  “Hello,” Agnes offered.

  “Yo, babe!” he replied. He was a good-looker, and well dressed too.

  “He’s a friend of Tommo’s, and he’s the best jiver in the Ierne Ballroom. He was looking for someone to dance with, and I told him that you were the best one here, didn’t I?” She asked the young man with the flaming red hair to confirm this.

  “Yeh, she did. Do yeh wanna dance, babe, or what?”

  Agnes took to the floor with Redser. Within minutes they had taken over the floor. This man could dance, and Agnes loved it! They danced and danced, taking just short breaks, during which Agnes would throw back a vodka, then back on the floor. By night’s end her head was spinning, and Agnes had had the time of her life. He asked to walk her home, and Agnes was pleased.

  On the way they talked a little; actually he talked, and a lot. His name was Nicholas Browne. The name Redser came for the obvious reason, his ginger mane. He was twenty-one, a year and a half older than Agnes. He used to work down in the coal yard; that’s where he met Tommo. He was surprised to be invited to the bash, for he didn’t really know Tommo that well, and always thought him to be a retard. Agnes didn’t like this comment, but then reconciled it by admiring his honesty. By the time they reached her home, Agnes knew everything there was to know about Redser Browne. They stood outside her building.

  “Well, here we are, this is me!” Agnes waved her arm across the front of the building as if it were Buckingham Palace.

  “Great!” said Redser as he bounded up the steps. Before she knew it, they were sitting at the kitchen table sipping tea. Agnes was very drunk and wanted to go to bed, but Redser just carried on talking and talking. Until at last he realized he was overdoing it.

  “Jaysus, I’m sorry, love. I always do that when I’m nervous. You know. Talk.” He was embarrassed.

  “Not at all, it’s very interesting,” Agnes lied. That’s when it happened. Out of the blue, he leaned over and kissed her. A long kiss. She melted. He ran his hands over her body. Agnes lost track of where they were, and for a moment thought, How many hands does this fecker have? He laid her on the floor. And undid his zipper, producing his member.

  “What the fuck is that?” Agnes asked in a small terrified voice.

  “Yeh babe, it’s big, isn’t it!” he boasted.

  “No, really, what is it?” Agnes asked. She had never seen a grown man’s penis before. Too late. In the next ten minutes, Agnes lost her virginity on the floor of her mother’s home. It all happened so fast that she didn’t fully understand what had happened. She was so confused, she felt dreadful about doing “it,” but at the same time she loved it. Somebody wanted her and it felt good . . . or bad. Five minutes later, Redser was gone. Agnes bathed herself until the water went cold. She spent her time in bed equally between smiling and sobbing through the night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Father Pius kept his word and became a regular visitor to Connie. She never once recognized him as a priest or even a friend. He found he had to reintroduce himself every other visit. He didn’t mind. He enjoyed the visits; if nothing else, they kept him busy. He needed to keep busy; he was finding it difficult to settle in his new parish. After the relaxed environment he had enjoyed in Africa, the parish house felt like a prison.

  The Church of St. Jarlath is a very settled and conservative church. Surrounded by its huge population that is packed with Catholics, it has a ready audience. Each Sunday, all of the Masses were packed, so in their complacency the older priests of the church were very set in their ways. Father Murphy always said ten o’clock Mass, Father Augustus always eleven o’clock Mass, and Father Angelus always twelve o’clock Mass. There was no nine o’clock Mass, as that was when the priests were usually having their breakfast. So, for the early morning Mass-goers, there was only the seven-thirty Mass. All three of the older priests hated doing the seven-thirty Mass. Usually the priests took turns in saying the early one, along with their own Mass later. This way they would only have to do it once every three Sundays. Now, with the arrival of a new young priest, they could all sleep a little later each Sunday and leave the early Mass to the “young buck.” Lowest in the pecking order and all that. The new priest, Father Pius, didn’t mind this at all, his only gripe being that once his seven-thirty Mass was finished he had the whole day ahead of him and little to do. So, at breakfast one morning, he asked the elderly priests if there was any way he could assist them in their Masses. They all looked at him and then at each other, the same thought going through all of their heads Share the altar? No chance. Father Pius knew that this was what they would be thinking and immediately allayed their fears. “I’m not talking about sharing the altar or anything like that. But I must be able to help in some way? I play the organ, you know.”

  The priests all exhaled with relief. “Oh, the organ; well, then, why don’t you play at my Mass?” Father Murphy asked graciously.

  “Really, Father, could I?”

