The City of Shadows. Michael Russell

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СКАЧАТЬ that Tom had seen the picture of in the newspaper. He’d cut the picture out and put it by his bed, next to the photograph of his mother and father and his collection of books and stones and tin soldiers. It had been on three lists he’d sent up the chimney, despite warnings that it wasn’t a good idea to overdo it with Santy.

      There was a steep track into the farmyard from the road up to Kilranelagh Hill. There was the smell of dung and hay. A long stone barn stretched towards the house on one side of the yard. They heard the sound of the cows inside, calling for food. On the other side of the yard stood a rusty, corrugated shed, full of straw. Quite suddenly, something black and white hurtled through the barn door, barking and snarling furiously. Tess stopped at Stefan’s feet. She looked up at him and abruptly turned away, trotting back into the barn with just one backward glance to tell him that her job, a quite unnecessary job as it happened, had been done. Then as Tom opened the door to the kitchen there was the smell of the dinner. Stefan walked across the room and put his arms round his mother. Tom held up the paper bag his father had brought and took out the loaf of bread that was in it.

      ‘We’ve got some bread for you, Oma, some special bread!’

      Helena stared at her son’s battered face. He put his finger to his lips.

      ‘It’s from Weinrouk’s. Do you remember it? I’m sure it’s still Mr Moiselle who makes it. Remember? When did you last have a loaf like that, Ma?’ She smiled. She remembered very well. She had more to say, about the bruises, but that would have to wait. She looked back down at the pots on the stove. She spoke quietly, not wanting to let her concern show to Tom.

      ‘Father Carey’s here. He’s been waiting.’

      The sitting room was dark. It looked out on to the farmyard through a window that let little enough light in on a summer’s day. Now the clouds were black over the farm and over Kilranelagh Hill above. It wasn’t a small room, but it was lined with bookshelves that crowded the heavy furniture into the centre. The priest was by the fireplace, crouching down, almost on his knees, pulling out a book. He rose as Stefan Gillespie entered the room.

      ‘You wanted to see me.’

      Normally the word ‘Father’ would have been added to this, and in a man he liked Stefan would have had no problem with that polite expression of respect, even though Anthony Carey was barely two years older. But there was neither liking nor respect, and the feeling was thoroughly reciprocated in the cold and cautious eye the priest cast in his direction.

      ‘It’s about the boy.’ No name, just the boy.

      ‘You’d better sit down.’

      The priest made no attempt to sit down. Instead he walked to a table at one side of the room where he had made a neat pile of the books he had already taken from the shelves. He put the one he was holding on top of the pile. Then he noticed the bruises on Stefan’s face. He gave a sour grin.

      ‘A rough night, Sergeant?’

      ‘A rough customer. I do meet them in my job.’ The reply was curt. He had no intention of explaining himself. He waited for the priest to continue.

      ‘It’s about his schooling,’ said Father Carey, businesslike now. He had a thin, angular body and somehow his voice had the same spiky quality.

      ‘We’ve already talked about that,’ replied Stefan shortly.

      ‘I felt he should begin school at St Tegan’s this September, you remember I’m sure. You weren’t happy about that at the time of course.’

      ‘I didn’t think he was ready. He’d have been the youngest one starting. He’s still only four. He’ll go next year. I don’t see there’s a hurry.’

      ‘The particular circumstances –’

      ‘I thought this was settled. I spoke to Father MacGuire –’

      ‘I was away then.’ Father Carey smiled.

      The smile expressed what both men knew – that Stefan had chosen to speak to the parish priest when the curate was away, precisely because he was. Father MacGuire was an older, gentler, easier man altogether.

      ‘I have now taken over from Father MacGuire as chairman of the school’s board of management. It’s a lot of work for the parish priest. We both felt that I would have more time and energy to devote to it.’

      ‘The school year’s begun now anyway. There’s a term gone.’

      ‘My feeling – my strong feeling – is that Tom should be at school.’

      ‘Next year he will be.’

      ‘As I’ve said, the particular circumstances really do argue against that, Sergeant Gillespie, as far as the Church is concerned. He is a Catholic living in a home that is not Catholic. I have a responsibility to ensure that he does not suffer in a situation that is, from the Church’s point of view, extremely unsatisfactory. The lack of a Catholic home makes his presence in a Catholic school all the more imperative. He should start after Christmas.’

      ‘He’s very young. He’s still – after his mother’s death –’

      ‘Your wife has been dead for two years. It’s hardly a reason for the boy not to go to school. In fact it’s her absence, the absence of a Catholic mother, that makes it all the more important that he does go and go now.’

      ‘He goes to Mass every Sunday with the Lawlors.’ There was nothing to be gained from telling the curate that Tom’s mother had no time for the Church at all. It was a mixed marriage, and in order to be married they had to agree that their children would be brought up as Catholics. That was simply how it was. Death did not release Stefan from the contract. But the easy, familiar way the priest threw Maeve into the conversation, a woman he hadn’t known, was about more than that. He knew it irritated Stefan, and it did now. Stefan said nothing, struggling to hold his temper.

      ‘I’ve never been in here before.’ It was an abrupt change of subject. Father Carey looked round the room at the crowded bookshelves with a mixture of amusement and contempt. ‘You’re quite the reader so,’ he said.

      ‘Is there something wrong with that?’

      ‘I’ve been looking at your … library.’ The final word was said with a patronising smile, but he was serious. ‘I’m not easily shocked, Mr Gillespie.’

      ‘I’m sorry, I’m not with you.’

      ‘This is in German,’ he announced, picking up the book that was on top of the pile with a look of distaste. ‘But not hard to decipher, even for me. Isn’t it The Communist Manifesto? Would I be right about that?’

      ‘It was my grandfather’s. He studied philosophy, at university in Munich. All his books are here. And why wouldn’t they be?’ Stefan knew the priest was going to test his temper in every way he could. He was already angry, angry with himself as well as Carey. He was explaining away the presence of a book instead of telling the priest to get out of the house.

      Father Carey put down the book and frowned at the rest of the pile.

      ‘Voltaire, Hobbes, Locke, Darwin, Martin Luther. I’ve picked these out. I’m sure there are others. All these are on the Vatican’s Index Librorum Prohibitorum. As a great reader, I hope СКАЧАТЬ