Read Online A Swift Pure Cry by Siobhan Dowd - Free Book Online
Authors: Siobhan Dowd
Tags: Fiction, General, Family & Relationships, People & Places, History, Family, Juvenile Fiction, Children's Books - Young Adult Fiction, Fathers and daughters, Social Issues, Children: Young Adult (Gr. 7-9), Europe, Parents, Teenage pregnancy, Pregnancy, Ireland, Parenting, Problem families, Fatherhood, Fathers, Family Problems, Children of Alcoholics, Social Issues - Pregnancy
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loosened on the rails, his head and shoulders slumped. It looked as if he was doing what he'd been told. He knelt at the altar rail, his head in his hands, and did not make a sound. Shell didn't move. The wood of the church creaked again. Hot angry angels were batting their wings silently all around. The painted faces of the statues of Our Lady and St Theresa looked down in anguish. But their loving didn't help him. His shoulders shuddered. From between them came a terrible sound, like a crevice cracking open the earth, narrow and deep. A sword pierced Shell's heart. The man was crying.
'Oh Jesus,' Shell mouthed silently. She clasped her hands together hard in prayer. 'My Jesus. Shell is with you in your garden of agony.'
Minutes passed. Father Rose slowly stood up, crossed himself and followed Father Carroll through the vestry exit. Shell waited. All was quiet. She crept down the creaking balcony steps with the bucket and the two bright spades. She went her way home across the fields. The spades were tucked under her arm, the bucket banged against her knees as she walked. But her glee in their bright colours had dwindled.
When she got home, Jimmy had turned the kitchen table upside down. He was sitting in the middle of it, pretending to dodge invisible soldiers through the legs and shoot them with the gun Dad kept on top of the dresser. Trix had Mam's mass cards down from the piano. She sat cross-legged by the stove, scissoring them up into misshapen dollies, leaving shavings all over the floor.
Fourteen
Dad was home late from his Wednesday night session. Shell took care to be in bed before he came in. She bolted the bedroom door again. If he noticed the mass cards had gone, he didn't say anything.
The following morning dawned fine. Shell drew the curtains in the bedroom and peered out on the back field. Light scudded over the hill.
'Wake up, Trix,' Shell said. She shook her leg, then Jimmy's. 'It's Maundy Thursday.'
'Laundry Thursday?' yawned Trix.
Shell laughed. The sheets of the house hadn't been changed since Christmas. The clothes in the bedroom where she, Trix and Jimmy slept plastered the floor.
'Laundry Thursday so it is,' she said. She conscripted Jimmy and Trix into service and started on a big wash.
The ancient twin-tub Mam had used for years had broken soon before her death and never been replaced. When she could get the money from Dad, she went to the laundromat in town. But today, all they had were two giant bars of good green soap, the kitchen sink and the bath. Shell boiled water in the pans. Trix and Jimmy used their new spades to prod the clothes as they soaked.
Dad didn't stir from his bed, so Shell didn't do his.
They pegged the clean clothes up on the line. When they ran out of space, they spread them on the hedges. The crisp white wind rippled through them and they dried crisp and bright.
Dad appeared at four. He'd shaved and put on his next-but-one best suit.
'I don't wanna go to the church, Dadda,' Trix moaned. ''S not Sunday.' She had the red spade in one hand, the apple-green bucket upturned on her head.
Dad seized them. 'If you don't shake a leg, I'll throw those yokes in the dump,' he said.
Trix put her two hands up in front of her face and behind them pulled an elaborate scowl. Shell shooed her out the door, bucket and spade and all.
When they got to church, they found Father Rose was in charge of the Mass. It was Father Carroll's turn for Goat Island. When the time came for the sermon, he walked down to the communion rails and welcomed everybody to the Last Supper. He said he wanted them all to go back two thousand years in time, to a modest house in the poor quarter of Jerusalem and picture a dim room, cramped, with chatter and laughter, wine and bread. 'Are you there?' he asked. Shell shut her eyes. There were chickens pecking grain from the floor, a big range and a long refectory table, such as they had at school. The apostles were clustered on a bench. There was a smell of
'Oh Jesus,' Shell mouthed silently. She clasped her hands together hard in prayer. 'My Jesus. Shell is with you in your garden of agony.'
Minutes passed. Father Rose slowly stood up, crossed himself and followed Father Carroll through the vestry exit. Shell waited. All was quiet. She crept down the creaking balcony steps with the bucket and the two bright spades. She went her way home across the fields. The spades were tucked under her arm, the bucket banged against her knees as she walked. But her glee in their bright colours had dwindled.
When she got home, Jimmy had turned the kitchen table upside down. He was sitting in the middle of it, pretending to dodge invisible soldiers through the legs and shoot them with the gun Dad kept on top of the dresser. Trix had Mam's mass cards down from the piano. She sat cross-legged by the stove, scissoring them up into misshapen dollies, leaving shavings all over the floor.
Fourteen
Dad was home late from his Wednesday night session. Shell took care to be in bed before he came in. She bolted the bedroom door again. If he noticed the mass cards had gone, he didn't say anything.
The following morning dawned fine. Shell drew the curtains in the bedroom and peered out on the back field. Light scudded over the hill.
'Wake up, Trix,' Shell said. She shook her leg, then Jimmy's. 'It's Maundy Thursday.'
'Laundry Thursday?' yawned Trix.
Shell laughed. The sheets of the house hadn't been changed since Christmas. The clothes in the bedroom where she, Trix and Jimmy slept plastered the floor.
'Laundry Thursday so it is,' she said. She conscripted Jimmy and Trix into service and started on a big wash.
The ancient twin-tub Mam had used for years had broken soon before her death and never been replaced. When she could get the money from Dad, she went to the laundromat in town. But today, all they had were two giant bars of good green soap, the kitchen sink and the bath. Shell boiled water in the pans. Trix and Jimmy used their new spades to prod the clothes as they soaked.
Dad didn't stir from his bed, so Shell didn't do his.
They pegged the clean clothes up on the line. When they ran out of space, they spread them on the hedges. The crisp white wind rippled through them and they dried crisp and bright.
Dad appeared at four. He'd shaved and put on his next-but-one best suit.
'I don't wanna go to the church, Dadda,' Trix moaned. ''S not Sunday.' She had the red spade in one hand, the apple-green bucket upturned on her head.
Dad seized them. 'If you don't shake a leg, I'll throw those yokes in the dump,' he said.
Trix put her two hands up in front of her face and behind them pulled an elaborate scowl. Shell shooed her out the door, bucket and spade and all.
When they got to church, they found Father Rose was in charge of the Mass. It was Father Carroll's turn for Goat Island. When the time came for the sermon, he walked down to the communion rails and welcomed everybody to the Last Supper. He said he wanted them all to go back two thousand years in time, to a modest house in the poor quarter of Jerusalem and picture a dim room, cramped, with chatter and laughter, wine and bread. 'Are you there?' he asked. Shell shut her eyes. There were chickens pecking grain from the floor, a big range and a long refectory table, such as they had at school. The apostles were clustered on a bench. There was a smell of
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