  “Absolutely,” Father Murphy replied, and they all went back to their breakfast. Well, if Father Pius thought the priests were set in their ways, it was nothing to what was to come. For the lay people who served the church were even more set. Father Pius was to discover this when he arrived at the organ the following Sunday to perform at Father Murphy’s Mass. Here he met for the first time Johnny Brennan. Johnny had been pumping the organ at St. Jarlath’s for forty years. Father Pius introduced himself and Johnny grunted, didn’t shake hands, and just waved him away.

  “I know, I know who you are. I saw you saying your Mass last week.” He winked at the priest. “Nice and quick, good man, keep it moving.”

  “Any requests?” Father Pius asked. Johnny looked at him with a puzzled face.

  “Requests? What are you feckin’ talking about?”

  “I just thought you might like me to play something. I mean, is there anything that you particularly like to hear in the church?”

  “Aye.” He nodded toward the congregation. “The sound of them feckers’ feet all leaving. That’s what I like to hear, Father. Now, sit down there like a good man and don’t be boring the arse off me.” Johnny disappeared behind the organ to prepare the pump.

  Smiling to himself, Father Pius sat down at the huge ke
yboard. He turned and pulled at the knobs, setting the strings, bass, and rhythm to his own liking. Father Pius loved playing religious music. But he also loved experimenting, sticking in a little “twiddle” at the end of this eight-bar or a little “toodle” at the top of the next. It made it different and a little bit more enjoyable for him and, he hoped, the recipients of the music. With his right hand he did a quick up and down the scales, adding a little jazz riff at the bottom of the scale. He looked over his shoulder. The congregation were seated. There were three minutes to Mass. He thought he would begin with “Adeste Fideles.” A beautiful hymn. He turned back to the keyboard to see the head of Johnny Brennan peeping out from behind the keys. Father Pius jumped, startled.

  “Was that you?” Johnny asked.

  “Sorry?” Father Pius said.

  “That racket, was that you? Did you fall on the keyboard?”

  “No, I was just . . . I’m sorry,” Father Pius apologized.

  “Right, let’s get it going, then. What’s it to be?” Johnny asked.

  “‘Adeste Fideles,’” Father Pius said.

  “Oh, right,” said Johnny and off he went. Father Pius began to play, and Johnny began to pump. Father Pius wasn’t quite sure, but if memory served him right, “Adeste Fideles” was about three minutes and twenty seconds long. There were now two and a half minutes to go to the beginning of Mass, and it would be nice to finish just as the serving priest was genuflecting at the altar. So off he went, glancing up at the small mirror in which he could see the altar. He played beautifully, and indeed the twiddles and toodles added to the piece. Then, suddenly, with about a quarter of the piece left, the organ died. Father Pius leaned over and pulled some of the switches, trying to check the vents, valves, and reeds. Everything seemed to be all right. He heard the congregation stand as the priest arrived at the altar. Too late to start again now. He left his seat and went around to the back of the organ. Johnny Brennan was sitting on the pump, smoking a cigarette.

  “The organ, it stopped. What happened?” he asked Johnny.

  “It’s finished, the piece is finished,” Johnny answered, taking a drag from his smoke.

  “No, it wasn’t finished, there was a good quarter of the piece to go.” Father Pius spoke in a hushed voice.

  Johnny Brennan stood and walked to the priest and stood face to face with him. “Father, there is five hundred and sixty-one pumps in ‘Adeste Fideles,’ and you have fuckin’ had them.” He walked back to the pump and sat to finish his smoke.

  Hard as it was, Father Pius was settling in nonetheless. The invitation to celebrate the wedding of Tommo and Marion and then to join the party later was just what he needed to touch base with the younger members of the parish.

  His visiting of Connie was a different matter. Even though he could see that Connie did not know who he was, he enjoyed making her tea and listening to the stories that came in fragments from her lips.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Redser Browne, it turned out, was a tonic. He had a wonderful sense of humor and made Agnes laugh a lot. Mind you, she didn’t see too much of Redser over the next few weeks, she was too busy. She saw him on the Thursday night after the wedding. He took her to the dog track on race night, where Agnes had an amazing streak of luck.

  They had settled themselves in a seat near the bar. Redser gave Agnes a race card, which she thought was silly because the dogs were numbered one through six in every race. From where they sat they could see the dogs for the first race walk around the parade ring.

  “There they are!” Redser pointed out. He then went on to describe the betting system. There was a forecast, where you pick the first two dogs to cross the line, or you could reverse that, in which case it didn’t matter which way they finished as long as they were the correct two dogs. He went on to describe the trio, triella, with the field, without the favorite, lucky four, super six, all in great detail. At the end of this, Agnes still had no idea what he was talking about and she handed him two shillings.

  “Number four to win,” is all she said.

