by Peter Murphy
And when it was all done, Granny sat back as the young people danced the rest of the evening away. She had done all she could and now it was up to Jeremiah and Jacinta, though she would be there to help them every step of the way—for her unborn grandson’s sake if not for theirs.
But as Granny spent the summer making plans, arranging a nice flat for the newlyweds on the Terenure side of Rathgar and prodding Jacinta in the direction of motherhood, Fate played its own hand and took Bart. He died of a heart attack at the Galway races after a day of longshot winners.
“Fate is fickle,” she reminded her son as they walked along behind his hearse.
***
“They found a young fella named Declan Scully shot dead in the mountains,” his mother told Danny as she poured a cup of tea and placed it in front of him. “Didn’t you know somebody by that name?”
Danny didn’t look up as his parents sat and waited. “I haven’t seen him in a few years. The last I heard he was into drugs.”
His parents said nothing but he could sense them exchanging glances. He knew they wouldn’t force the issue. They couldn’t; he could turn it back on them so easily. “Did they say who did it?”
“No, but the Garda said that it might be linked to the killing down in Rathgar, a few months ago.”
His mother hovered but Danny didn’t answer. Instead, he reached across and took a cigarette from her pack and lit it with one of her matches, filling the kitchen with the acridity of sulphur.
“Whoever it was should be given a feckin’ medal,” his father added as he gulped some tea and raised his newspaper. “We should get rid of all these little feckers, once and for all.”
“Don’t be talkin’ like that. What if it was our Danny?”
“And why would he get caught up in that shite? He’s not that stupid. Isn’t that right, Danny?”
Danny agreed but didn’t raise his head. He couldn’t be sure what his eyes might tell them.
He had to get away from them. He wasn’t a part of their world anymore. He had to get back to where he could hide away until he sorted it all out. He’d go down to the Dandelion while it was still there. His whole world was changing and he needed something to hold onto.
“I’m going out.”
“Where are you off to now?”
“I’m going to busk for a while and then I got to look after a few stalls.”
“Will you be home for your dinner?”
“I don’t know.”
“You won’t be late, will ya?”
“I told ya, I don’t know.”
“Well, I’ll leave something in the oven and you can heat it up when you get home.”
*
His parents watched in silence as he finished his tea and swung his guitar over his shoulder. His jeans were soiled and his denim jacket was tattered and frayed around the collar. His hair was long and greasy and he hadn’t had a bath in over a week.
“I’m worried about him,” Jacinta said after she heard the front door close.
“He’s not going to listen to either of us.”
“What are you saying—that we should just give up on him?”
Jerry lit another cigarette and shrugged. “Why are you asking me? How would I know what to do?”
“’Cos you’re supposed to be his father.”
“Right, like the little bollocks would listen to me, anyway.”
“But we have to try. We can’t just turn our backs on him. He needs us.”
“What he needs,” Jerry paused to stub out his cigarette. Her face was lined with worry so he had to sound reassuring. He knew what he had to do but he couldn’t tell her. Not until he had it all sorted, anyway. He had let her down so often, but not this time. This time he’d come through for them all. “Is a good, swift kick up the arse.”
*
Jacinta couldn’t let it go at that. She had to do something. She went down to the church to have a chat with Nora. She would know what to do. She always did before.
Jacinta blessed herself at the old stone font and stepped inside. The church was almost empty, just a few old people seeking solace in the shadows, every little noise they made echoing to the wooden beams above.
She made her way through the flickering shadows to the little side altar and lit a tea candle from the sputtering flame of another. She knelt in the first pew and lowered her head and prayed to the statue of Mary, standing forever between them and God, almost shapeless in her long white shift, under the pale blue mantle, her sandaled foot crushing the serpent that slithered around the world.
Jacinta always prayed there; it was where Nora would find her when she came.
Nora would listen to her and the news she brought. She would never speak but Jacinta could always feel her censure. She and Jerry had always been a disappointment to the old woman but she never spoke about that anymore. Instead she would just listen as Jacinta poured out all that troubled her.
And even when Jacinta was finished unloading her burdens, the old woman would not speak. She didn’t have to. Jacinta knew she would intercede on her behalf, interceding with God’s own mother, interceding on behalf of her daughter-in-law who could never be strong enough to bear her own burdens.
Jacinta knew her mother-in-law had never approved of her but she’d still help—for her grandson’s sake if nothing else. That was Jacinta’s one solace: Nora Boyle would never turn her back on them. She would move the powers of Heaven and Earth for her grandson.
“It’s Danny,” Jacinta spoke softly, keeping their business private. “I’m worried sick about him. I think he’s into drugs again and I worry that he’ll end up like the poor Scully boy they found dead this morning.”
Nora didn’t answer so Jacinta continued.
“I know that Jerry and I are to blame. We should have been better parents for him but we’re trying now. Please, Mrs. Boyle. Is there anything you can do to help us?”
