“Oh,” she cried, “to see the look on his face when he came back out of the chimney!”

My little sister and I began to jump around, cackling.

“Oh,” cried my mother, “what warned me not to have the chimney cleaned? Oh, thanks be to God I forgot to have the chimney cleaned!”

And with us chattering a delighted, incredulous accompaniment, she laughed as though her heart might break.

The Lie

__________

THERE WAS A JOKE between my mother and me about the first time I went to confession. She took me to see the priest herself, but we were late leaving home, and by the time we got to the chapel there were two long rows of women kneeling outside the confession box, waiting to be heard. My mother said later that she could tell by the expression on their faces that they all had a great deal to confess and that they would take their time about it. She was worried, fearing we had a couple of hours to wait, and knowing that I was only seven and restless and nervous because this was the first time I was going to get into the box. However, we knelt together at the end of one line and settled down to wait. The priest had not yet arrived, but when we had been kneeling there a couple of minutes, we saw him hurrying down the aisle from the altar. He was a fat old man, and I stared at him in terror. As he came toward us, he glanced around at all the waiting women, and then he saw me. He stopped and spoke to my mother.

“Is this the first time she’s going to confession?” he asked.

When he heard that it was, he took my arm and pulled me gently to my feet and along past all the knees of all the waiting and greatly surprised women and pushed me into the box ahead of the first woman in line. There I was, kneeling in the dark, when the shutter just above my face was pulled back and I saw the priest’s profile.

“Start now, child,” he said impatiently. “Don’t be afraid.”

After I had stumbled through the first prayer and come to the telling of the sins, I stopped, because I couldn’t remember any sins.

“All right now, child,” the priest said, “were you disobedient?”

“Yes, Father.”

“And did you lose your temper a couple of times?”

“Yes, Father.”

“That’s right. For your penance say three Hail Marys. Now make a good Act of Contrition.”

A minute later I was again stumbling past all the knees and all the irritated faces, and my mother took me to the altar rail, where I said my penance, and we left the chapel.

“What penance did he give you?” she asked as we were walking home.

“Three Hail Marys.”