Becoming Billy Dare

by Kirsty Murray

  ‘'Tis not the sort of conversation I should be having with a young priest.’

  ‘Don't be worrying yourself, John Doherty. I'm not one yet,’ said Paddy. ‘Besides, when I do take the vows, I'll have to hear confession from murderers and thieves and heathens, so there's nothing for you to concern yourself with in telling me about you and Miss Dane.’

  John Doherty laughed. ‘Sure, you'll make a fine priest, Paddy, being quick to forgive an old sinner like me.’

  It started to rain as John Doherty dropped Paddy off outside Cassidy's Tobacconist. Paddy rang the bell, and Aunt Lil let him in. ‘You must be quick now,’ she said, wiping her hands on her apron as she hurried up the stairs. ‘The others will be here any moment and I'm late with your uncle's dinner.’

  ‘Shall I help you in the kitchen?’ asked Paddy.

  Aunt Lil stopped on the step above and turned to gaze down at him.

  ‘How can you be having the heart of an angel as well as the face of one? Fancy wanting to help your old Aunt Lil! But the kitchen is no place for a boy, all the same.’

  ‘I miss helping Mam with the supper so it would be a treat you'd be giving me.’

  In the kitchen, Paddy rolled up his sleeves and set to work slicing and buttering the brown bread Aunt Lil set before him and then opening the oysters. He cut the small, firm muscle that held the shells shut, slipped a knife in to ease them open and then arranged the oysters on a big blue-and-white platter. Aunt Lil scurried around the table, directing the maid to tend to this and that and exclaiming anxiously as she lifted the lids of the pots. She reminded Paddy of one of the frightened rabbits that he used to snare on the Burren. Kathleen, the maid, quickly grew exasperated with Aunt Lil's fussing. When Aunt Lil's back was turned, she winked at Paddy and then rolled her eyes.

  Paddy heard the sound of the shop door opening and a heavy footfall on the stairs.

  ‘Oh my goodness!’ cried Aunt Lil. ‘There's your Uncle Kevin and Mr Coogan already. They've been taking their constitutional and they'll be hungry as lions but there's still Miss Eileen Ryan to come.’ She bustled out of the kitchen.

  ‘So you're the nephew,’ said Kathleen, smiling at Paddy. ‘You surely don't take after your Uncle Kevin.’

  ‘No, I take after my father,’ said Paddy.

  ‘Well, he must have been a handsome devil. Pity to waste such a pretty face on a priest.’

  She reached over to pinch his cheek, and laughed at Paddy's embarrassment as he wiped away a smudge of flour. Uncle Kevin shouted from the dining room, wanting to know where his Sunday dinner and Paddy were. Aunt Lil reappeared in the kitchen full of anxious frenzy, hands fluttering and then hurried Paddy out.

  The dining room table was set with the best gilt-edged china, crisp linen napkins and polished silverware. Paddy took his seat between Mr Coogan and Uncle Kevin, suddenly feeling like a little boy again between the two big men.

  Uncle Kevin asked Paddy to say grace. Paddy kept his eyes shut a moment longer than everyone else and added an extra silent prayer that the dinner wouldn't go on too long.

  Kathleen came in with the platter of oysters and Uncle Kevin set upon them with gusto.

  ‘The best oysters in the world come from Galway Bay,’ announced Uncle Kevin. ‘You know that, don't you, Patrick?’ He tipped his head back and sucked an oyster off its shell.

  ‘At home, Mam fries them or puts them in a pie.’

  ‘There's a lot you'll be having to learn now you're here, in Dublin, away from your mammy's apron strings. And the first thing I'm to teach you is how to savour an oyster. Eat up, boy!’ Uncle Kevin nodded at Paddy's plate.

  Paddy stared at the silvery-grey mollusc in front of him and then took a deep breath before tipping it into his mouth. He didn't chew it. The shorter the length of time it was in his throat, the better. It was like swallowing a big lump of snot. Uncle Kevin looked at Paddy's expression and laughed.

  ‘This boy,’ said Uncle Kevin to Mr Coogan and Miss Ryan, slapping Paddy on the back,‘this nephew of mine, he's bound for great things. Bound for the priesthood. My sister's lad. His mother, poor soul, has not a penny to her name, and her husband long dead and all her hopes tied up with the child. So I brought the boy to Dublin. A fine education he's getting, thanks to our pennies and the Jesuits. And one day he'll be one of God's chosen, won't you, Patrick?’

