Turbulent Priests Part 24

*Might I ask how?'

*Pollution, Dan. Pollution. It's all around us already, but we don't need to invite any more in. We know about satellite TV, Dan, we know what kind of channels it contains.'

I shook my head. *I don't wish to cause a fuss, but it's not much different to ordinary television.'

*We've outlawed ordinary television as well.'

*Oh.'

*Dan . . .' Flynn began.

*But what else is there to do?' I asked. I was flailing about, hopelessly.

*Oh Dan,' Flynn said with a rueful shake of his head. *You do live such an empty life. You don't need television to enjoy yourself. You don't need alcohol to have a good time.'

*Who mentioned alcohol?'

*You've been asking questions, Dan. We don't need any of those things. We have everything we need' a he clasped his hand to his chest a *right here in our hearts. All you have to do is open your heart and all the answers you seek will be forthcoming.' He smiled warmly. *Y'know, Dan, there are momentous events coming, we all need to be ready.'

The next momentous event on my calendar was the world heavyweight clash between Tyson and Lewis. They didn't know that my satellite dish was useless in its present state, but now they seemed intent on robbing me of the chance to see even the edited highlights on terrestrial television.

I tried to smile back, to show them I was taking it in jocular fashion, but it wouldn't quite come. All they saw was a hint of a snarl and all they heard was a mediocre whine. *But surely television isn't so . . .'

*It's dangerous, Dan. Poisonous. We don't need it here.'

I tutted. *Okay . . . you know, I respect your beliefs here, Father, everyone, I understand where you're coming from . . . I don't want to upset anyone, but can we just, ahm . . . discuss this for a moment? Just widen it out a little . . . I mean . . . if you think about it . . . y'know . . . even shoes are dangerous, Father, in the wrong hands. Or feet for that matter. I mean, a good kicking with a pair of Doc Martens can kill you, but you don't outlaw shoes. If you see my point.'

*I see your point, Dan. But let's just say that we're not in a discussive situation here. The law has been pa.s.sed. It's the law.' He smiled at me again. *We love you, Dan. You've already made a ma.s.sive contribution to our lives here. But the law is the law and must be obeyed by everyone. It may seem dictatorial to you. But everybody voted for it, so it's democratic as well.'

Yes. Indeed. Everyone gets equally f.u.c.ked.

I shrugged. Not one of my more convincing shrugs, but a shrug all the same. *Well, okay,' I said, *if that's the way youse feel, who am I to argue? You've G.o.d on your side.'

*We have,' said Flynn.

Father White knocked suddenly on the table. *Might I suggest that Mr Starkey bring his satellite dish and television into town as soon as he can? Just to put temptation out of his way. Constable Murtagh can look after them until he leaves the island. Agreed?'

I opened my mouth to say something about good faith being a fundamental tenet of Christianity, although I had no idea if it was, but before I could say anything there was a sudden rush of ayes and Father White's proposal pa.s.sed. I slumped down in my chair.

25.

I knew from my long years of reporting council meetings that anything and everything could crop up under the Any Other Business heading. It sat misleadingly at the tag end of an agenda, like an afterthought, but invariably became the longest and most emotive part of any meeting, and those were meetings where the most important item for discussion was usually the collection of garbage, Sunday opening of shops or the amount of dogs.h.i.t to be found on the local pavements. This one, on (one would be tempted to say G.o.dforsaken if it wasn't a trifle inappropriate) Wrathlin, was no exception, save that it dealt with less mundane subjects like the attempted murder of the Messiah, divine retribution and crucifixion.

I was still monumentally p.i.s.sed off. I could survive a murder attempt, but how was I going to get by without drink AND TV? And what would Patricia say? At least I could write my novel. What was she going to do all day with just Little Stevie to look after? Sew?

Sew my feet together, then lop off my head with an axe.

My head was still getting to grips with their simple lunacy, when they moved quickly on to a much grander form. Flynn asked if there was any further any other business, a mouthful in itself, and in response Father White stood and looked gravely about him.