Nora didn’t answer and Jacinta waited. Her mother-in-law liked to make her wait. She probably wanted her to know that things took time, that she couldn’t just ask and have everything put to right. She and Jerry would never learn anything if all of their problems were solved whenever they asked.
No. Nora Boyle would make her wait for a little while so Jacinta prayed and dedicated her rosary to the Blessed Virgin, saying each prayer slowly so the words would not get all jumbled together.
“Hail Mary, full of grace. Our Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”
CHAPTER 3
Fr. Reilly waited for her by the door. He had seen Jacinta deep in prayer and didn’t want to intrude. Instead he pottered around, rearranging pamphlets and tidying up the noticeboard until she rose and came toward him.
“Mrs. Boyle. Are you well?” he whispered as he held the door open for her, letting the sunlight into the shadows.
“As good as can be expected, given what’s happening.”
“Yes, Mrs. Boyle,” Fr. Reilly agreed as they walked from the church. “I did hear the news. It’s shocking to think that we have gotten to the point where human life means so little.”
It was all the comfort a childless man could offer. He glanced across at her, wondering how she was dealing with it, her being a bit delicate, and all. He saw the same fear he had seen in the faces of parishioners before. Fear and doubt about how to steer their children through a world that had changed so much. Evil was washing over Ireland again and there was nothing he and all the priests and bishops could offer but to cling to the Faith–a Faith that had never delivered them from the pain and anguishes of the past, but it was all they had.
“It is, Father, and the ones who killed him were probably not much older, themselves.”
He had no answers, nor did he have anything new to assure her. “I suppose that all we can do is to stay strong in our Faith–to show the young people that it still matters–that God is s
till there–and that they can reach out for His divine mercy and forgiveness.”
He once knew Danny well. He used to come to him for Confession. But that was before that ill-conceived call to the house. He hadn’t thought about how it might look; he was too concerned with what Danny had said.
Every Saturday night, his grandmother used to queue to put him in Fr. Reilly’s box before joining the line for Fr. Brennan’s. “Sit there and be quiet,” she’d announce in a penetrating whisper, to let Fr. Reilly know he was there waiting alone in the muffled darkness as Fr. Reilly heard the confession from the other side; a doleful litany of human frailties. He hoped that Danny wasn’t listening; that he would be distracting himself with a thorough examination of his own conscience, just like he had been taught.
Until it was his turn, and Fr. Reilly would lean against his side of the grill, with his hand to his face, so he wouldn’t recognize the boy he knew so well. It was the same thing most weeks but one night stood out.
**
“Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” Danny had whispered. “It has been a week since my last confession.”
“Go on,” Fr. Reilly always had to coax it out of him.
“Father I’ve been having impure thoughts and I’ve been dishonest in my dealings with others.”
Since his Confirmation, Danny was no longer content with little venial sins and offered up things that were far more mortal. He was going through that age when boys often confused the murmurings of their bodies with the whisperings of the Devil. Fr. Reilly had heard it all before.
“I see. Go on.”
“I told my granny that I’d no homework so that I could watch TV.”
“Well that’s not right. You must strive to be honest—and to be responsible—in all of your dealings.”
“I will, Father.”
“And what about the other part?”
“Father?”
“The part about the impure thoughts.”
“Oh those, Father. They just pop into my mind. I can’t help it.”
“I see.”
They both hesitated on their sides of the grill.
“And I stole a few apples from the shop,” Danny blurted out as if to move things along.
“Well that’s not a good thing, either. Remember what happened to Adam and Eve?”
“Yes, Father. Afterwards, I wanted to give them back but I was afraid of getting caught.”
“Well, are you sorry for your sins, at least?”
“I am indeed, Father. Every one of them.”
“Well then, say three Our Fathers and ten Hail Marys and try to remember the story of Adam and Eve because Sin is how we got thrown out from the Garden of Eden.”
“I will, Father.”
Fr. Reilly lowered his head and mumbled in Latin, cleansing Danny’s soul of impurities.
“Is there anything else?” He asked after a few moments, as Danny lingered. “Is there something else you need to get off your mind?”
“Father, I’ve been praying to God to help my ma but He still hasn’t done anything yet. Is there something else I should be doing? I mean, I’ve tried to be good but it doesn’t seem to be working.”
Fr. Reilly raised his head and leaned closer to the grill. Even in the gloom, Danny’s boyish face was clear, his deep brown eyes sparkled as his full lips whispered.
“God works in mysterious ways,” Fr. Reilly decided from all the thoughts he considered. “And it’s hard to know what He has in store for us all. Sometimes, He tests us to see if we’re worthy. That’s why we must go on developing our faith in Him and trust that everything is going according to His plan.”
“But my ma is so unhappy. Sometimes I worry that she might go and kill herself.”
“Don’t be thinking like that. Have you prayed for her?”
“I have, Father, every night and every morning but I don’t think it’s doing any good. I think maybe God has forgotten about her.”
“You can’t be thinking like that. Maybe He is just testing you, like he did with Job.”
“But my ma is suffering so much, Father. Couldn’t you have a word with Him and see if He can do anything about it.”
