![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small}
Something of Da’s. Boondock Saints. PG. 4/9
Title: Something of Da’s. 4/9 in the Already Crazy series.
Fandom: Boondock Saints
Author:![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
stewardess_lotr
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The twins learn something about their Da. Connor/Murphy, age thirteen.
Warnings: Shiteloads of blasphemy. Beta bylionflame and juniper_nyne!
Archive: In my LJ only
“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was one week ago.”
Murphy began with the minor stuff.
“I was disrespectful to Sister Anne. I spent my lunch money on Cokes and told Ma I lost it. I committed three sins of the body.” I wanked.
“How did you disrespect Sister Anne?” Father O’Brien asked.
“I called her a cow.”
“Is Connor masturbating?”
“What?” Murphy said. His brain caught up quickly: Connor wasn’t confessing to wanking. That fucken bastard. He should have told me. “Oh. Aye.”
“How many times a week? The same as yourself?”
“I’m not sure, Father.”
“I’ve been to your home, Murphy. You sleep in the same room.”
“He does it in the bath,” Murphy lied. He had concluded lies told during confession didn’t count. Otherwise he’d dig himself a deficit he could never overcome.
“Anything else?”
“Yes, Father. Connor and I got locked into the cathedral two years ago. We lit all the candles without paying for them. And Connor had to take a piss.”
He had postponed confessing the incident all this time. At first, it was because he couldn’t bear to tell old Father Cagnani. Then it had been because their new priest, Father O’Brien, seemed a dry shite.
“He urinated in the cathedral?”
Murphy winced. It was the first time Father O’Brien had shown an emotion other than boredom during confession. “Not really. In the hall. By the front entrance.”
“Why were you in the cathedral? Were you trying to steal from the collection boxes?” Father O’Brien was nearly shouting.
“No,” Murphy said, full of righteous indignation. “We thought we would see the Virgin Mary.”
“The Pietà reproduction?”
“No, I mean see her.”
“Murphy. I want you and Connor to come to my office. This afternoon.”
“Yes, Father,” Murphy whispered. He hurried out of the confessional and realized he had left before Father O’Brien had given him his absolution and penance. Yet more shite to deal with.
When they were out of the church, and Ma was some distance ahead, Murphy turned on Connor.
“You haven’t been confessing your wanking, ya bastard. Father O’Brien asked me if you do it.”
“And you told him? Thanks for nothing, Murph.”
“Why not tell him? Everybody does it. Fellas, anyway.” Murphy could not imagine any of the girls he knew doing it. He wasn’t even sure if it was a sin for girls.
“Do you have impure thoughts as well, then?” Connor asked.
“I suppose. I don’t think much, you know, during.”
Connor laughed.
“Go ahead and fucken laugh. I told him about the cathedral.”
Connor stopped laughing.
“He wants us in his office this afternoon,” Murphy said, forgetting his own terror for a moment while he gloated at Connor’s expression.
***
In Father O’Brien’s office there was a small couch and an armchair. They sat there, instead of at his desk, in the pretense they were having a friendly chat, and not about to get reamed.
When the priest prodded them to explain everything about the cathedral, they didn’t mention the shit, though they should have. Father O’Brien could speak to anyone at the cathedral and learn about it. But it was for Connor to say, and Connor wasn’t saying it.
“So you thought you would see the Virgin Mary, that she would appear to you at midnight.”
“Maybe,” Murphy said.
“No,” Connor said.
“You didn’t believe it, but you went with your brother anyway?” O’Brien asked Connor.
Connor nodded. Murphy sighed. Now it was all his fucking fault.
“And did anything unusual happen at midnight?” Father O’Brien asked with a mean smile.
“Don’t know,” Murphy said. “We didn’t have a watch with us. I think we were asleep then.”
“How could she appear to you in a corporeal form?”
“She did in Mexico.” Connor was speaking.
“Someday, Connor, you will understand political expediency.”
“Are you saying it didn’t happen?” Murphy said. Connor looked shocked.
