A History of Loneliness

  ‘It’s only been a year,’ I said. ‘Could things have fallen apart that quickly?’

  ‘You have no idea, Father,’ he said dramatically, whistling through his teeth. ‘No idea.’

  ‘I’d love to come back,’ I said. ‘I’m supposed to come back. I was promised. Only I’m covering a parish for a friend who’s away at the moment. The Archbishop said it wouldn’t be for long.’ As the words emerged from my mouth it occurred to me how true this was; he had said it wouldn’t be for long. And yet there had been no talk of me going back. Perhaps it was time I called on him.

  ‘Well it’ll be too late next year,’ said Conor. ‘I’ll already be in university.’

  ‘But sure who knows,’ I replied, ‘there might be other lads still in the school after you leave it.’

  He considered this and nodded. He looked at me as if I was a simpleton. ‘Of course there will be, Father,’ he said and now I did laugh. Was he as daft as he seemed or was this play-acting of some sort? I’d always taken him for a bright lad.

  ‘Well I’ll just take these two,’ I said, handing Jonas’s novels across with a twenty-euro note, and he rang them up.

  ‘Ah, Father,’ said Conor a moment later as he put the books in a bag. ‘Did you hear about Will Forman?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Will Forman. You remember him, Father. Tall lad, real straight black hair. Was always getting his phone taken off him in class.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I said, nodding. ‘He used to sit in the seat behind you in English, didn’t he? What about him, is he all right?’

  ‘Ah he’s grand, I suppose. But he only went and joined the Taliban.’

  I stared at him in surprise. ‘Come again?’ I said, certain that I must have misheard him.

  ‘The Taliban. You know the Taliban?’

  ‘I do,’ I said. ‘I see them on the telly. Osama Bin Laden’s lot.’

  ‘Yeah. Well Will was always going on about how George W. Bush and Tony Blair were war criminals and how the whole 9/11 thing was a big con-job and how the US government had organized the whole thing from day one so they could find an excuse to go in and get the oil. I mean he was a total plank, the way he carried on about it. Anyway one day he gets into a big fight with Mr Jonson, the history teacher, about it. You remember him, right?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘So they get into this big drama about imperial oppression and all that bullshit and Will stands up in the middle of the class, picks up his bag and turns round to the rest of us and says, “That’s it, lads, I’ve had enough of this crap. I’m off to join the Taliban.”’

  I stared at Conor. It was all that I could do not to start laughing. ‘And did he do it?’

  ‘The funny thing is that he did. He bought a ticket to Iran or Iraq or wherever it is—’

  ‘Afghanistan?’ I suggested.

  ‘That’s the one. He bought a cheap ticket on the internet, stopped shaving and off he goes. His oul’ one is having kittens over the whole thing. And his dad’s down at the Department of Whatever every day trying to get Bertie Ahern to do something about it. They’ve gone ballistic about it, the pair of them. There’s even a sponsored walk going on next Sunday to raise money for it.’

  ‘To raise money for what?’ I asked, mystified by this. ‘For the Taliban?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not for the Taliban.’

  ‘Then for what? Where’s the money to go?’

  He thought about it. ‘Now that you ask, I couldn’t tell you,’ he said. ‘Maybe his oul’ one and his oul’ fella are going out there to Afghanistan too, to bring him back. I’d say those flights don’t come cheap. You’d probably have to change at Heathrow or Frankfurt.’

  ‘Might he not just be staying at a friend’s house, do you think?’ I asked. ‘Might he be playing a trick of some sort? He was always a bit on the daft side, if I recall.’

  ‘No, Father,’ he practically roared, raising his voice so high that the other customers turned to look at him. ‘I’m telling you, he’s gone and joined the Taliban. Niall Smith’s cousin saw him on the news. He said he was in the middle of a group of men burning effigies of Dick Cheney in the middle of … I don’t know. Some city. Kandahar, maybe? Is that a place?’

  ‘It is,’ I said.

  ‘Well then,’ he said, nodding as if he had just proven his point. ‘What do you think of that?’