Fr. Reilly was silenced for a while until the penitent on the other side coughed a few times to remind them that she was waiting.
“Listen, my son,” Fr. Reilly whispered urgently. “We’ll talk about this another time instead of staying in here all night. People might start thinking you have lots of sins. Go on now and don’t forget to say your penance. And say a few more for your family.”
***
After he called the house that night, Nora Boyle started bringing Danny to Fr. Brennan and avoided him altogether, barely nodding to him as they passed on the street. She never forgave him and he could feel her scorn when she passed nearby.
“Poor Declan’s funeral will be on Tuesday. They’ll bring the remains in on Monday evening. Perhaps you would mention it to Danny in case he wants to attend?”
Jacinta just nodded, deep in her own thoughts. “I will, indeed, Father. I’ll mention it to him when he gets home.” She wasn’t sure if Nora would be happy that Fr. Reilly was getting involved but Nora, like God, worked in mysterious ways.
*
Nora Boyle wasn’t happy as she lingered in the flickering shadows by the small altar, kneeling, with her forehead resting against her wrists, rosary beads trickling through her fingers as she whispered.
Her mind was a bit of a muddle. She had always thought that things would have been very different by now. She had always tried to do her best but she had a few regrets, too. She had made her fair share of mistakes and there were times, God forgive her, when she had been less than she might have been, especially with Jeremiah.
She had done well by Danny, though. No one could argue with that. She had given him a solid basis of what was right and wrong and now it was up to him; she couldn’t lead him anymore. The world had changed far too much for that. She couldn’t even make her way to the Garden of Remembrance anymore.
That might have bothered her but she knew Bart would come for her though it was taking him a lot longer than she’d expected. He must have met up with some of his old friends.
She wanted to talk with him about what they should do with Danny. She didn’t want to make the same mistakes she had made with Jeremiah. After she’d banished him to England he seemed more and more shrivelled each time he came back for weekends, in his long tweedy coat, reeking of resignation and cigarettes, his teeth and nails turning browner and browner.
But what else could she have done? He had picked his own path and all she could hope for was that one day, like the Bible’s prodigal, he would return. So when he was home, she insisted that he spend time with his son. She had him take the boy to Milltown, to watch the Rovers. Or, if it was raining, she’d send them off to the Grafton Cinema. Danny loved his cartoons and always came home with wonderful stories about Bugs Bunny, Tweetie Pie and Sylvester, and Danny’s favorite, Daffy Duck.
Or if the weather was finer, she’d send them to the zoo though, as she found out later, they only ever walked around the outer fence.
**
“It is better this way,” Jerry always insisted. “It’s like we’re on a real safari. Inside it’s just like all the animals are in prison but from here, with the bushes and all, you can hardly see the cages. It’s like the animals are pacing back and forth like they know we’re hunting them.”
“Can’t we just go in the next time?”
“Don’t be asking me for stuff like that Danny. I don’t have money for that kind of thing. People like us just get to stand outside and look in. That’s the bit they don’t tell you about in school. But don’t worry, the priests say that the poor get to Heaven easier, especially if they become poor giving all their money to the Church.” He stopped as Danny’s eyes welled up. “I’m sorry but I’m just trying to warn you, Danny boy, so you’ll know what to expect.”
They always stopped in Ryan’s on the
way home, a warren of old wooden snugs for every type of drinking. Danny always wanted to go into the little rooms with the window that opened over the bar. They reminded him of confessionals.
“That was great all the same, wasn’t it Danny?”
Danny looked over the four empty lemonade bottles, knee-deep in the torn wrappers of four potato chip bags. His father was glassy and ruddy and pleading desperately with his eyes.
“It was brilliant, Da, but couldn’t we just go inside one of these days?”
“I told you. I’m not made of money, son.”
“Uncle Martin took me inside last summer.”
“Well you’ve seen it then so we can stop coming.”
While Danny struggled to control his tears his father peered through the cloud of smoke between them. “Ah, not you too, Danny? You’re looking at me the same way your mother did.” He shriveled a little more into the wood panel behind him, another sad and beaten man.
**
Nora had had to find someone else for him to look up to, so, when Martin had asked if he could take Danny to the pictures—for his Confirmation, she didn’t hesitate, even when he asked if she’d mind if they went for something to eat afterwards.
She approved of Martin; there was something different about him—not like the rest of his family. She’d never heard a bad word spoken about him though he did like to keep to himself, but that, she assumed, was a personal choice and one that she admired. Danny liked him a lot and that was good enough for Nora, though she did ask him to tell her all about it.
Danny said it was much better with Martin—that he’d brought him for burgers and chips. His father just used to take him to the pub and buy him lemonade and crisps. Wimpy’s was much better.
**
Danny’s smile had broken into a huge grin when his stacked plate was placed on the table in front of him.
“It’s all right,” Martin had agreed. “But in America they have these huge burgers. I’m going to go there, to New York, as soon as I finish school and all. And you can come and visit,” he added when Danny’s face clouded.