“I’m saying that it was accepted as a miracle with less supporting evidence than is usually required. If you look at it in political terms, it was the right decision. The Catholic faith is blessed with many loyal adherents in Mexico, and doubtless the Dark Virgin has much to do with that.”
“I can’t believe you think that,” Connor said. Murphy could see Connor was so angry he was close to crying, and he was immediately enraged on his brother’s behalf.
“And I can’t believe you took the word of a Traveller regarding the Blessed Virgin. Do you believe the Blessed Mother comes when called, like a plumber?”
“No,” Murphy whispered. He could feel an unusual emotion, shame, flood him. He wanted to look at Connor but that wouldn’t be fair; Connor had only been helping him. He hadn’t believed it.
“There are some who might think it admirable for you to desire such an encounter. But I don’t,” Father O’Brien said.
He and Connor studied the carpet. Murphy had never noticed before that it had a fleur-de-lis pattern. That seemed odd for a priest’s office. Shouldn’t it have crosses on it or something?
“Unfortunately, nowadays a divine visitation signifies the loss of reason. It happened in this parish. A good man deserted his family after what he thought was a revelation from God.”
Murphy felt a stirring in his gut. He looked up from the carpet and looked at the unfamiliar expression on Father O’Brien’s face. It took him a moment to interpret it. Pity.
Connor was ahead of him. “Who?”
Father O’Brien looked toward the window. “No one you would remember. It happened years ago.”
“You’re talking about our Da,” Connor said.
Murphy put his hand on Connor’s leg and squeezed.
“Aren’t you?” Connor demanded.
“Your father thought . . .”
“How do you know what he thought? Did you talk to him?” Connor’s voice was cold.
“Not personally, but I spoke to the priest who was here before me.”
“Father Cagnani wouldn’t tell lies about Da!”
“Connor MacManus! Do not use that tone with me!”
Murphy cupped his hands around his eyes, like blinders on a horse.
“Our Da can tell us himself what happened.” Connor stood up. “And I’m not confessing to masturbating unless you confess to it first, you old pervert!”
Connor left the office and Murphy automatically followed him. His brain went mercifully blank, occupied only with getting away from Father O’Brien.
Exchanging no words, they went to the playground of their school, where they sat on adjoining swings. Connor pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and took a long drag.
“Ya fucken smoking now?”
“Yeah.”
“Give me one.” Murphy grabbed the pack out of Connor’s hands, shook a cigarette loose, and stuck it in his mouth.
“Wrong end, Murph,” Connor said. “Unless you want to smoke the filter.”
Murphy reversed it and let Connor light it for him. He wanted to ask him what to do next, but he didn’t want to show his ignorance to Connor. Which was fucking ridiculous if he stopped to think about it.
He tried to take a deep long drag. He coughed, then giggled.
“Whoa. Fucken whoa.”
“Good thing you’re sitting down, Murph.”
“How long have you been smoking?”
Connor studied the glowing ember on the end of his cigarette. “Long time. At least a month.”
“Why didn’t you fucken tell me?”
“Didn’t want you to start, too,” Connor said.
Made sense, Murphy admitted. It still pissed him off, because he should have known without Connor telling him. Had Connor been washing his hands and brushing his teeth afterward? “You never tell me fucken anything anymore, Connor. And I’m your fucken twin brother.”
Connor pistoned his legs to make his swing move. Murphy did the same, then took another puff on his cigarette. The combination of the rush of the cigarette, and the movement of the swing, was giddily intoxicating. He leaned his head back and shouted at the sky. “Fuck, yeah!”
“Maybe there are things I can’t tell you, Murphy,” Connor said.
Murphy burst out laughing. “Anything you can’t tell me, you can’t even tell yourself.” He giggled. That hadn’t sounded right. He took another puff on the cigarette. No wonder people fucking smoked them. They got you warped.
He grinned at Connor, waiting for his grin of agreement, but Connor didn’t smile.
“You’re right,” Connor whispered. “If I can’t tell you, then it’s something I can’t even think about.”
Murphy adjusted his movement until they were swinging in a synchronized arc. It made it easier to talk.
“What else haven’t you told me?” Murphy asked. “Tell me and I’ll give you your penance.”