  There was little I could think of it. The school had gone to hell. The library was in disarray. Will Forman was in Afghanistan fighting for the Taliban. This couldn’t go on any longer. I had to get out of parish work and back to my school. I went home and picked up the phone to call the Episcopal Palace. And that’s when I found out the truth.

  I found it surprisingly difficult to secure an appointment. Fifteen months earlier, when Archbishop Cordington had summoned me to see him, he had phoned – or rather, one of his secretaries had phoned – at nine o’clock on a Tuesday morning and I had been sitting before him, declining whiskeys, by three o’clock that same afternoon. Now, when the meeting was being arranged at my request, I ended up phoning on four separate occasions, and each time I was told that someone would get back to me, but this mysterious someone never did. On the fifth occasion, I may have sounded a little angry and so they finally acquiesced and offered me thirty minutes with His Grace two and a half weeks later. It was a long time to wait, but the summer holidays were almost upon us and as long as I could be reinstalled in Terenure by September, I didn’t mind if a little more time went by.

  ‘Odran,’ said the Archbishop when I finally entered his office and knelt before him, pressing my lips against the golden seal of his office. How heavy it seemed on his finger, I thought. And how proud he was to wear it. ‘This is a great surprise. There’s nothing wrong, is there?’

  ‘No, Your Grace.’

  ‘Your health is good?’

  ‘Yes, and yours?’

  ‘I can’t complain. Sit down, sit down. But listen, I don’t have long, I’m afraid. I have Cardinal Squires calling me at some point this afternoon and I need to get my thoughts in order before I speak to him. That man can sniff out uncertainty like a basset hound on the trail of a fox.’

  I sat in the same chair that I had occupied at our last encounter and he eased himself down opposite me. He had grown even more corpulent in the intervening time, a Friar Tuck for the Dublin diocese.

  ‘How are you getting on out there anyway at …’ He thought about it. ‘Where was it that we sent you again?’ I told him and he nodded. ‘Ah yes, of course. Nice little parish. I’d say you’re loving it there, are you?’

  ‘Well,’ I said, laughing a little, ‘as parishes go, I suppose it’s as good as any. Loving it might be over-stating the case a little though. To be honest, I wondered how much longer I might have to stay there.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘You remember, Your Grace, that you said it was just to cover for a while when Tom Cardle was away. But that was more than a year ago now. I haven’t been able to get hold of him either. He’s often gone missing in action, so to speak, over the years, but ever since I moved out to his parish it’s as if he’s vanished off the face of the earth. Have you spoken to him yourself?’

  Archbishop Cordington’s face bore no expression. ‘Father Cardle is grand,’ he said. ‘You don’t need to worry about him. We have him somewhere nice.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You heard me.’

  ‘Where do you have him?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, it does. Is he away on the missions?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well he’s not at any of the Irish parishes because I’d have heard of it if he was. I’m worried about him, Your Grace. You know we go back a long way, don’t you? All the way to our seminary days?’

  ‘I know all about your past friendship, thank you, Father Yates,’ he said. ‘I don’t need reminding.’

  It seemed as if I had said or done something to displease
him, but I couldn’t think what. Was it so unusual for a man to ask after his friend when he hadn’t heard from him in over a year?

  ‘I only ask,’ I said, trying my best to sound reasonable, ‘because if he’s coming back soon then perhaps I could return to Terenure in September, for the start of the new academic year. I’d like to, if it was at all possible. I think I—’

  ‘Odran, that’s not going to be possible,’ he said, bringing his left hand down firmly on the arm of his chair in a depressingly definitive gesture.

  ‘It’s not?’

  ‘No.’

  I hesitated. ‘Do you mind if I ask why not?’

  ‘I don’t mind in the slightest,’ he said, smiling but saying nothing further.

  ‘Your Grace,’ I began, but he held up a hand to silence me.

  ‘Odran, we need you where we have you. Father Cardle will not be going back to parish work anytime soon.’

  ‘Ah now,’ I said, ‘do you not think that’s a little unfair? The poor man has been moved around from Billy to Jack since his ordination. If he’s spent more than two or three years in any one parish, I’d be surprised. Would it not be better for him, for his parishioners, if he was allowed to put down roots?’

