Holy Mullihan gave a sideways wag of his head. There was a little booklet about Father Quirke which he’d lend Tom the next time he saw him. It told about his boyhood in the poor part of the town and how he’d seen a man falling down after drink at the top of Michael Davitt Hill, only it hadn’t been called that in those days. He had taken the pledge himself, Holy Mullihan said, and was the better for it. There was never stout in a monastery, he said, which was how you’d know the story about St Cronan was made up.

‘Father Quirke would have walked where we’re walking now, Tom. We could be going in his footsteps.’

‘Was it the truth when you said people mightn’t like to touch me?’

There were small pimples around Holy Mullihan’s mouth, some of them almost obscured by the growth of soft hair that flourished there also. The tips of his fingers investigated these before he began to reply. He pursed his lips into a knot. He said:

‘It’s a thing that isn’t easy to explain, Tom. It’s like a stain you’d carry on you. Like you’d get a stain on a garment. There’s a thing called contamination, Tom, which these people would be worried about.’ Holy Mullihan paused. He pointed in the direction of the Church of Our Lady. ‘Will we go inside?’

Tom said there wouldn’t be time. Any minute now his mother would be arriving on the ferryboat. He had promised to be ready.

‘D’you ever think about Our Lady, Tom?’ Not waiting for an answer, Holy Mullihan recited the great feasts that had to’be kept in the Virgin’s name: the Annunciation, the Assumption, her Birthday, her Immaculate Conception, her Immaculate Heart, her Motherhood, her Presentation, her Purification, her Sorrows, her Visit to Elizabeth. ‘Say them off to your mother, Tom. Tell your mother about Croagh Patrick, Tom.’

‘I will.’

‘I’ll be seeing you so.’

Tom went away quickly. He’d once gone into the church with Holy Mullihan and they’d knelt there for ages. Holy Mullihan had done everything slowly, taking the holy water, crossing himself, making his obeisance. He’d knelt in a special way, a bone sticking out of the back of his neck when he bent it in prayer. He’d asked Tom if he’d any money so that they could light a candle, but Tom hadn’t.