They immediately howled with laughter. What had happened with Father O’Brien was fucking awful, but they had always sensed that their Ma disliked the priest; now they knew why. He must have offered her pity. She would have scorned it.
He was probably on the phone to her now, telling her of their misdeed, and demanding that she punish them severely. Which was why they were at the school yard. They had to give her time to cool down, else she’d be firing plates at their heads the second they stepped through the door.
“I heard about Da before,” Connor said. “Just rumors,” he said hastily at Murphy’s expression. “Same shite that Father O’Brien said. That he had a vision and ran off.”
“Who told you?” Murphy said.
“Tom Farley.”
Farley was an old sweetheart of their Ma’s; she had thrown him over when she met their Da. Anything he said was therefore not to be trusted. He could understand why Connor hadn’t repeated it to him.
“We need to find Father Cagnani,” Murphy said.
Connor smirked. “I know where he is.”
***
They took the bus there. Father Cagnani lived in a retirement home built in the 1970s, not as ugly as some because it had a park-like surround with grass and trees. They asked for him in the lobby, and were directed to a TV viewing room. When they helped him to stand, Murphy realized with a shock he was as tall as the priest now. Maybe taller.
They went outside and sat on a bench, Father Cagnani between them. Connor described their conversation with Father O’Brien, leaving nothing out, not even his parting words.
Father Cagnani sighed. “O’Brien wouldn’t know a miracle if one shat in his tea.”
Murphy couldn’t explain why, but he had felt immediately reassured by the sight of their old priest, as if their discussion was finished, and everything was settled. From the relaxed way Connor was sitting, he was sure his twin felt the same.
“Forgive him, my boys. He’s not old like me, so he hasn’t learned how to be humble. After he’s been wrong a few hundred more times, perhaps he shall.”
“You were never wrong that I can remember, Father,” Connor said.
Father Cagnani laughed and patted Connor’s knee. “You were always the sweet-tongued one, Connor. Like your Da. Murphy has his zealotrous eyes, and you have his sweet smile.”
No one ever talked about their Da. They hadn’t even seen a photo of him. They guessed that Ma had thrown them all out in anger after he left, but they hadn’t asked. They had learned early on that they couldn’t speak of their Da to their Ma.
Murphy knew Connor was as desperate as he was to hear more. So he kept his mouth shut.
At last the suspense was too much.
“Did he have a revelation, Father?” Connor whispered.
“I do not know. I prayed for guidance at the time. I went to the bishop, then the archbishop. They were no help to me, for they rejected the possibility out of hand. Knowing your father, I could not do that.”
Murphy put his arm around Father Cagnani’s shoulders.
“Thank you,” Connor said softly, putting his arm around Father Cagnani as well, on top of Murphy’s.
“I wish I could have done more for him,” Father Cagnani said. “Do you remember him?”
“We remember a prayer,” Connor said. “A prayer he said with us each night. He said our grandfather used to say it with him.”
“I know it,” Father Cagnani said. He fell silent for a while. “Your mother does not like to speak of him, but I think the time has come for you to talk to her.”
His old eyes studied them closely. “She has something of his to give you, I believe.”
They stood up, and helped Father Cagnani back to the TV room. He embraced them and kissed their cheeks before they left.
Imagine Father O’Brien trying that, Murphy thought. I’d have to knee him in the bollocks, the old pervert.
***
When they arrived at home, Ma was at the kitchen table with Aunt Delia, who was the least useless of their aunts, the only one whose mind wasn’t a rubbish bin of superstition, ignorance, and prejudice. Unfortunately, they didn’t see much of her, for she didn’t hold with drinking.
They decided to grovel. Connor spoke for them both. “Ma, we’re sorry. We’ll apologize to Father O’Brien tomorrow. Or now, if you want.”
“I don’t want,” Ma said. She had been drinking, but she was not drunk.
At the moment, she and Aunt Delia were having a cup of tea. A plate covered with biscuit crumbs was on the table. Murphy licked his fingers to pick up the crumbs when Connor shot him the don’t do it look.