  ‘He’ll be putting down roots at Mountjoy prison if the Gardaí have their way,’ he replied.

  I felt my stomach lunge. So here it was at last. The moment that I had always imagined might come one day but in my silence and complicity had hidden at the very back of my mind. ‘The Gardaí?’ I asked quietly. ‘Do you mean that the Gardaí have an interest in Tom?’

  He stared at me and raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you going to pretend that that’s a surprise to you?’

  I looked away. I could not meet his eye. Had there been a mirror in front of me, I would not have been able to meet my own.

  ‘Look, Odran,’ he said, sitting forward now. ‘They’re all out to get us, you know that, don’t you? You read the papers. There’s a witch-hunt going on out there and it’s only just begun. It’ll get worse over the next couple of years if Cardinal Squires and the Vatican don’t get a hold on things, not better. We need John Charles McQuaid back in this city, I tell you that. He’d put manners on these pups.’

  ‘What is Tom accused of?’ I asked, ignoring this.

  ‘What do you think he’s accused of?’ said the Archbishop, looking around, his face growing scarlet with indignation. ‘And those journalists and the television presenters, the media as a whole, they want to tear us down. Bloody Pat Kenny, bloody Vincent Browne, bloody Fintan O’Toole, the whole shower. It’s like that old joke that when a man marries his mistress, he creates a vacancy. If the media can get rid of our voices, then they can take our place. It’s a power grab by RTÉ, nothing more. And by the politicians too, of course. They’ve cosied up to us for years and we stood by them when they were getting their jollies, sitting in parked cars in the Phoenix Park with their trousers around their ankles while the rent-boys sucked them off, but now they see the way the tide is turning and they’re running scared.’

  ‘Your Grace,’ I said, but he was in full mettle now, practically hanging off the chair and spitting at me as he spoke.

  ‘It started with herself in the Áras,’ he said. ‘You know that, don’t you? Mary Robinson. It was with her that the rot set in. We have Charlie Haughey to thank for her. If he had stood by Brian Lenihan then he might have got in, but no, he looked after number one as usual. He should have put his foot down, not let her anywhere near the place. Her with her women’s rights and her abortion rights and her divorce rights. She had a loud mouth on her, that bloody West Brit bitch, and if you ask me her husband should have found a way to silence her a long time before. Mná na hÉireann indeed. I’ll give you bloody Mná na hÉireann’.

  ‘Your Grace,’ I said, raising my voice in a way I never had to him before. I didn’t want to hear about Mary Robinson. I didn’t want to listen to his bile and his hatred and his misogyny. I wanted to hear about Tom Cardle, I wanted to hear about my friend. ‘Stop for a minute, would you, and tell me about Tom.’

  ‘It’s a lot of rubbish,’ he said, sitting back and throwing his hands in the air. ‘Some little lad saying things, making up stories. Wants to get his face in the papers, that’s all.’

  ‘What’s he been accused of?’

  ‘I don’t need to spell it out for you, Odran, do I? For God’s sake, you’re an intelligent man.’

  ‘He’s been accused of interfering with a boy, is it?’

  The Archbishop offered a bitter laugh. ‘That and more,’ he said.

  ‘And what does he say about it?’

  ‘He is, as they say in the films, in a state of denial. He says he did nothing wrong. He says that he would never do anything to hurt a child.’

  ‘And is it just the one boy making a complaint?’

  He shook his head. ‘It’d be a lot easier if it was,’ he said. ‘We’d be able to do something about it if it was just one.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Nineteen.’

  I took a hold of the side of the chair; I was unsteady. I could say nothing for a moment.

  ‘Nineteen who have come forward, you mean?’ I said finally in a quiet voice that I barely recognized.

  He stared at me as if I was the enemy. ‘Now what could you mean by that, Odran?’

  ‘What does Tom say about it all?’ I asked, ignoring his question.

  ‘He says it is a conspiracy against him.’

  ‘And is it?’

  ‘Of course it’s bloody not. Sure don’t I have a file on him as long as my arm. Isn’t that why the poor man has been moved from parish to parish over the last twenty-five years? We moved him in order to keep the little children safe. You can see that, can’t you? That’s our first responsibility. To keep the little children safe.’