Until that moment I hadn't thought to ask why there were two priests on such a small island. There had been bigger questions. White was much older than Flynn, but still well short of doddery. There was a feeling of power about him which Flynn lacked, although he made up for it with a certain kind of restrained charisma. Flynn was the more senior of the two as far as the running of the church and, indeed, the island was concerned. They had a common goal, but I suspected two different approaches to it. White was old school, Flynn was new. White was the rhythm method and Flynn was strumming guitars around the campfire.

I had thought at first that Father White might be the priest that the Primate had dispatched to the island to investigate the Messiah, who had been converted, but something about him made me doubt that.

Flynn looked a little pained as White waited for complete silence around the table, then tried to hurry him along with an abrupt, *Yes?'

*The small matter of the attempt on Christine's life, Father Flynn.'

*I thought that had been resolved.' He nodded towards Constable Murtagh. *She's still in your top room, isn't she?'

*Yes, Father, till this b.l.o.o.d.y fog lifts and we can get her across to the mainland. Her 'n' the bird warden.'

*And it's a watertight case, isn't it?'

Murtagh rubbed at his chin for a moment. *That's not quite so straightforward, Father. Legally, she should have had access to a solicitor by now. We don't have any, of course, but since the radio went down we can't even speak to one on the mainland. It could cause problems later.'

I turned to the man beside me and whispered, *Aren't there any phones on the island?'

He shook his head. *We pa.s.sed a law,' he whispered.

*Figures,' I said.

Father White knocked on the desk again. Flynn looked round sharply. *Father?'

*I was thinking, do we really want this to go to court at all?'

*She is a danger to Christine, I think it's best that she . . .'

*But we don't want a trial on the mainland, do we? There's no telling what might come out. I mean, about Christine. We don't want that yet, do we?' He was very fond of the do we's. He glanced at me. I held his gaze until he looked away.

Father Flynn sighed. *What are you suggesting?'

*That we find an alternative solution.'

*Well . . . suggest one. Anyone?'

There was some uncomfortable shifting in seats. It seemed obvious, at least to me, that Father White had already thought of an alternative, but was holding off until he saw what the compet.i.tion was.

There was movement to my left. Carl Christie swung back on his chair, two legs of it off the ground. *You mentioned an airtight case a moment ago, Father,' he said.

*Watertight.'

*Well, I have one at home we could lock her in. Then take her out and toss her in the sea.'

It sat in the air for a moment while everyone looked at him. Then the low rumble of laughter began to make its way ponderously around the table, only stopping when it reached Father Flynn, who looked at Christie blankly and said, *Thank you, Carl, for that contribution.'

Jack McGettigan, the elderly publican who had done most thus far to upset my stay on the island, stood up, leant on his knuckles on the table. *I don't think we need to bother about a trial, Father. Just get her off the island. Ship her out. She didn't actually harm Christine . . . I don't know if Mr Starkey intends to press charges . . .?'

I shook my head. I hadn't even thought about it.

Flynn nodded for a moment, then turned again to Constable Murtagh. *Legally, Bob . . .?'

*If she was in a parish house, sure, we could evict her, but then there's her mother could take her. But as far as I know she owns that shack of hers outright. Getting her to court, that's the best bet. I can't keep her in the back bedroom much longer, either.'

*I think we're overlooking the obvious solution,' said Father White.

*Crucifixion,' I muttered, not quite as under my breath as I had intended, for Flynn flashed me a look of annoyance, then sighed again and returned his attention to Father White. *Which is, Father?' he asked, somewhat testily.

*We ask Christine.'

I snorted. I couldn't help it. I made a show of looking for a tissue in my pocket, and then blew my nose properly. Half masked by the tissue, I looked round the table to see if anyone else was trying to stifle their laughter, but I was the only one. They weren't jumping up and down like madmen, but the very fact that they proceeded to discuss it made it abundantly clear that these guys were two psalms short of a book of psalms.