They sat down at the table and tried to look contrite instead of blazing with eagerness for information about their Da.
“We went to see Father Cagnani,” Connor said.
Ma’s face lit up. “How is he? Is he in good health?”
“He’s fine, Ma. We asked him about Da.”
She picked up her cup and swigged the tea down as if it was whiskey. She stared into the empty cup as if shocked that it wasn’t.
“I’ve heard nothing from him since he left,” she said quietly. Aunt Delia put her hand on top of Ma’s and squeezed it.
“Father Cagnani said you had something of Da’s for us,” Murphy said. His legs, moving restlessly under the table, crashed into Connor’s legs doing the same.
She got up from the table and went to her bedroom, returning a few minutes later with two rosaries in her hands.
“One was his, one was his father’s. I didn’t want to give them to you until you were old enough to take care of them.” She spoke apologetically, as if aware she was making a feeble excuse.
They didn’t care, now that they had the rosaries in their hands. They put them around their necks. Murphy looked at Connor.
We’re never taking them off.
***
That night, before they went to bed, Connor hung two hooks inside their bedroom door, so they could keep the rosaries safe when they were having a bath.
Murphy was exhausted by the day’s events, but he couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned, then got on Connor’s bed, turning his back to Connor. Connor immediately started scratching his back. As always, Murphy grew drowsy quickly.
He was half asleep when he heard a familiar sound. Connor was right on schedule. Once at night, and once before breakfast. And the pervy old bastard thinks we get by on three times a week!
Forlionflame.
Shepherds we shall be,
for Thee, my Lord, for Thee.
Power hath descended forth from Thy hand
that our feet may swiftly carry out Thy command.
We will flow a river forth unto Thee,
and teeming with souls shall it ever be.
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.
Bookcover by Nine Fingers. Sean Patrick Flanery photo from duboseknows.com. Norman Reedus photo from Meet Norman Reedus.
Note: The Travellers are a nomadic class of people in Ireland. They are not ethnically related to the Romani, but they do have to deal with many of the same prejudices.
Another Note: According to the dictionary, there is no such word as zealotrous. Doesn’t seem to stop people from using it.
Fandom: Boondock Saints
Author:
stewardess_lotrRating: PG-13
Summary: The twins learn something about their Da. Connor/Murphy, age thirteen.
Warnings: Shiteloads of blasphemy. Beta by
lionflame and juniper_nyne!Archive: In my LJ only
“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was one week ago.”
Murphy began with the minor stuff.
“I was disrespectful to Sister Anne. I spent my lunch money on Cokes and told Ma I lost it. I committed three sins of the body.” I wanked.
“How did you disrespect Sister Anne?” Father O’Brien asked.
“I called her a cow.”
“Is Connor masturbating?”
“What?” Murphy said. His brain caught up quickly: Connor wasn’t confessing to wanking. That fucken bastard. He should have told me. “Oh. Aye.”
“How many times a week? The same as yourself?”
“I’m not sure, Father.”
“I’ve been to your home, Murphy. You sleep in the same room.”
“He does it in the bath,” Murphy lied. He had concluded lies told during confession didn’t count. Otherwise he’d dig himself a deficit he could never overcome.
“Anything else?”
“Yes, Father. Connor and I got locked into the cathedral two years ago. We lit all the candles without paying for them. And Connor had to take a piss.”
He had postponed confessing the incident all this time. At first, it was because he couldn’t bear to tell old Father Cagnani. Then it had been because their new priest, Father O’Brien, seemed a dry shite.
“He urinated in the cathedral?”
Murphy winced. It was the first time Father O’Brien had shown an emotion other than boredom during confession. “Not really. In the hall. By the front entrance.”
“Why were you in the cathedral? Were you trying to steal from the collection boxes?” Father O’Brien was nearly shouting.
“No,” Murphy said, full of righteous indignation. “We thought we would see the Virgin Mary.”
“The Pietà reproduction?”
“No, I mean see her.”
“Murphy. I want you and Connor to come to my office. This afternoon.”
“Yes, Father,” Murphy whispered. He hurried out of the confessional and realized he had left before Father O’Brien had given him his absolution and penance. Yet more shite to deal with.
