The Fool

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Authors: Morgan Gallagher
Tags: Tarot, supernatural, maryam michael
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choir,
and wanted to join the football club as soon as we got it running.
After a few weeks he started coming to services.’
    ‘And Jason objected?’
    ‘Not at first. At first a lot of the gang
members came in and out of the youth group and the Church. But
after a while, when there was nothing for them...’
    ‘Nothing for them to steal, or take, or to
have for their own...?’
    ‘Yes, exactly.’ Wyn looked at her,
surprised.
    ‘I’ve been around for a few years, Wyn. I’ve
seen this situation once or twice. New priest, new activity, poor
parish: everyone always checks it out to see what they can have. A
few stay on, take what we offer and, in turn, start to give back:
but not all.’
    ‘No, not all.’ In his voice was his youth
and disappointment, a suggestion of bitterness. ‘Not all.’
    ‘Was Jason one of the ‘not all’?’
    ‘Yes. I’d thought... I’d thought we were
getting somewhere and then... then it started to go wrong.’ Wyn had
paled, his throat had caught, his fist had clenched.
    ‘Tell me about it.’
     
    Initially the youth club had a slow start.
Months had gone by with only a couple of boy and girls, usually
grandchildren of parishioners, attending. Over the months it had
begun to build, then to flourish. The choir had blossomed, bringing
in many who had no contact with any Church, any faith. Older boys
such as Jason had started to come in. Wyn had thought it was a sign
they were reaching into the community, that there was some hope of
breaking the gang cycle.
    ‘But it wasn’t what was going on. I didn’t
notice it at first, then it became obvious. They weren’t breaking
away from the gangs, they were recruiting into them. Using the
youth club, the choir to gain access to kids that were usually out
of their reach. The kids whose parents took them into the school
yard and then picked them back up from there. The kids whose
parents knew where they were, twenty-four seven. Those kids were
allowed into the Church activities anytime they wanted to
attend.’
    ‘So the gangs came recruiting for them,
here, in your groups, in the choir?’
    ‘Yes.’ His voice was as tired as Father
Edwards had looked.
    ‘What did you do?’
    ‘Discussed it with everyone, with the local
community leaders, the police, with my Bishop, had a long think and
prayed... and then closed out those we felt were only there to
recruit.’
    The pain he was feeling was self-evident.
The sense that he’d failed, that he’d somehow let down those who
had come to him for help. A sharp life lesson had been dealt to Wyn
Jones and he’d not enjoyed it. A bitter taste had been left, a
defeat that had yet to be accepted and moved past.
    ‘Is that when the graffiti started?’
    ‘Yes. It all started then. I’d banned Jason
and a few others, told them they were no longer welcome. I’d
expected him to stop Brad from coming, but instead, Brad started to
bring in more and more kids his own age or younger, ten year olds,
eleven, twelve.’
    ‘Already gang members?’
    ‘Yes, some of the areas have their own self
running mini gangs. The leaders are eleven, twelve, maybe thirteen
at most. The gang itself can have seven year olds in it!’
    Maryam, who had seen machine guns in the
hands of ten year olds, machine guns and machetes with scalp and
hair still stuck to the blade, and the ten year olds who wielded
them stood silent with dead eyes... listened. You could only bear
witness to some pains. Nothing you could say, or do, could make it
more bearable, make it better. Sometimes listening allowed it out.
In her silence, he found his voice.
    ‘I’ve been in gangs, Miss Michael. I ran
with one back in Cardiff. It used to be called Tiger Bay, where I
grew up. It wasn’t the sweetest area. There were always kids
running wild, even the ones with loving Mums like mine.’ His voice
lost its cultured tones, his accent more pronounced as he
continued. ‘Mam took me off the streets when she lost me, when I
lost myself. She sent

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