*It makes sense,' said Father White.

*She's too young,' said Father Flynn.

*She's the Messiah.'

*She's a child.'

*She's still the Messiah.'

*When she's a child, she speaks as a child, Father.'

*She's still the Messiah.'

*I take your point,' Flynn snapped. He blew air out of his red cheeks and his eyes darted about the table, looking for but not finding any encouragement. *So, for example,' he began, *if she pulls some ridiculous punishment out of the air, say, say . . . this woman has to do the community centre dishes for the next year, then that's all she gets?'

*That's all she gets.'

Flynn darted a look at me, then back to White. *And what if, by some stretch of the imagination, she p.r.o.nounces the word crucifixion, what then . . . are we going to crucify the poor woman?'

*She isn't a poor woman. She tried to murder Christine. If Christine says crucify, then who are we to go against her?'

*This is ridiculous. Father, this is the Second Coming, it's about love and a new beginning, it's not about . . .'

*You can't say that! We don't know what it's about. You brought Christine to us, Father. We believe. We cannot pick and choose the good bits. This time we might get a vengeful G.o.d, Frank, it's happened before.'

*So . . . so . . .' He was starting to get a little fl.u.s.tered. He could see the argument running away from him. *So . . . you would . . . go along with a child's tantrum, you would say this was G.o.d's word?'

*Has Christine ever thrown a tantrum?'

*No. She hasn't. I just fee-'

*She is the daughter of G.o.d. Would you deny her right to p.r.o.nounce judgment?'

Flynn's eyes circled the table again. He saw a lot of serious faces looking at him. He avoided mine. *No, of course not,' he said. There was a look of stifled desperation in his eyes. *Father, all of you, I know Christine better than most of you. I know her ways. She is good and kind and pure, we should not ask her to do this. Please leave it to Constable Murtagh. Let him deal with it. I propose . . .'

Father White rapped on the table again. *And I propose we ask Christine to decide! We put it to a vote, we do it now.'

Flynn leant forward to speak, then sat back again and sighed. *Very well,' he said, *we'll put it to a vote . . . I only trust that common sense will prevail. All those in favour of letting Christine decide, raise your hands.'

Father White's hand went straight up. The others were slower to follow, everyone watching each other, looking for a lead. A bald man opposite me, whose name I'd forgotten, was the first to raise his; then there was another, and another until most of those around the table had theirs in the air. Fifteen seconds later only Father Flynn, Carl Christie, Michael Savage the curly-haired note-taker and Jack McGettigan the ex-publican had failed to raise their hands.

*The ayes have it then,' Father White announced, beaming.

*They do,' Father Flynn said simply.

*Shall we fetch Christine?' White asked.

Flynn shook his head. *Not now. I will speak to Moira. If she doesn't agree then it doesn't happen.'

*But we vote . . .' Father White protested.

*Christine isn't some sort of puppet to be wheeled out every time we need something done, we don't own her . . . I will communicate the vote to Moira, and we'll take it from there.'

*Perhaps I should be with you when you tell her, Father, just to ensure that . . .'

Flynn cracked his hand down on the table. It was so unexpected that half of them jumped in their seats. *Are you suggesting . . .!'

Father White, surprised himself, blurted out, *No, of course not,' too quickly, and knew immediately that he had lost ground he was not going to recover. Flynn took full advantage, snapping to his feet and sweeping out of the meeting. As he reached the door he glanced back and said, *We will reconvene tomorrow, gentlemen.'

Then he pulled open the door and was gone.

I waited behind as the Parish Council filed solemnly out of the hall until there was just me and Constable Murtagh left.

*As a member of the Royal Ulster Constabulary,' I said, *where do you stand on a defendant being sentenced by a four-year-old Messiah?'

*Have that satellite dish down here by first thing tomorrow, son,' he replied, *or I'll have you crucified, okay?'

*Okay,' I said.

26.