Outside the door, he took the pipe out of his pocket, saw it was empty, and blew an angry blast through it. He looked out over the deserted graveyard, squinting into the sun, so that the leaning stones seemed to leap into life, crowded together like people. Christ, what a mess we get into, why don’t you stop us, why don’t you ever let us know what you want from us? I could have helped him out at the time, but I never even thought of it. I let him steal from the Canon, and now they’re bound together like father and son. Is there nothing now I can do for him? Nothing he might want me for? If I only had his address!

Near his car, the little group of evicted drinkers was standing disconsolately by the wall, waiting for him to go.

“Men!” he greeted them as he opened the car door.

They saluted, then drew nearer, attracted by the quality in him which always seemed to draw the unwanted, the dispossessed.

“That was terrible harsh treatment Father Cullen gave ye.”

“Ah, no, Father,” one of the older men said. “Sure, at the back of it all, he’s the best in the world. ’Twas only ye all had him fussed.”

“All the same,” he protested, tongue in cheek, “it wasn’t as if ye were doing any harm.”

“That’s what I was saying.” The man with the bottle had already had a fair sup. “Maurice himself, Father, would give a long spell below to be with us, giving him a good send-off.” He emptied his glass, shook it out, and began to pour. “Ye’ll have a small sup, Father?”

“I won’t, thanks; it doesn’t agree with me.”

“Ah, come on, Father.”

“But I’ll tell ye what!” He fumbled out the empty pipe.

“If any of ye have an oul’ fill, ’twould be most welcome.”

“Sure, Lord, Father, if that’s all ye want.” The older man came forward, unbuttoning his tobacco pouch. “Ye must be a happy poor man.”

“Indeed, yes,” said Father Conroy as he filled the pipe.

“What more could I want?”

Chapter 6

And Lancelot at the ring rides well! Now, who the hell was Lancelot, he wondered, as he swatted away the phrase and knew it was circling out there beyond his reach, in mischievous orbit. Phrases sometimes hung around for days, tormenting him, then vanished as suddenly as they had come. Why hadn’t he paid attention at school, learned the whole verse, as people like Mahon always did? One could kill a quotation stone dead, if one knew the line before and the line after!