He says nothing and even though its dark I know hes shaking his
head. My dear child, why cant you go home and ask your mother for
something?
Because she sent me out looking for my father in the pubs, Father,
and I couldnt find him and she hasnt a scrap in the house because hes
drinking the five pounds Grandpa sent from the North for the new baby
and shes raging by the fire because I cant find my father.
I wonder if this priest is asleep because hes very quiet till he says,
My child, I sit here. I hear the sins of the poor. I assign the penance. I
bestow absolution. I should be on my knees washing their feet. Do you
understand me, my child?
I tell him I do but I dont.
Go home, child. Pray for me.
No penance, Father?
No, my child.
I stole the fish and chips. Im doomed.
Youre forgiven. Go. Pray for me.
He blesses me in Latin, talks to himself in English and I wonder
what I did to him.
I wish I could find my father so I could say to Mam, Here he is and
he has three pounds left in his pocket. Im not hungry now so I can go
up one side of OConnell Street and down the other and search pubs
on the side streets and there he is in Gleesons, how could I miss him
with his singing,
Tis alone my concern if the grandest surprise
Would be shining at me out of somebodys eyes.
Tis my private affair what my feelings would be
While the Green Glens of Antrim were welcoming me.
My heart is banging away in my chest and I dont know what to do
because I know Im raging inside like my mother by the fire and all I
can think of doing is running in and giving him a good kick in the leg
and running out again but I dont because we have the mornings by the
fire when he tells me about Cuchulain and De Valera and Roosevelt and
if hes there drunk and buying pints with the babys money he has that
look in his eyes Eugene had when he searched for Oliver and I might
as well go home and tell my mother a lie that I never saw him couldnt
find him.
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