“Oh my holy God!” Fr. Padraig roared as he parted the living room curtains. “What the..?” he blessed himself as he reached for the phone and cranked the handle with religious vigour. “Marie, is that you, will you put me through to Jimmy Byrne please, it’s urgent”.
“Is everything alright Father” Marie asked, concerned by the sound of panic in his voice.
“Oh it’s awful Marie, I don’t know what I’m going to do. It’s a crime, that’s for sure.”
“Maybe I should put you through to the Garda station? I can see Sergeant O’Donnell pottering in and out all morning.” Marie said, concerned that Fr. Padraig, the local curate, would get all the help he needed.
“No, I need a man who knows how to handle a big ass.” Fr. Padraig said, without thinking it through.  “Oh Jesus Father.” Marie spluttered on the hot tea she was sipping on. “I’m not sure Jimmy is that way inclined.”
“No, not that, there’s a donkey, a big black hairy donkey in the front lawn of the parish house,” Fr. Padraig drew breath, “and the Bishop is coming this evening for the awards ceremony.”
“Ah right Father, you had me worried there for a moment. So does the Bishop not like donkeys?” Marie enquired. “What, of course he does, Marie, he love’s all God’s creatures, but he’s tramped through my roses,”.
“The Bishop?” Marie asked. “No”, Fr. Padraig had started to hyperventilate. “No, the bloomin donkey, the donkey is destroying my flower patch.”
“Aye, they’ll do that alright” Marie said. “Did you try shooing him?” Marie started humming the mazurka under her breath. “”Shoo the donkey, shoo the donkey, shoo the donkey back home.”
“There’s Jimmy for you now.” Marie said as she transferred the call.

Jimmy arrived up within the hour. “The donkey ran off when I came out.” Fr. Padraig said, surveying the damaged flowerbed. “I need to get this tidied up before this evening. I have confession to hear and then I have to get ready for the bishop coming. Can I leave it with you?”

“No problem Father,” Jimmy said, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and a spade from the back of his van. “Did you enjoy last night?” he enquired, “ye were in good form when I last saw you.”
“Can you just get on with this Jimmy, my head’s splitting.” Fr. Padraig said looking over at the slow stream of parishioners ebbing towards the church.

“God, grant me the serenity to accept eejits as they are, courage to maintain my self control, and the wisdom to know that if I act on it, I’ll go to jail, Amen.”

The back three rows of the church were filled with weekly sinners by the time Fr. Padraig, draped in a purple stole, entered the confessional box. The church was quiet and low-lit with just the flicker from the sanctuary light.
The shutter slid over with a clunk that echoed around the church. Those who had been waiting patiently sat up in anticipation of the confessional shuffle.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been a two weeks since me last confession” Micheál Mór, a blow-in from Dublin many years before, had entered the confessional. He hadn’t dressed for the occasion, but then he never did. His unnecessarily heavy coat, seeped in spill, was tied with a length of hemp rope. Micheál had a deep gravely voice, one that he had spent years fine-honing with cigarettes and drink, a voice that could carry no secrets.
“Jaysus, Father, me head is bustin,” he said. “I’ve a dose of the skitter all morning”.
There was an audible giggle from those queued outside.
Fr. Padraig sat upright. “Micheál, do I have to remind you that you are in the house of God?” “Sorry Father, I’m still hung over, I had a wil’ feed of beer in me last night,” Micheál pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose with a loud rasping noise, “It was a terror what I seen Father” he put the hanky back in his pocket, “a bleedin’ terror.”
“What happened Micheál, do you want to confess?” Fr. Padraig leant in towards the grill that separated them, “it’s good for the soul to get these things off our chests”
“Oh God no Father, that’s not my sin to confess,” he said “I just want absolution for drinking too much” Micheál looked directly at the priest, “I promise, with the help of God, I’ll never touch another drop.” Fr. Padraig slouched back against the dark wooden frame disappointed, as he prayed for absolution. “Say ten Our Fathers and twenty Hail Marys Micheál”
Micheál Mór mumbled under his breath as he pushed the door of the confessional open, “Ten Fathers and twenty Marys? Jaysus, it would drive a man to drink.”

‘Clunk.’ the door closed again.
“Bless me Father for I have sinned”
“Good morning Kathleen, how’s young Cait doing?”
“Ah, she’s grand Father” Kathleen lowered her head, “it’s not easy on my own.”
“Sean is always in my prayers Kathleen, what age is the baby now?”
“She’s eighteen months, last Monday, Father,” Kathleen smiled in the darkness, “she’s the spit of her father.” Fr. Padraig straightened himself again, “Aye, Martin is also in our prayers.”
“Say ten Hail Marys for your penance,” he leaned in again, “hopefully I’ll see you at the awards tonight, I’ll need some support with the Bishop being there.”
“I’ll see Father. Mary is much better these days, I’ll see if she’s up for some babysitting.”