When they were out of the church, and Ma was some distance ahead, Murphy turned on Connor.
“You haven’t been confessing your wanking, ya bastard. Father O’Brien asked me if you do it.”
“And you told him? Thanks for nothing, Murph.”
“Why not tell him? Everybody does it. Fellas, anyway.” Murphy could not imagine any of the girls he knew doing it. He wasn’t even sure if it was a sin for girls.
“Do you have impure thoughts as well, then?” Connor asked.
“I suppose. I don’t think much, you know, during.”
Connor laughed.
“Go ahead and fucken laugh. I told him about the cathedral.”
Connor stopped laughing.
“He wants us in his office this afternoon,” Murphy said, forgetting his own terror for a moment while he gloated at Connor’s expression.
***
In Father O’Brien’s office there was a small couch and an armchair. They sat there, instead of at his desk, in the pretense they were having a friendly chat, and not about to get reamed.
When the priest prodded them to explain everything about the cathedral, they didn’t mention the shit, though they should have. Father O’Brien could speak to anyone at the cathedral and learn about it. But it was for Connor to say, and Connor wasn’t saying it.
“So you thought you would see the Virgin Mary, that she would appear to you at midnight.”
“Maybe,” Murphy said.
“No,” Connor said.
“You didn’t believe it, but you went with your brother anyway?” O’Brien asked Connor.
Connor nodded. Murphy sighed. Now it was all his fucking fault.
“And did anything unusual happen at midnight?” Father O’Brien asked with a mean smile.
“Don’t know,” Murphy said. “We didn’t have a watch with us. I think we were asleep then.”
“How could she appear to you in a corporeal form?”
“She did in Mexico.” Connor was speaking.
“Someday, Connor, you will understand political expediency.”
“Are you saying it didn’t happen?” Murphy said. Connor looked shocked.
“I’m saying that it was accepted as a miracle with less supporting evidence than is usually required. If you look at it in political terms, it was the right decision. The Catholic faith is blessed with many loyal adherents in Mexico, and doubtless the Dark Virgin has much to do with that.”
“I can’t believe you think that,” Connor said. Murphy could see Connor was so angry he was close to crying, and he was immediately enraged on his brother’s behalf.
“And I can’t believe you took the word of a Traveller regarding the Blessed Virgin. Do you believe the Blessed Mother comes when called, like a plumber?”
“No,” Murphy whispered. He could feel an unusual emotion, shame, flood him. He wanted to look at Connor but that wouldn’t be fair; Connor had only been helping him. He hadn’t believed it.
“There are some who might think it admirable for you to desire such an encounter. But I don’t,” Father O’Brien said.
He and Connor studied the carpet. Murphy had never noticed before that it had a fleur-de-lis pattern. That seemed odd for a priest’s office. Shouldn’t it have crosses on it or something?
“Unfortunately, nowadays a divine visitation signifies the loss of reason. It happened in this parish. A good man deserted his family after what he thought was a revelation from God.”
Murphy felt a stirring in his gut. He looked up from the carpet and looked at the unfamiliar expression on Father O’Brien’s face. It took him a moment to interpret it. Pity.
Connor was ahead of him. “Who?”
Father O’Brien looked toward the window. “No one you would remember. It happened years ago.”
“You’re talking about our Da,” Connor said.
Murphy put his hand on Connor’s leg and squeezed.
“Aren’t you?” Connor demanded.
“Your father thought . . .”
“How do you know what he thought? Did you talk to him?” Connor’s voice was cold.
“Not personally, but I spoke to the priest who was here before me.”
“Father Cagnani wouldn’t tell lies about Da!”
“Connor MacManus! Do not use that tone with me!”
Murphy cupped his hands around his eyes, like blinders on a horse.
“Our Da can tell us himself what happened.” Connor stood up. “And I’m not confessing to masturbating unless you confess to it first, you old pervert!”
Connor left the office and Murphy automatically followed him. His brain went mercifully blank, occupied only with getting away from Father O’Brien.
