trolley around the long narrow table and ladled soup into the bowls whether there was anyone sitting in front of them or not. It wasn’t for the likes of him to wonder whether particular Brothers were late or if they were not coming to lunch. If they didn’t turn up he would just put it back in the pot, skin and all, and Mrs. McCurtin could use it as the base for the next day’s soup.
When the squeaking of the trolley wheels and the clumsy scuffing of Widower Frawley’s slippers receded into the kitchen, Brother Boland resumed. “It’s not the boys. It’s something else. Something other,” he whispered darkly. He had no words for the tension he could sense in the walls, in the doorways. He could hear it in the creak of the stairs. He could almost smell it in the corridors. There was a tiredness, a sadness vibrating inside things. It was humming to him alone. He could not explain it to them. He shook his head in frustration, set his dentures on his side plate, and began slurping at his soup.
“Are you sure it isn’t a miracle? Imagine! BLESSED Saorseach O’Rahilly!” enthused Brother Tobin. He, like so many of the Brothers, yearned for a miracle to push O’Rahilly along the road to sainthood.
“Go away with you now, you and your miracles!” scoffed Brother Kennedy.
Brother Boland glanced nervously around the table. He noted with curiosity the empty places of Brothers Cox, Loughlin, and Mulligan. He did not know that they were otherwise engaged in trying to beat a vocation out of Brian Egan.
Brother Tobin gobbled down his stew, took a couple of mouthfuls of warm custard, and ran upstairs for a very hurried Grace After Meals.
“Calm down, child, can’t you?” hissed Brother Loughlin, his voice choked to creepy strangeness by the attempt to sound concerned.
Still sobbing and trembling and on the edge of hyper-ventilation, Egan sat on the chair in front of the Brother’s desk.
“You’ve had a fall, a bit of a fright,” said Brother Cox softly.
“You pushed me!” choked Egan. “You tried to feel me balls!”
“I don’t know what you think happened on the stairs, Mr. Egan, but I don’t think that is the type of talk you want going around the school about you now, is it?” asked Brother Loughlin.
Egan looked up at him through his red eyes.
“And I certainly don’t think you want to discuss this filthy talk with your mother and father, do you?”
“But … but …”
Sensing that he had Egan on the back foot, Brother Loughlin pressed home: “And you know what the other boys will say, don’t you? They’ll say you were asking for it. They’ll say you started it. They’ll say that it was wishful thinking on your part. They’ll say that it is you who are a little suspect. I think you would find things here very difficult if such rumors were to get out.”
Egan half heard Brother Loughlin’s words as if from the bottom of a dusty well shaft. Clearer to him were the images they conjured up: the sly comments in the toilets, the graffiti that would begin to appear in the bicycle sheds and the handball alleys and slowly creep through the whole school. The more he thought about it, the worse it got. Cox had a reputation and he was forever patting his favorites on the arse. But if anything got out about him and Cox in any way, it was sure that everyone would think the worst. He’d be branded.
“So why don’t you take a little half day for yourself and we’ll have no more of this silly talk?” coaxed Brother Loughlin. “I’ll send someone for your bags and we’ll have Brother Walsh drive you home.”
“No!” shrieked Egan. He’d take the bus. He’d walk. Anything but have one of the Brothers drive him home. Even if no one was home, everyone on the street would see and they’d say something when his ma came in from work. Then he’d have to explain. “I’ll get the bus.”
“Very well then. Brothers, if I could have a word with Brian alone?” concluded Brother
When the squeaking of the trolley wheels and the clumsy scuffing of Widower Frawley’s slippers receded into the kitchen, Brother Boland resumed. “It’s not the boys. It’s something else. Something other,” he whispered darkly. He had no words for the tension he could sense in the walls, in the doorways. He could hear it in the creak of the stairs. He could almost smell it in the corridors. There was a tiredness, a sadness vibrating inside things. It was humming to him alone. He could not explain it to them. He shook his head in frustration, set his dentures on his side plate, and began slurping at his soup.
“Are you sure it isn’t a miracle? Imagine! BLESSED Saorseach O’Rahilly!” enthused Brother Tobin. He, like so many of the Brothers, yearned for a miracle to push O’Rahilly along the road to sainthood.
“Go away with you now, you and your miracles!” scoffed Brother Kennedy.
Brother Boland glanced nervously around the table. He noted with curiosity the empty places of Brothers Cox, Loughlin, and Mulligan. He did not know that they were otherwise engaged in trying to beat a vocation out of Brian Egan.
Brother Tobin gobbled down his stew, took a couple of mouthfuls of warm custard, and ran upstairs for a very hurried Grace After Meals.
“Calm down, child, can’t you?” hissed Brother Loughlin, his voice choked to creepy strangeness by the attempt to sound concerned.
Still sobbing and trembling and on the edge of hyper-ventilation, Egan sat on the chair in front of the Brother’s desk.
“You’ve had a fall, a bit of a fright,” said Brother Cox softly.
“You pushed me!” choked Egan. “You tried to feel me balls!”
“I don’t know what you think happened on the stairs, Mr. Egan, but I don’t think that is the type of talk you want going around the school about you now, is it?” asked Brother Loughlin.
Egan looked up at him through his red eyes.
“And I certainly don’t think you want to discuss this filthy talk with your mother and father, do you?”
“But … but …”
Sensing that he had Egan on the back foot, Brother Loughlin pressed home: “And you know what the other boys will say, don’t you? They’ll say you were asking for it. They’ll say you started it. They’ll say that it was wishful thinking on your part. They’ll say that it is you who are a little suspect. I think you would find things here very difficult if such rumors were to get out.”
Egan half heard Brother Loughlin’s words as if from the bottom of a dusty well shaft. Clearer to him were the images they conjured up: the sly comments in the toilets, the graffiti that would begin to appear in the bicycle sheds and the handball alleys and slowly creep through the whole school. The more he thought about it, the worse it got. Cox had a reputation and he was forever patting his favorites on the arse. But if anything got out about him and Cox in any way, it was sure that everyone would think the worst. He’d be branded.
“So why don’t you take a little half day for yourself and we’ll have no more of this silly talk?” coaxed Brother Loughlin. “I’ll send someone for your bags and we’ll have Brother Walsh drive you home.”
“No!” shrieked Egan. He’d take the bus. He’d walk. Anything but have one of the Brothers drive him home. Even if no one was home, everyone on the street would see and they’d say something when his ma came in from work. Then he’d have to explain. “I’ll get the bus.”
“Very well then. Brothers, if I could have a word with Brian alone?” concluded Brother
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