“Clunk.”
“Bless me Father for I have sinned”
“Father?”
“Yes Robert, what’s bothering you?”
“I’ve been having bad dreams Father.”
Robert Cassidy, or ‘Hopalong’ as he was better known, was a small short-sighted man with a bad limp. He had worn heel lifts as a child but gave up when he was bullied at school. The bullying continued regardless. His bottle-bottom glasses didn’t help.
“Are you having nightmares?” Fr. Padraig asked, slightly fearing the answer he might give. “Ah no Father.” straightening his glasses, “just dreams, dirty dreams.”
“Well, that’s not really a sin Robert, it’s natural, even at your age.”
“Wee Mary O’Donnell has been sneaking in at night,” ‘Hopalong’ said. He removed his glasses, breathed on them open mouthed before rubbing them with his shirttail, “and then taking her clothes off.”
“In your dreams?” Fr. Padraig interjected.
“Oh aye, of course, she stands starkers” ‘Hop-Along’ said “but I’ve been keeping me glasses on while I sleep.”
“You don’t have to confe…why are you keeping your glasses on Robert?” Fr. Padraig sat closer to the shutter. ‘Hopalong’ leaned in and whispered, “To get a better look Father.”
‘Hopalong’ left with a ten Hail Mary sentence to be served out at the back of the church before leaving.

“Clunk.”
“Bless me Father for you have sinned”
Fr. Padraig leaned forward to see who had entered his dark chambers but couldn’t make him out. “Who is this?” Fr. Padraig asked leaning in again to the shutter, “What do you mean I have sinned?”
“You were one of them.” the main said.
“One of who?” Fr. Padraig asked, his voice had melted to a whisper.
“There were five of you in the circle.” he said
“In what circl..” the priest paused.
“Ah, you remember now, “ the voice smiled in the dark, “young Katie on her knees.”
“Oh Jesus.” Fr. Padraig blessed himself as a memory flashed back from the night before.
“Do you even remember how you got home?” the voice asked.
“Who is this?” Fr. Padraig demanded, his voice now raised enough that those waiting could clearly hear.
“I have pictures,” the man voice had now quietened to a menacing level, “Polaroid pictures.” he whispered.
“William, is that you?” Fr. Padraig asked, “you’re the only man I know with a Polaroid camera.”
“You wouldn’t want the Bishop to get his hands on them now, would you?” the voice asked, “I might send him a wee sample later.”
“Okay William, I know it’s you, stop with the silly voice,” Fr. Padraig couldn’t hide his annoyance any more, “what do you want?”
“Ahem,” William, the local breadman, cleared his throat, “at tonight’s ceremony,” he paused.
“Yes, what about tonight?” Fr. Padraig interjected, his voice increasingly high-pitched.
“Young Brendan,” William continued, “must win the Young Player Award.”
“What?” the priest laughed nervously, “I can’t help your son get the award.” he lowered to a whisper again and leant in. “I’m the honorary Chairperson, I can’t do that, it’s up to the team, I don’t care what you have on me.” There was a long silence, a confessional stand off like none the priest had witnessed before. William reached into his inside jacket pocket. Taking some chewing gum from his mouth, he slowly stuck a small square photo up against the shuttered panel that separated them.
“What’s that?” Fr. Padraig squinted in the dark, “I can’t make it out.”
“Clunk.” William was gone.
The priest leapt from his wooden seat and burst out of the confessional box. “That’s it for now,” he roared at the remaining parishioners waiting to unburden their sins, “I’ll get you all on Sunday evening after benediction.”  Fr. Padraig opened the door from which William had just vacated. “Oh sweet Jesus,” he pulled the Polaroid from the wall, “what were we thinking.”

The Bishop arrived at six o’clock. His large car pulled into the drive of the parochial house just as Annie Breslin rang the church bells. Fr. Padraig blessed himself for the Angelus and prayed harder than usual.
“Ah, your Excellency,” bending to kiss the Bishop’s ring, “you’re very welcome to our humble abode.”
“I hope you’re looking after things while Fr. McDyer is away,” the Bishop said, “I love what you’ve done with the garden.” Fr. Padraig turned on his left heel and spun around to peruse the flower beds. Jimmy had done a great job, all looked normal again. “Aye, all my own work,” Fr. Padraig proudly said, “I was up early this morning giving it a final preen before your arrival.”
“Now, come on ahead, there’s a nice wee cup of tea brewing for you.” Fr. Padraig led the Bishop into the parochial house. “Mary baked some fresh scones for you too.”