Exchanging no words, they went to the playground of their school, where they sat on adjoining swings. Connor pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and took a long drag.
“Ya fucken smoking now?”
“Yeah.”
“Give me one.” Murphy grabbed the pack out of Connor’s hands, shook a cigarette loose, and stuck it in his mouth.
“Wrong end, Murph,” Connor said. “Unless you want to smoke the filter.”
Murphy reversed it and let Connor light it for him. He wanted to ask him what to do next, but he didn’t want to show his ignorance to Connor. Which was fucking ridiculous if he stopped to think about it.
He tried to take a deep long drag. He coughed, then giggled.
“Whoa. Fucken whoa.”
“Good thing you’re sitting down, Murph.”
“How long have you been smoking?”
Connor studied the glowing ember on the end of his cigarette. “Long time. At least a month.”
“Why didn’t you fucken tell me?”
“Didn’t want you to start, too,” Connor said.
Made sense, Murphy admitted. It still pissed him off, because he should have known without Connor telling him. Had Connor been washing his hands and brushing his teeth afterward? “You never tell me fucken anything anymore, Connor. And I’m your fucken twin brother.”
Connor pistoned his legs to make his swing move. Murphy did the same, then took another puff on his cigarette. The combination of the rush of the cigarette, and the movement of the swing, was giddily intoxicating. He leaned his head back and shouted at the sky. “Fuck, yeah!”
“Maybe there are things I can’t tell you, Murphy,” Connor said.
Murphy burst out laughing. “Anything you can’t tell me, you can’t even tell yourself.” He giggled. That hadn’t sounded right. He took another puff on the cigarette. No wonder people fucking smoked them. They got you warped.
He grinned at Connor, waiting for his grin of agreement, but Connor didn’t smile.
“You’re right,” Connor whispered. “If I can’t tell you, then it’s something I can’t even think about.”
Murphy adjusted his movement until they were swinging in a synchronized arc. It made it easier to talk.
“What else haven’t you told me?” Murphy asked. “Tell me and I’ll give you your penance.”
They immediately howled with laughter. What had happened with Father O’Brien was fucking awful, but they had always sensed that their Ma disliked the priest; now they knew why. He must have offered her pity. She would have scorned it.
He was probably on the phone to her now, telling her of their misdeed, and demanding that she punish them severely. Which was why they were at the school yard. They had to give her time to cool down, else she’d be firing plates at their heads the second they stepped through the door.
“I heard about Da before,” Connor said. “Just rumors,” he said hastily at Murphy’s expression. “Same shite that Father O’Brien said. That he had a vision and ran off.”
“Who told you?” Murphy said.
“Tom Farley.”
Farley was an old sweetheart of their Ma’s; she had thrown him over when she met their Da. Anything he said was therefore not to be trusted. He could understand why Connor hadn’t repeated it to him.
“We need to find Father Cagnani,” Murphy said.
Connor smirked. “I know where he is.”
***
They took the bus there. Father Cagnani lived in a retirement home built in the 1970s, not as ugly as some because it had a park-like surround with grass and trees. They asked for him in the lobby, and were directed to a TV viewing room. When they helped him to stand, Murphy realized with a shock he was as tall as the priest now. Maybe taller.
They went outside and sat on a bench, Father Cagnani between them. Connor described their conversation with Father O’Brien, leaving nothing out, not even his parting words.
Father Cagnani sighed. “O’Brien wouldn’t know a miracle if one shat in his tea.”
Murphy couldn’t explain why, but he had felt immediately reassured by the sight of their old priest, as if their discussion was finished, and everything was settled. From the relaxed way Connor was sitting, he was sure his twin felt the same.
“Forgive him, my boys. He’s not old like me, so he hasn’t learned how to be humble. After he’s been wrong a few hundred more times, perhaps he shall.”
“You were never wrong that I can remember, Father,” Connor said.
Father Cagnani laughed and patted Connor’s knee. “You were always the sweet-tongued one, Connor. Like your Da. Murphy has his zealotrous eyes, and you have his sweet smile.”
