At Swim, Two Boys Part 15

"Were you thinking any more on what we spoke last evening?"

"I did, Brother."

"And are the intentions of Our Lady any the clearer to you now?"

"Not entirely."

"The vicissitudes of home engross your thoughts." But it seemed the brother's thoughts too were preoccupied. "I had him in again this evening," he said, "his Gaelic reverence, an Soggarth Aroon. Cut of him-cloth suit and his felt hat. The old biretta and ca.s.sock wouldn't be sw.a.n.k enough. The very model of a modern vicargeneral. Drill he's talking of now. Left turn, right turn-it lends a whole new twist to holy orders. Spalpeen to be interrupting my tea."

Jim closed his ears to the rambling, unseemly talk. He was thinking of the words he had said to his father. Was friendship truly to be compared to a vocation? He had a tract from a Dominican retreat that had a prayer for the blessing of a friend of the heart. The very words: friend of the heart. There was surely something devotional about it, something might be holy even.

"Don't be tempted into the priesthood, Jim. They say the brothers have not the consolation of the Ma.s.s. But we have other consolations. Humility is its own reward. Would it bother you if I knelt beside and we had a stim of talk together?"

But Doyler had gave up waiting. The falling damps and the chill off the wall that he complained would give him the piles. He had gone home.

Swish morendo of linen descending. Hand perdendo upon his neck. "Does it bother you, my hand?"

A shrug moved Jim's shoulder. The hand lifted, dropped. "No, Brother."

"At my age 'tis the bolster of the young I look for." A pause while the finger-tips began their roam. "Did I mention to you ever about my own vocation, Jim?"

"You did, Brother." Along his neck, in under the collar of his shirt, the brother's fingers.

"I was your age then. Some might think sixteen old for a vocation. Believe me, Jim, only the riff-raff joins at fourteen. Their parents answer an advertis.e.m.e.nt in the newspapers. This they call a vocation."

His collar pulled and his tie strained against the intrusion. He blinked. He was irresistibly aware of the oddness of moving things.

"At that time I had discovered in myself a certain sin. It is not necessary I tell what sin that was, save that it was a solitary vice."

Thumb-grope and finger-creep. How oddly things moved and strangely unmoved him, they fumbling over the chain of his medal, they playing with the medal on its chain on his chest.

"As fouler I grew and deeper in my misery, the temptation rose to share that vice with others."

Out over his windpipe, along his throat, pressuring his apple, which made Jim gulp and swallow. The physicality of that reflex surprised him from abstraction. He felt a blush rising, mottling his cheeks.

"Who those others were it is not necessary to tell, save that my schoolfellows were shocked and repelled by my solicitations."

The hand held now in its span the round of his neck.

"Do you understand solicitation?"

"I think I do."

"Would you make solicitation to another boy?"

"No, Brother."

"Would you accept solicitation was it made you?"

"Brother, your hand is hurting."

A fetch of a sigh while he loosed his grip. "That priest has me in the megrims. I have not the strength of it this night." He labored to rise, unbalancing Jim's shoulders, and Jim at last unblinked his eyes.

A scratching at the door. The feeling of the door ajar. Abruptly his master's voice: "What is the meaning of this?"

"Nothing, Brother-"

"How long have you been standing in my door?"

"I was waiting, Brother-"

"Waiting for what? You have no business in Presentation."

"Waiting for Jim," said Doyler.

The fool had come looking for him, looking as far as the brother's room.

"Out with you. In the road where you belong."

Already Polycarp was shoving Doyler down the pa.s.sage. Jim hurried to the door. Other brothers and servants were gathering, roused by the ruction. He heard Doyler explaining stupidly, then Polycarp hit on something inside his collar.

"What, pray, is this? What get-up is this to come to a monastery wearing?"

"These are my clothes."

"Never mind your togs. What about this?" He flicked his hand at Doyler's lapel. "You think it hilarious to parade your extremism before me? Does your precious priest know of this?"

Doyler's hand went to his badge and he fingered it, the embossed red hand. "I do always wear it."

"Take it off."

"Why would I?" The brother reached out and Doyler stepped back. "What has my badge to do with anything?"

"I will not have agitation in my band."

"This is the parish of St. Joseph's, Brother. Patron of the working man."

Polycarp roasted him. "Little born-in-the-gutter." He shot round to Jim. "Is this vulgarian to do with you?"

Jim felt the burning on his face. "He's my friend, Brother. You know that already."

"Pal o' me heart," said Doyler.

Jim saw himself weighed in the balance, then bitterly Brother Polycarp said, "And the half of your soul that is d.a.m.ned. Out of my sight, the both of ye."

Jim let a low whistle in the road outside. "What was that about?"

"Don't think I'm long for that band."

"All because of a badge? That's cracked."

"Not any badge. The Red Hand of Liberty, emblem of the Citizen Army. Sword and shield of the working man, the red-flag socialists of Liberty Hall."

"It's not as if you're a member."

Doyler threw him a sneering look that told him not to quibble, then he swerved into the road to take a kick at a stone. Graceful approach, arms wide for balance; the stone sc.o.o.ned along raising puffs of dust. But his leg failed and he blundered after. "s.h.a.gging pins. Come on, Forty Foot."

They skirted round the back of the chapel towards Newtown smith and the sea. Some young ones had fixed a rope to a lamppost and Doyler heeled over to take a swing of it.

"Get off, y' ugly brute ya!"

