“But you found the meeting interesting?” prompted Father Conroy.

The fellow finished his tea and laid the cup and saucer down. “Moderately so, Father. McEvilly, as I said, was in no more than fair form, but that young fellow, Donovan, Jimmy Donovan, he’s a flyer.”

“You liked him?”

“He’ll go far.” He hitched his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets and lifted himself up and down on his toes. “Being a grand-nephew of old James Conroy won’t do him any harm. And, of course, a meeting like this is a godsend for a young fellow who wants to show off his paces.”

“And what d’you think the people of Kilbride thought of it?” asked Father Conroy mildly.

“Of what, Father?”

“Of this act they put on tonight?”

“Oh, ’tis time for them to do something. Sure, ’tis a terrible hole of a place. Who’d stay in it the way it is?”

“I do.”

“Begod, Father, I’m sorry... I didn’t know... I thought you were a stranger here, like myself.”

“I’m the man, you could say, who’s responsible for the way it is.”

“Oh, no, Father, I’m sure no one would say...”

“But you could say it!”

“No, I couldn’t, I wouldn’t... I think, Father, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a long way...” And as he bolted for the door, he threw back over his shoulder, “I’m very glad of the pleasure. Delighted, Father.”

By God, thought Father Conroy, I’ll clear this bloody place yet. He moved toward the table around which the priests and important visitors were talking animatedly. Phrases like “pilot area,” “tractor co-op,” and “soil survey” hung in the air about him. Through a gap between their heads, he saw McEvilly seated at the table, stirring his tea, his long face darkly brooding. Beside him, a loud-voiced secondary-school teacher from Castlemore was talking about morphology. “Oh, ’tis a science all its own, you know. It’s fascinating to discover why one parish decays, while the one beside it forges ahead.”

Father Conroy moved quickly away and stood, biting his thumbnail. What was this, anyway? Why were all these people passing judgment on his parish, on him? A bloody postmortem, by Christ. What right had they to come here?

Across the room, McEvilly looked up, gazed at him, and smiled as if to say, “See what I have to listen to!” Father Conroy slowly nodded his head, and McEvilly lowered his eyes to brood again.

He’s a man I’d like to talk to, but there’s no chance of that – he’s moving on early tomorrow. Anyway, what would we talk about but maybe a pig-fattening cooperative or a knitting industry or putting more land into beet? He wouldn’t know what I want to talk about.