There was a delay the day of the baptism when the chosen god-
father, John McErlaine, got drunk at the speakeasy and forgot his
responsibilities. Philomena told her husband, Tommy, hed have to be
godfather. Childs soul is in danger, she said.Tommy put his head down
and grumbled. All right. Ill be godfather but Im not goin to be
responsible if he grows up like his father causin trouble and goin
through life with the odd manner for if he does he can go to John
McErlaine at the speakeasy.The priest said,True for you,Tom, decent
man that you are, fine man that never set foot inside a speakeasy.
Malachy, fresh from the speakeasy himself, felt insulted and wanted to
argue with the priest, one sacrilege on top of another. Take off that
collar and well see whos the man. He had to be held back by the
great-breasted ones and their husbands grim.Angela, new mother, agi-
tated, forgot she was holding the child and let him slip into the bap-
tismal font, a total immersion of the Protestant type. The altar boy
assisting the priest plucked the infant from the font and restored him
to Angela, who sobbed and clutched him, dripping, to her bosom.The
priest laughed, said he had never seen the likes, that the child was a
regular little Baptist now and hardly needed a priest. This maddened
Malachy again and he wanted to jump at the priest for calling the child
some class of a Protestant.The priest said, Quiet, man, youre in Gods
house, and when Malachy said, Gods house, my arse, he was thrown
out on Court Street because you cant say arse in Gods house.
After baptism Philomena said she had tea and ham and cakes in her
house around the corner. Malachy said,Tea? and she said,Yes, tea, or is
it whiskey you want? He said tea was grand but first hed have to go and
deal with John McErlaine, who didnt have the decency to carry out
his duties as godfather. Angela said,Youre only looking for an excuse
to run to the speakeasy, and he said,As God is my witness, the drink is
the last thing on my mind.Angela started to cry.Your sons christening
day and you have to go drinking. Delia told him he was a disgusting
specimen but what could you expect from the North of Ireland.
Malachy looked from one to the other, shifted on his feet, pulled
his cap down over his eyes, shoved his hands deep in his trouser pock-
ets, said, Och, aye, the way they do in the far reaches of County
Antrim, turned, hurried up Court Street to the speakeasy on Atlantic
Avenue where he was sure theyd ply him with free drink in honor of
his sons baptism.
18