Read After the Lockout for Free Online

can drive you to Armagh in my motorcar if you wish?’ he said.
    â€˜Yes, I’d appreciate that. After the last mass.’ Stanislaus paused. ‘Have you any thoughts on what it might be about?’
    â€˜Well, the fact that the Holy Father called together the Conclave … it’s not a local matter. And this talk of urgency … probably a temporal issue. The war, maybe? Perhaps there’s a peace treaty in the offing.’
    â€˜Or perhaps things are about to get worse.’
    Father Daly finished his dinner and Stanislaus permitted him to smoke. ‘There was something I meant to say to you,’ the curate said as he exhaled. ‘Some of the parishioners want to use the Parochial Hall tonight.’
    â€˜What for?’
    â€˜They’re holding a homecoming dance for Victor Lennon.’
    Aidan Cavanagh and John McGrath had said everyone in Madden finished work early today. Stanislaus hadn’t thought to ask anything further, but now here was the explanation.
    â€˜I thought it was an innocent enough request,’ Father Daly began falteringly, as though realising he might have overstepped his authority. ‘Everyone seems so excited about this fellow coming home.’
    â€˜Who gave you the right to make that decision?’
    â€˜Your Grace, I …’
    â€˜What sort of man do you think this Victor Lennon is?’
    â€˜Your Grace, I hardly think …’
    â€˜He’s a communist and a bolshevist and he has been up to his eyes in every kind of radicalism. Tim, people idolise this Lennon fellow, and we don’t know what he’s planning.’
    â€˜Will we cancel the dance?’ said Father Daly.
    Stanislaus sighed. Father Daly and young priests like him would be responsible for the future of the Faith. Stanislaus feared they lacked the necessary toughness for dealing with the threats arrayed against it. ‘It’s too late for that if you’ve already said yes. The dance may go ahead. But it must be strictly teetotal. I met youngsters on the road and they were full drunk. And I want everyone out by eleven.’
    â€˜Victor and Charlie probably won’t have arrived by eleven.’
    â€˜Those are the conditions. And Father: this is not to happen again. The use of parish property is in my authority and mine alone. Is that understood?’

    Pius is still apologising extravagantly as he closes the door on Benedict. You hadn’t planned it, it was an unconscious reflex. You look to your big brother Seamus but he turns his eyes to the floor. You look to Anthony, second eldest, your favourite. To Mary. To Sarah. To little Agnes. They all turn their faces away. Perhaps spitting at the bishop was too much, but at least it was unequivocal. The spit will wash away but the act won’t. You look at your mother, shrouded in white on a table in the corner, unmoved. The gesture means nothing to her. Pius unbuckles his belt.
    â€˜Da, please … ’
    â€˜Don’t you Da me,’ he hisses, pulling the belt from his waist, loop by loop. ‘You do that to a priest? You do that to a bishop?’ He wraps the belt round his knuckles, doubling the leather. Nausea rises in your nostrils, hot and horrible. The room is dark, with only the hearth’s dying embers giving light; Pius’s face is half red, half shadow, the margin flickering down the middle. You can smell his hot breath. He never drinks, but there’s poteen there, the wildness in his eyes confirms it. The belt lashes across your face. You don’t feel anything yet.
    â€˜He comes over here and tells us Ma is going to hell? The bishop can go to hell and so can you,’ you cry. Defiance is all that is left to you. His fist connects with your jaw and the pain is such that for the briefest of seconds it feels like you have departed this life. You’re crumpled on the floor absorbing the blows as Pius swings and swipes and the belt leather cuts deep into your