  ‘I hope so, Uncle Kevin,’ said Paddy, feeling faintly uneasy. ‘I'm to be a missionary and save the souls of the heathens in Africa.’

  Uncle Kevin coughed. ‘Or maybe you'll be a great man, here in Ireland, a bishop, an archbishop even. They may keep us Catholics down as hard as they like, but no one can keep a good Jesuit down.’

  ‘Mam says the Africans need saving,’ said Paddy. ‘If I'm to be a priest, I'd like to go to Africa.’

  Uncle Kevin looked at Paddy as if he'd turned into a strange species of animal.

  ‘It's a long way off yet,’ said Aunt Lil, soothingly. ‘Patrick's got many years of study before he takes his vows. I'm sure he'll make the right decisions when the time comes.’

  Miss Ryan leant a little towards Aunt Lil. ‘Surely he would have been better off in the junior seminary of St Colman's at Fermoy, if you're sure it's the priesthood for him. The Jesuits will want him for so many years of study and they're much more particular about who they accept into the order. I'll wager not many of their boys are country lads from the Burren. And the cost of St Columcille's, well…’

  ‘Time and cost be damned,’ interrupted Uncle Kevin. ‘I've worked hard for this. My brother, it was a Jesuit he wanted to be, learned and wise, a trained soldier of Christ. And young Patrick is to be the same.’ Paddy squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.

  Miss Ryan and Uncle Kevin began arguing about the different strengths of St Colman's versus St Columcille's.

  Mr Coogan was staring at his plate. Paddy couldn't read his expression at all. Uncle Kevin noticed his friend's silence.

  ‘What is it, Mr Coogan, that robs you of your speech?’

  ‘Is it more priests the country is needing?’ said Mr Coogan. ‘Sure the way they're still speaking of Parnell, this country will never be free while they rule the hearts and minds of the people.’

  ‘The priests speak the truth. The man was not a patriot.’

  Mr Coogan laid his spoon by his plate and his expression clouded.

  ‘My nephew will be a true patriot,’ said Uncle Kevin in a steely voice. ‘He will be a priest and speak the truth. Parnell was a disgrace to his country and his family. Patrick will make this family proud.’

  A heavy silence fell on the table and all eyes turned on Paddy. Paddy froze, with his spoon halfway to his mouth. He knew he was expected to offer some sort of confirmation, but he simply lowered his spoon and stared miserably at his plate. Under the table, he rubbed his hands together and felt the sting of swollen flesh.

  The afternoon dragged on and the light outside the window faded. Mr Coogan left early and Paddy was made to sit with Uncle Kevin while he smoked his pipe in a fug of bad temper. When Kathleen finally announced that John Doherty was waiting in the street, he grabbed his jacket from the hall stand, kissed Aunt Lil on the cheek, and shouted a hurried goodbye to Uncle Kevin. He took the stairs two at a time.

  ‘Sure, you were quick with your farewells. I've never seen a boy so mad to get back to his studying,’ exclaimed John Doherty as Paddy jumped up onto the cart beside him.

  Paddy laughed grimly. ‘How else will I become a sanctuary dove?’

  As the cart trundled out of Dublin, Paddy shut his eyes and wished he really was a dove with wings that could lift him to the sky and take him far away from the weight of everyone's hopes and expectations.

  5

  Wise men and fools

  Paddy was dreading the midwinter examinations. He tried hard to concentrate in study hall but when Fitzgerald came and sat beside him, he couldn't help being distracted and they spent most of the study time surreptitiously passing notes back and forth. And then there wa
s the school play. Paddy was cast as the court jester. It was much more interesting practising his jokes than studying algebra and Latin.

  The evening of the performance, a crowd of parents and relatives arrived outside the chapel, their breath steamy on the crisp night air. Inside the vestry, the boys swarmed around Brother Francis as he applied make-up to their faces, exaggerating their features with dark sticks of waxy pencil and pots of face powder.

  Paddy looked in the mirror and laughed at the high, pointed eyebrows Brother Francis had drawn. His hair had started to grow back and a single wayward curl stuck out from under the jester's cap. Mam would be pleased to see that.

  ‘Delaney,’ said Brother Francis,‘stop preening. You'll be on in a moment!’

  The band struck up and Paddy cartwheeled onto the stage. The audience erupted with laughter at the sight of him and Paddy swept low in a bow.