"Honors easy," said Doyler and swung the rope back.

When he came up with Jim, he clapped a hand on his shoulder and said, "She's after calling me ugly." The hand dropped. "Does he pray that way with you always?"

"We were at our devotion," said Jim. "You oughtn't have come in."

"Curious all the same the way he has you in a hugger-mugger to pray."

Even now Jim felt the remnants of his blush. On his neck and under his collar he felt a lurk of wet where the brother's hand had pa.s.sed.

Doyler kicked at a few stones and beat his palm on the coping of a wall. Thoughtfully he said, "Like a crow he looked from behind. An old rook with a sparrow under his wing."

At the Forty Foot they lay side by side on the hard stone while the cold of the stone seeped through their jackets and chilled the sweat of their shoolering. Above them glimmered the Great Bear, an Ceacht Cam an Ceacht Cam in Gaelic, the Crooked Plough. "Plough and the Stars," said Doyler, and Jim nodded for he knew that too now, the banner of the men of Liberty Hall, not red but blue. And if you leant your head far back you saw in Gaelic, the Crooked Plough. "Plough and the Stars," said Doyler, and Jim nodded for he knew that too now, the banner of the men of Liberty Hall, not red but blue. And if you leant your head far back you saw an Cupla, an Cupla, the Twins, glistening just above the battery wall. Then Doyler said, "Brothers." the Twins, glistening just above the battery wall. Then Doyler said, "Brothers."

And Jim knew he did not intend Castor and Pollux.

"Curious things are brothers. Neither hay nor gra.s.s. They wear the uniform, but they're sergeants really, not officer cla.s.s."

Jim smiled. Was this scandalous talk? With scandalous talk you did not argue but, silently invoking the aid of Mary, politely took your leave. "Matter of vocations, I should think."

"Vocations me a.r.s.e."

Yes, definitely scandalous.

"Sure who'd have a vocation to be a sergeant only? You want to be the officer in charge. Not as though old Polycarp'll get promoted. Once a brother, die a brother."

"You don't have a vocation to be promoted. The vocation is to serve."

"d.a.m.n all respect he gets for it. You saw the way the priest was down on him. All the vows and none of the glory."

"I respect him."

"Do you?"

"Everybody respects the brothers. Why wouldn't they?"

Doyler leant up, looking to see some place to spit. "Well he don't respect me. And if he don't respect the working man, the Reverend Brother Polycarp can go spit." And flit went the phlegm through the slit of his teeth.

Jim said nothing, just watched the circling sky. Unseemly talk and scandalous notions, the working man and brothers and priests. Politics was a puzzle at the best of times. Gordie had joined the Irish Volunteers that drilled to fight the Ulster Volunteers that drilled to fight Home Rule. But then the war came and they all joined up and were drilling together now to fight the Hun. All save a few of the all-for-Ireland boys that Aunt Sawney cursed for Fenians whenever they marched down Adelaide Road, which they did the odd Sat.u.r.day afternoon, hurleys upon their shoulders. And his father shook his head at the door, saying, "Hogs in armor, hogs in armor." His father stood for Home Rule, because it was only square after South Africa and Canada and Australia and that, the English had done their job, Ireland was ready to take her place, stand among the dominions. Or so he said to his customers, but Jim doubted he ever brought himself to vote for the nationalists at Westminster. The memory of Parnell was too strong with him.

Politics was always a puzzle but now there were new ingredients to bother the brew: the working man and Gaelic-talking priests and the Red Hand badge that Doyler hid inside his lapel.

"I believe Brother Polycarp thought you were to do with the new father," Jim ventured after a while. "I think that's what got his rag out so."

"Me with the priest? Codding me."

"Speaking Gaelic and all that."

"Where was the priests when we called on them? Where was the priests when they locked out the workers? At the pulpit is where, d.a.m.ning to h.e.l.l the working man. They have a saying down Clare way, the four cautions: Beware a woman in front of you, beware a horse behind of you, beware a cart beside of you, and beware a priest every which way." He turned his head on the stone and looked cheekily out from under his cap. "Am I wicked or what?"

"I don't know what you are," Jim answered, for he hadn't the heart to let on he wasn't near so scandalous as the Reverend Brother Polycarp in his cups.

"Past praying for, anyways."

And even that was not quite so, for though he gave no names Jim made a prayer at night for the blessing of friends, as told in the Dominican tract he had kept, that they might be granted to meet in the joy of that everlasting home, amen.

"I can't delay long tonight," Jim said.

"The da, is it?"

"He's on the rare old ree-raw at home."

"Hold on a short while. There's something I want to show you."

"Well?"

"You'll see."

On a sudden notion Jim asked, "What would you think would leave you insane?"

Doyler pulled a face. "Is it a riddle or something?"

"I don't think so." Jim considered the question. Something would leave you insane. The urge to something. Only a prayer would stop it. You'd have to sleep with your hands like so. A prayer to Our Lady.

A shudder pa.s.sed through him and the muscles of his stomach clenched. But no, it was not that thing. He had thought a moment back in the shop it might be that thing. But no, it could never be. A father wouldn't ever remark such a thing to his son. It was insane considering it even.

"I have it," said Doyler. "Your da. Sure he'd have anyone away with the fairies." There was truth in that, whatever. "How's he bearing up anyways?"

"Fit to be tied still."

"They had a bad right to nab him that way. And the paper and all. Thought I'd die reading it."