The phone rang as they sat. “Father, did you get that donkey sorted” Marie was on the telephone switch about to patch a call through. “Oh yes Marie, he’s just arrived.” Fr. Padraig pulled at his collar as he looked around and smiled at the Bishop. “Oh, oh you mean the Bishop is there, good, there was a letter dropped in here for him earlier, I just sent young Ian up with it.” Marie said, “It had ‘Private, to be hand-delivered to Bishop McFeeley before the ceremony.’ written on it.”
“Oh Jesus,” the priest blurted, “sorry, that’s great news altogether, Marie,” Fr. Padraig gave a hearty laugh in an attempt to mask the panic invading his thoughts, “I hope you’ll all be very happy, I better run now and get the Bishop’s tea.” Fr. Padraig said.
“What do you mean” Marie started to say but Fr. Padraig hung up mid sentence. “happy?” Marie stayed connected for a few minutes, open mouthed and flustered.
“Let me get you some more tea, your Excellency.” Fr. Padraig kept one eye outside. He could see Marie’s son dawdling up the road, envelope in hand. “Here have a scone, I’ll be back in a minute.”
Fr. Padraig met him halfway up the drive and snapped the envelope from the boy. “I thought you never make it up that road,” Fr. Padraig reached for a ten pence piece from his pocket, “Off with you now.”
“Who was that?” the Bishop asked when Fr. Padraig came back in. “Oh, just one of the altar boys.” Fr. Padraig said, pushing the envelope deep in his pocket.
“I’m expecting a delivery this evening, before the awards ceremony,” the Bishop sipped on his tea, “The manager said he’d drop the list of the winners up in advance in case I’m running late”
“Oh,” Fr. Padraig hesitated, slowly caressing the envelope in the depths of his pocket, “I’ll let you know as soon as it comes” “Great” said the Bishop, “I’ll put my head down for forty winks before I get ready.”

“Well Father, have you thought about what I said?” the voice menaced down the phone.
“William!” Fr. Padraig half shouted, then lowered to a whisper, “William, I can’t do this.”
“You can Father,” William said, “And you will, you don’t want this getting out.”
“I can’t believe you’d stoop this low,” Fr. Padraig switched the handset to his other ear, so he could listen out for the Bishop stirring, “it’s a sin you know.”
“Tis surely Father,“ William said, “but sure, we all have sinned, hey Father?” he hesitated, “and sure I’ll be down to confess next week and you can absolve me of this, and all will be good with the man above.”

The steam from the kettle nearly scalded Fr. Padraig’s fingers as he deftly prised the letter open. He had perfected the method over the last six months. Rumours of clerical changes among the other curates around the county caused him to fear each official correspondence from the Bishop’s palace. He walked into the hall and listened for movement before slowly unfolding and scanning his eyes through the letter. “Look,” he muffles a yelp, not unlike the bleating of a young lamb, and hops around the parochial kitchen, “young Brendan won, all on his own.”
With the letter resealed, Fr. Padraig got back on the phone to William. “I’ve sorted that out for you,” he whispered into the heavy black handset, “It wasn’t easy, I had to change the list before the Bishop sees it. I hope you realise the risk I took.”
“Good man Father,” William said, “I’ll destroy all those polaroids, you won’t hear another word”
“You’ll destroy nothing, I can’t trust you” Fr. Padraig’s voice became more forceful, “I want all of them, sealed in an envelope, by this evening.”
“Ah, I’ll see what I can do.” William said and then hung up.

“Kathleen,” Fr. Padraig grabbed hold as she came in the main entrance of the hotel,” so glad you could make it.” “Ah, how’re ya Father,” Kathleen fiddled with a button on her blouse, “I’m only out for a few hours,” she winked at Fr. Padraig, “unless I get lucky.”
“Stop that now.” Fr. Padraig jokingly snapped back at her.
“Oh, I hear you’re a real ladies man these days” Kathleen whispered, leaning in.
“I don’t know what you’ve been hearing Kathleen, but it’s not true.”
“Ah don’t fret Father, sure it’s only your leg I’m pulling,” she said laughing out loud.
“Kathleen, I will chat with you later, the Bishop is on a tight schedule and he’s itching to get started,” the priest scoured the room, “before he does, I have to see a man about a dog.” and with that he dashed off.  “Be careful you don’t catch fleas so.” Kathleen shouted after him as he disappeared into the crowd.

