that’s what the consumption does to you. It doesn’t matter anyway, St. Francis, because I love Theresa. I love her as much as you love any bird or beast or fish and will you tell God take the consumption away and I promise I’ll never go near her again. The  next  Saturday  they  give  me  the  Carmody  telegram.  From halfway up the street I can see the blinds are drawn. I can see the black crepe wreath on the door. I can see the white purple-lined mourning card. I can see beyond the door and walls where Theresa and I tumbled naked and wild on the green sofa and I know now she is in hell and all because of me. I  slip  the  telegram  under  the  door  and  cycle  back  down  to  the Franciscan  church  to  beg  for  the  repose  of Theresa’s  soul.  I  pray  to every statue,to the stained glass windows,the Stations of the Cross.I swear I’ll lead a life of faith, hope and charity, poverty, chastity and obedience. Next day, Sunday, I go to four Masses. I do the Stations of the Cross three times. I say rosaries all day. I go without food and drink and wher- ever I find a quiet place I cry and beg God and the Virgin Mary to have mercy on the soul of Theresa Carmody. On Monday I follow the funeral to the graveyard on my post office bicycle. I stand behind a tree a distance from the grave. Mrs. Carmody weeps and moans. Mr. Carmody snuffles and looks puzzled.The priest recites the Latin prayers and sprinkles the coffin with holy water. I want to go to the priest, to Mr. and Mrs. Carmody. I want to tell them how I’m the one who sent Theresa to hell.They can do whatever they like with me.Abuse me. Revile me.Throw grave dirt at me. But I stay behind the tree till the mourners leave and the grave diggers fill in the grave. Frost is already whitening the fresh earth on the grave and I think of  Theresa cold in the coffin, the red hair, the green eyes. I can’t under- stand the feelings going through me but I know that with all the peo- ple who died in my family and all the people who died in the lanes around me and all the people who left I never had a pain like this in my heart and I hope I never will again. It’s  getting  dark.  I  walk  my  bicycle  out  of  the  graveyard.  I  have telegrams to deliver. 325