  ‘The snow pities neither wise men nor fools,

  Yet grace and a cod-piece,

  Brave all for good Christian faith

  Heigh-ho kind folk, for the story unfolds…’

  His head felt light, almost like a fever, and every inch of his skin tingled. The senior student who was playing King Wenceslas strode onto the stage and Paddy bowed low. Every scene went smoothly and Paddy didn't miss a single cue. He even managed to help the King, whispering the first words of the older boy's speech when he faltered. When the curtain fell at the end, the audience burst into applause. Paddy shut his eyes and drank in the sound, wanting the moment to last forever. He didn't want to go back to being just another ordinary schoolboy.

  There was a light supper for the students and their families in the refectory. It was strange how ordinary everyone looked to him now that they were no longer part of the audience or the play.

  Paddy was scanning the crowd in search of Uncle Kevin and Aunt Lil when he overhead someone mention his name. It was an elegant-looking woman talking to Father O'Keefe.

  ‘But Father! Imagine how I felt when I discovered that young Delaney's uncle is my husband's tobacconist! Edward has been talking about this boy rather a lot in his letters home, and I am most concerned that no undue intimacy should arise between them. The Fitzgerald family, as you know, is a family of gentlemen. It simply wouldn't do for that boy to be latching onto Edward.’

  Paddy blushed with anger and waited for Father O'Keefe's response.

  ‘Put your mind at rest, dear Mrs Fitzgerald,’ said the priest. ‘Pm sure their association will be brief. Young Delaney is a gifted young actor, as you may have noted from his performance tonight. I am sure your Edward will quickly lose interest in the friendship when he realises Delaney is destined to outshine him in so many things.’

  Paddy bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. He wondered ruefully if Father O'Keefe would have defended him if he had seen his exam results. Then Paddy spotted Uncle Kevin and Aunt Lil, standing at the end of the long supper table. Aunt Lil looked as nervous as always, clutching a small, old-fashioned evening purse and blinking like a startled animal. Uncle Kevin looked even redder in the face than usual and the top of his bald head seemed extra shiny.

  Aunt Lil's eyes grew teary when Paddy approached.

  ‘Oh Patrick,’ she exclaimed, patting him on the arm. ‘How I cried when you made your speech at the end, about King Wenceslas and the fate of the good in this cruel world. And then I realised, I was sitting next to Lady Fitzgerald! Fancy that! Sure, I dried my eyes and made sure I didn't shame you.’

  Uncle Kevin shook his hand stiffly.

  ‘No harm in a bit of Christmas fun, I suppose,’ he said. ‘Your Uncle Patrick would have been surprised to know this sort of thing goes on in a Jesuit school, but Pm sure your masters know best.’

  Paddy felt deflated. If only Mam had been there, she would have hugged him and told him how wonderful he was. And as to Lady Fitzgerald, Mam wouldn't have even noticed or cared if she was sitting next to her. Mam would have had eyes only for him.

  The next Sunday, Uncle Kevin said,‘Now, I know you might have been imagining that you'd be going home to see your mam in the holidays. But I've decided we'll have you here with us for Christmas dinner and the evening. And then it will be back to school for you on Boxing Day.’

  ‘But Uncle Kevin,’ protested Paddy hotly,‘Mam can't want that. She said in her last letter that it's all she's looking forward to, me coming home.’

  ‘Of course she'll be telling you that. But she's not well, lad. You can't be getting her excited and expecting her to tend to you when she's not in full health.’

  ‘I can look after her if she's not well.’

  Uncle Kevin thumped his hand on the dining table. ‘Don't question my judgement on this, boy. She has your sister to look after her now and there are matters here you can't fathom. What of the expense of sending you across the country on nothing more than a lark? Do you think I'm made of money? First there's your schooling and now this blasted wedding.’

  ‘Wedding?’

  ‘That sister of yours is to be marrying Liam O'Flaherty within the month.’

  Paddy's mouth fell open. ‘Liam O'Flaherty! She'd not say yes to the likes of him! I'll tell her she can't marry him, and then you won't have to help with the wedding and I can go home for Christmas.’

  ‘You'll do no such thing!’ shouted Uncle Kevin, little beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. ‘You'll not see your sister, nor your mother, and you will be here on Christmas Day and you will be grateful. Do you hear me! Grateful!'

  Paddy looked down at his plate. He folded his napkin into a small square and laid it on the tablecloth.

