There is heavy breathing.The priest has his hand over his mouth and he’s making choking sounds and talking to himself, Mother o’ God. Who, who told you that story, my child? Mikey Molloy, Father. And where did he hear it? He read it in a book, Father. Ah, a book. Books can be dangerous for children, my child. Turn your mind from those silly stories and think of the lives of the saints. Think of St. Joseph, the Little Flower, the sweet and gentle St. Francis of Assisi, who loved the birds of the air and the beasts of the field.Will you do that, my child? I will, Father. Are there any other sins, my child? No, Father. For your penance say three Hail Marys, three Our Fathers, and say a special prayer for me. I will. Father, was that the worst sin? What do you mean? Am I the worst of all the boys, Father? No, my child, you have a long way to go. Now say an Act of Con- trition and remember Our Lord watches you every minute. God bless you, my child. First Communion day is the happiest day of your life because of  The Collection and James Cagney at the Lyric Cinema.The night before I was so excited I couldn’t sleep till dawn.I’d still be sleeping if my grand- mother hadn’t come banging at the door. Get up! Get up! Get that child outa the bed. Happiest day of his life an’ him snorin’ above in the bed. I ran to the kitchen.Take off that shirt, she said. I took off the shirt and she pushed me into a tin tub of icy cold water.My mother scrubbed me, my grandmother scrubbed me. I was raw, I was red. They dried me.They dressed me in my black velvet First Commu- nion suit with the white frilly shirt, the short pants, the white stockings, the black patent leather shoes. Around my arm they tied a white satin bow and on my lapel they pinned the Sacred Heart of Jesus, a picture of the Sacred Heart, with blood dripping from it, flames erupting all around it and on top a nasty-looking crown of thorns. 127