No one ever talked about their Da. They hadn’t even seen a photo of him. They guessed that Ma had thrown them all out in anger after he left, but they hadn’t asked. They had learned early on that they couldn’t speak of their Da to their Ma.
Murphy knew Connor was as desperate as he was to hear more. So he kept his mouth shut.
At last the suspense was too much.
“Did he have a revelation, Father?” Connor whispered.
“I do not know. I prayed for guidance at the time. I went to the bishop, then the archbishop. They were no help to me, for they rejected the possibility out of hand. Knowing your father, I could not do that.”
Murphy put his arm around Father Cagnani’s shoulders.
“Thank you,” Connor said softly, putting his arm around Father Cagnani as well, on top of Murphy’s.
“I wish I could have done more for him,” Father Cagnani said. “Do you remember him?”
“We remember a prayer,” Connor said. “A prayer he said with us each night. He said our grandfather used to say it with him.”
“I know it,” Father Cagnani said. He fell silent for a while. “Your mother does not like to speak of him, but I think the time has come for you to talk to her.”
His old eyes studied them closely. “She has something of his to give you, I believe.”
They stood up, and helped Father Cagnani back to the TV room. He embraced them and kissed their cheeks before they left.
Imagine Father O’Brien trying that, Murphy thought. I’d have to knee him in the bollocks, the old pervert.
***
When they arrived at home, Ma was at the kitchen table with Aunt Delia, who was the least useless of their aunts, the only one whose mind wasn’t a rubbish bin of superstition, ignorance, and prejudice. Unfortunately, they didn’t see much of her, for she didn’t hold with drinking.
They decided to grovel. Connor spoke for them both. “Ma, we’re sorry. We’ll apologize to Father O’Brien tomorrow. Or now, if you want.”
“I don’t want,” Ma said. She had been drinking, but she was not drunk.
At the moment, she and Aunt Delia were having a cup of tea. A plate covered with biscuit crumbs was on the table. Murphy licked his fingers to pick up the crumbs when Connor shot him the don’t do it look.
They sat down at the table and tried to look contrite instead of blazing with eagerness for information about their Da.
“We went to see Father Cagnani,” Connor said.
Ma’s face lit up. “How is he? Is he in good health?”
“He’s fine, Ma. We asked him about Da.”
She picked up her cup and swigged the tea down as if it was whiskey. She stared into the empty cup as if shocked that it wasn’t.
“I’ve heard nothing from him since he left,” she said quietly. Aunt Delia put her hand on top of Ma’s and squeezed it.
“Father Cagnani said you had something of Da’s for us,” Murphy said. His legs, moving restlessly under the table, crashed into Connor’s legs doing the same.
She got up from the table and went to her bedroom, returning a few minutes later with two rosaries in her hands.
“One was his, one was his father’s. I didn’t want to give them to you until you were old enough to take care of them.” She spoke apologetically, as if aware she was making a feeble excuse.
They didn’t care, now that they had the rosaries in their hands. They put them around their necks. Murphy looked at Connor.
We’re never taking them off.
***
That night, before they went to bed, Connor hung two hooks inside their bedroom door, so they could keep the rosaries safe when they were having a bath.
Murphy was exhausted by the day’s events, but he couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned, then got on Connor’s bed, turning his back to Connor. Connor immediately started scratching his back. As always, Murphy grew drowsy quickly.
He was half asleep when he heard a familiar sound. Connor was right on schedule. Once at night, and once before breakfast. And the pervy old bastard thinks we get by on three times a week!
For
lionflame.Shepherds we shall be,
for Thee, my Lord, for Thee.
Power hath descended forth from Thy hand
that our feet may swiftly carry out Thy command.
We will flow a river forth unto Thee,
and teeming with souls shall it ever be.
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.
Bookcover by Nine Fingers. Sean Patrick Flanery photo from duboseknows.com. Norman Reedus photo from Meet Norman Reedus.
Note: The Travellers are a nomadic class of people in Ireland. They are not ethnically related to the Romani, but they do have to deal with many of the same prejudices.
Another Note: According to the dictionary, there is no such word as zealotrous. Doesn’t seem to stop people from using it.
Comments