  ‘Thank you for the lovely food, Aunt Lil,’ he said turning to his aunt. ‘I think I'll wait in the shop for John Doherty to come and collect me, if you don't mind.’

  Paddy made his way downstairs with anger in every step. Outside, winter dark was settling on the city streets and the lamplighter was beginning his rounds, while inside the shop the air was still and heavy with the scent of tobacco. His heart was pounding and he clenched his fists as he heard the dull rumble of Uncle Kevin's voice above him.

  Beside the cash register was a box of cheroots with a picture of an American Indian on the lid. On an impulse, Paddy picked two cheroots out of the box and slipped them into his jacket pocket. He could hear his uncle's heavy footfall on the stairs. The back of his neck prickled as Uncle Kevin stepped into the shop.

  ‘Don't keep John Doherty waiting, boy. Run out and get his tobacco tin. Do you think he fetches you back and forth for the pleasure of your company?’

  When Paddy returned, Uncle Kevin pulled open one of the drawers in the wall. He drew out a wad of dark, pungent, chewing tobacco, and packed it into the tin.

  ‘He's a good man, that John Doherty,’ said Uncle Kevin. ‘Mind you say a prayer for him.’

  ’ Yes, Uncle Kevin,‘ said Paddy.

  As Paddy turned to leave, Uncle Kevin called him back to the counter. Paddy felt the blood drain from his face.

  ‘I'm no fool, Patrick,’ he said. ‘I know exactly what's going on in your head. But you have to understand that everything I do is for your own good. One day, you'll thank me.’

  Paddy nodded and tried to smile, as if he understood, as if he was already grateful, as if he wasn't still burning with rage. The two cheroots felt heavy against his chest as he turned away from his uncle.

  6

  Crazed moon at Christmas

  Paddy made his hands into a stirrup to boost MacCrae up. Once MacCrae was astride the high brick wall, Paddy took a running leap and scrambled up to join him, skinning his knuckles on the cold, rough stone.

  ‘I can't believe you talked me into this,’ said MacCrae, as he jumped across into the big pine tree and joined Paddy in a fork that was wide enough for the two of them to sit safely out of view of the seminary.

  ‘There's nothing sinful about smoking baccy. Why, the Rector himself has a pipe, doesn't he?’

  ‘Why didn't you ask Fitzgerald? Why me?’

 
; ‘For God's sake, man,’ said Paddy,‘you didn't have to come. I only wanted you to have some fun.’

  MacCrae hung his head. ‘You've been a good friend to me, Delaney. You always stick up for me. I just don't want us to get into trouble. Are you sure this is a good idea?’

  ‘I told you, this is a rare treat.’

  Paddy patted his jacket pocket where he'd been keeping the two cheroots. He took one out and rolled it between his fingers the way he'd seen Uncle Kevin do, then held it under his nose and sniffed knowingly. He held out the other one to MacCrae. Paddy struck a match and lit first MacCrae's and then his own. They sucked until the end glowed orange and then puffed furiously to keep the cheroots alight.

  The first puff burnt Paddy's throat. He took a deep breath of sharp winter air, and then he inhaled again more carefully. MacCrae was sucking hard on his cheroot with a serious expression. Suddenly, he hung over the side of the branch and threw up. It would have been funny but for the shout of outrage that echoed from the base of the tree. Paddy glanced over MacCrae's shoulder and groaned. Standing at the base of the tree, his face distorted with rage, and his soutane streaked with vomit, was Father O'Keefe.

  When Father O'Keefe had changed into a fresh soutane, both boys were ushered into his office. It wouldn't have been so bad for Paddy if he'd been caned alone. He knew how to brace himself for the blows. But watching MacCrae take his punishment, seeing his round glasses steamed up with tears and his tormented expression, was worse than any flogging.

  After the caning, Father O'Keefe ordered them to stay standing as he sat down behind his desk and opened a book.

  ‘Now boys, listen closely to this, especially you, MacCrae. These are the words of our own St Ignatius Loyola when speaking to a young man named Bartolomeo Romano. Bartolomeo was spiritually troubled, disobedient and a trial to his brothers. Ignatius wrote this to him: “This disquiet comes from within and not from without. I mean from your lack of humility, obedience, prayer, and your slight mortification, in a word, your little fervour in advancing in the way of perfection. You could change residence, superiors, and brethren, but if you do not change the interior man, you will never do good.”’