The hotel was full. It was the first time the local team had won the Gaeltacht championship. The celebrations, merged over the previous two nights, would now culminate with the award ceremony in the Glenbay Hotel. Joe-Joe was at the door collecting the entry fee and storing the piles of cash neatly in a biscuit tin saved over from Christmas for that very purpose. The plain dancehall, converted to the dining hall for the evening to cater for the large crowd, looked better under low light. Lifford pop group, The Playboys were warming up on stage. All the hits of ‘77 would be rolled out. The tables had been set out for the standard dinner dance fare with the usual menu of soup, prawn cocktail and a choice of either turkey and ham or beef on offer. There were three barmen in full flight serving Guinness and Harp to the thirsty, four layers deep. Micheál Mór had pulled a barstool up and was already well oiled, engaging one and all with his risque jokes, as they waited patiently to be served.

After the awards were handed out Fr. Padraig approached William. “Have you all the polaroids for me?” he whispered, “you heard young Brendan’s name called out. I stuck to my side of the deal” Fr. Padraig looked across the table, “Congratulations Brendan, fully deserved.” he shouted across the table as the Playboys belted out a clean rendition of ‘Living Next Door to Alice’. Brendan was sitting with his arm around young Katie. Fr. Padraig had another flashback to the evening before. “Hi Katie.” he smiled nervously at her.
“Do you want another go at ‘Spin the Bottle’ Father?” Katie laughed and turned to whisper into Brendan’s ear.
William slipped a small square packet into the priest’s hand.
“Is that them all?” Fr. Padraig asked.
“Of course,” William said, “sure I have no use for them now. Your secret is safe with me,” he laughed loud, “although I can’t speak for all those eejits who were there cheering you on.”
Fr. Padraig tucked the packet in his jacket’s inside pocket and headed back to the top table.
“I’ll see you next Thursday Father.” William roared after him as he belly laughed into his stale pint.

“Ah, Padraig, I thought you abandoned me.” the Bishop said. “You’re obviously popular here in the parish. I can see in their eyes, the way the parishioners look at you,” he continued “they see something in you. You have a real connection. Your friend Kathleen here has been keeping me company,” Fr. Padraig braced himself, “she tells me you are very hands-on.”
“You’re very kind, your Excellency,” Fr. Padraig said “I like to get among the people, thanks Kathleen”
“Father Padraig was very good to me when my Sean was lost at sea,” Kathleen said “I don’t think I’d have got through it without him.”
“Well, I’ll be having a word with Fr. McDyer next week and you’ll be highly recommended for all your hard work.”
Fr. Padraig was beaming, all his problems sorted and full of the praise being heaped on him from above. He leaned over to Kathleen and whispered, “No fleas on me.”
He hadn’t noticed the large figure staggering his way.

“Ten Fathers and twenty Marys?” Micheál Mór protested, leaning in over the table. “Jaysus, I was hopin’ to go off the drink not need another reason to get blotto.”
“Now Micheál, the Bishop doesn’t want to hear any of this,” Fr. Padraig reached out one arm to prevent Micheál from going face first into the Bishop’s turkey and ham, “on your way now, you’re drunk.” Fr. Padraig grappled with Micheál, grabbing him by the belt and spinning him around. “Father Padraig,” the Bishop intervened, “sit down and let the man talk, it’s always refreshing to hear what our parishioners have to say, good or bad.”
“Thanks Mister Bishop, your Honour.” Micheál Mór leaned in over the table, “did you ever hear the one about the Priest and a Nun ridin’ da donkey in the desert and da donkey dies of exhaustion?” Micheál Mór asks him while accidentally ‘baptising’ Fr. Padraig with his pint. “Well, I didn’t see da Nun, but c’mere ‘til I tell ya, I seen this bowsie, bare arsed, ridin’ a donkey up through the main street las’ night.”
“Micheál Mór!” Fr. Padraig stood again, knocking his seat over as he swung for Micheál, “how dare you.” A small crowd gathered to see the commotion.  “You’ve knocked him clean out.” one said. “I think you’ve killed him Father.” said another. “No, he’s stirring, quick someone get him a drink of water” Fr Padraig shouted. Micheál Mór lifted his head in a not unfamiliar daze “Ten Fathers and twenty Marys me hole” and fell back with a smile on his face.

“Bishop,” Fr. Padraig shouted after Bishop McFeeley who was now halfway to the exit, “Bishop, I can explain.”

Ciaran Cunningham