  He was a little disappointed that she was not going for one of the creative bets he had described. “Okay. Why did you pick number four?” he asked, scanning the form of the number-four dog in the program.

  “I watched him in the parade ring. Just before he left it he had a piss. I always find that if I do that before I leave the house I walk much faster, don’t you?” Redser stared at her for a moment.

  “Yeh. Sure. Number four to win.” Redser returned just minutes before the “off.” He handed Agnes her ticket. He was holding a huge bunch of tickets for himself.

  “Jaysus, how many bets have you done?” Agnes asked when she saw the bunch. Redser just winked and smiled.

  “You have to cover your arse with these bookies.” He held up the bunch. “Whoever wins, I’m covered.” Redser was covered in most ways, except if number four won—which he did, by a long way, to Agnes’ shrieks of delight.

  “I won, I won, did you see that? I won. Wasn’t he brilliant?” she cried with delight.

  “Yeh. Fantastic,” replied Redser unenthusiastically, tossing his bundle of tickets on the ground. Redser went and got himself another bundle of tickets and of course did Agnes’ bet, which was? Yes. Number four to win. Which it did, again. And again, and again. Remarkably, the dogs wearing number four won the first five races in a row. Agnes was delirious. By race number five, Redser was depressed. He selected his combinations of dogs yet again, and prepared to leave to place his bets, not before putting his hand out for Agnes’ two shillings.

  “Let me guess?” he said to her. “Number four to win again?”

  “No way,” Agnes replied. “He’ll be exhausted by now.” She smiled a knowing smile. Redser was fit only for suicide at this point.

  Marion returned from her honeymoon at Butlin’s Holiday Camp and settled into the flat that Tommo had rented in a tenement just around the corner from Agnes. On one of their tea breaks sitting on the apple boxes, the ugly subject of sex came up.

  “Tommo was very nervous, Agnes!” Marion began. “He wouldn’t take his clothes off at first. So I helped him.” They giggled.

  “Marion, were you not even a little scared?” Agnes asked, recalling her own discomfort with Redser.

  “No. Not at first. Not until I pulled down his underpants. My Jaysus! Agnes, I nearly fuckin’ died.” She looked about her, checking for eavesdroppers. She went on. “His mickey! Agnes, it was bigger than me!”

  Agnes howled with laughter, the look of shock on Marion’s face making the story all the more funny. “I know.” Agnes laughed. “It’s huge!”

  Marion stopped and stared at Agnes. “What do you mean?” Marion asked.

  Agnes stopped laughing abruptly. “What?” She blushed.

  “You said, ‘I know.’ How do you know?” Marion was suspicious.

  Agnes was flustered. “I didn’t mean I knew about Tommo’s mickey, I meant in general. Men’s mickeys are huge! That’s all,” she explained. Marion continued to stare. Agnes was getting more uncomfortable. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Agnes was decidedly mortified now.

  “You done it! Didn’t you?” Marion accused. The truth is that Marion never for one moment suspected that Agnes had been with Tommo. She was just shocked that Agnes would even consider sex before marriage.

  “No. Shut up!”

  “You did. Who was it?” Marion had a little smile now. She was enjoying Agnes’ discomfort. Agnes did not reply. They sat in silence for a few moments, Agnes wanting the conversation to go away and Marion deep in thought.

  “REDSER,” Marion accused. “Redser Browne.” Marion could tell from the look on Agnes’ face that she had hit the nail on the head. She began to laugh and laugh. Agnes dived on her, trying to put her hand over Marion’s mouth. Marion pretended to make an announcement. “Agnes lost her cherry!” she tried to get out through Agnes’ hand. They wrestled with each other among the empty cardboard boxes, both laughing so much it hu
rt.

  “You two, stop that!” It was Marion’s mother calling to them. They wrestled on. “Stop it now, both of you!” It was a scream now from Mrs. Delany, and she was pulling roughly at Agnes to get her off Marion. They stopped wrestling and stood brushing themselves off. Mrs. Delany’s scream had startled them.

  “Jaysus, Mammy, what’s wrong with yeh? We were just having a bit of fun!” Marion said to her mother.

  Mrs. Delany looked pained. “Well, it’s no time for fun. Agnes, you must go down to the Mater Hospital—now! It’s urgent. Marion, you go with her and take care of her.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  It was the first Sunday Agnes had not visited Dolly. But Dolly understood. She was only too aware how much Nellie Nugent had meant to Agnes. Dolly had asked to get released for the funeral on the Sunday but was refused. Only events concerning direct and immediate family would be considered for a temporary release. So instead she stayed after Mass in the prison chapel and prayed for her.