  I stared at him, wondering whether he could hear the absurdity of his words. ‘Safe?’ I asked. ‘And in what way were they kept safe exactly?’

  ‘Look, there’s been allegations in the past, Odran,’ he said, calmer now. ‘I’ll admit that. Quite a few of them, in fact. In different parishes. And whenever things got a bit hairy, we acted immediately, we took Tom away from wherever he was situated at the time and far from temptation. Oh, we were ruthless about it, Odran. He never got to stay more than a few weeks after an allegation came to light. A month at the most. The problem is that he gets too close to them. He wants to be their friend.’

  ‘And so you just move him somewhere else?’ I asked. ‘Where he can do it again?’

  ‘Don’t you be looking at me like that, Odran,’ he snapped, leaning forward and pointing a finger at me. ‘Remember your place, do you hear me?’

  ‘And the parents?’ I asked. ‘They were happy with that solution?’

  He sat back and shrugged. ‘They always were in the past,’ he said. ‘Usually the bishop would have a word with them. Once or twice, the cardinal has got involved. I know of one case where a phone call had to be made.’

  ‘A phone call?’ I asked. ‘To the parents, do you mean? From who?’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you need me to tell you?’

  ‘From who?’ I insisted.

  ‘Use your imagination. This thing goes right to the top, Odran. And sometimes when things go all the way to the top, then the man at the top has to intercede.’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ I said, sitting back, a hand to my forehead in astonishment.

  ‘Not him, no. The next rung down.’

  ‘Do you think this is funny, Jim?’

  He sat back and shook his head. ‘I’ve told you to remember your place, Odran, and I meant it.’

  ‘But these parents—’

  ‘These parents have always been happy enough to see Tom moved. But now there’s a couple who won’t do what they’re told. They’ve pressed charges. The Gardaí know they’re on to something. They’ve found other lads who want in on the action. They’re going after us, Odran, can’t you see it? They’re going after all of
us. They’ll tear us all down if they get the chance. And where will the country be then? We have to think about the country, Odran. About Ireland. About the future. About the children.’

  ‘The children,’ I said.

  ‘The thing is that this is going to get a lot worse before it gets any better,’ he said. ‘And poor old Tom Cardle is going to be next in the firing line, I’m afraid. It’s going to break in the papers any day now, so there’s no point me even telling you to keep quiet about it. The DPP got in touch and they feel they have enough to pursue a conviction, so the papers will feel free to write what they like once that gets out and a court date is set, to blacken a good man’s name. That’s what this phone call with the cardinal is all about. We have to figure out a plan. We have to find a way around it all. But in the meantime …’ He stood up and beckoned me to my feet. ‘Come on, up. In the meantime, we have to protect the status quo. All right, Odran? And that means you staying exactly where you are, it means leaving whoever’s looking after the lads in Terenure exactly where he is, and it means doing everything we can to get Tom Cardle through this situation and out the other side without a stain on his character.’

  I couldn’t help myself. I laughed. ‘But how would that even be possible?’ I asked.

  ‘It will be possible because the archdiocese will spend whatever it needs to spend in order to defend him. We will not allow the Church to be brought down by some attention-seeking child. It simply will not be allowed to happen.’

  ‘But Your Grace?’ I asked, feeling a light-headed sensation come over me as I made my way to the door and turned back to look at him. ‘Did he do it?’

  The Archbishop frowned, as if he didn’t understand exactly what I meant. ‘Did who do what?’ he asked.

  ‘Tom,’ I said. ‘Is he guilty?’

  He spread his arms wide and smiled at me. ‘Which of us, Father Yates, are without a stain on our soul? Let he who is without sin cast the first stone, do you remember that? You remember what you were taught in the seminary? We are all playthings for the Devil. But we must fight to keep our wicked impulses at bay. And we will fight, do you hear me? We will fight and we will win. We’ll bring these pups to heel if it takes every penny that we have. And Tom Cardle will have his name cleared and he’ll go back to his parish, or perhaps a different one, and then Odran, do you know what will happen to you?’