Confessions
Confessions
The church walls were built from a yellow sandstone, that had been eroded with age. On the roof was a steeple where the original darker wood had been replaced by lighter modern, factory-made materials. Scaffolding clung to the left side of the building, where the walls joined the roof. The sun reflected off the plain glass window on the right-hand side, burning across the dying grass of summertime and a pair of mossed over gravestones.
Father Sean Teger carefully unlocked the side door, sliding it open just a fraction. He entered, ducking under the dome-shaped entrance. The air inside the church smelt moldy and he made his way to the reading area, moved pamphlets for play groups and addiction support groups out of the way to one side, before leaning forward on tiptoes to open the window above.
Entering the adjacent kitchen, he boiled the kettle and took two teabags from the cupboard at eye-level. Father Teger put the two teabags into his small Thermos flask and poured in most of the hot water. He looked up on the wall, noticing that the tiles were beginning to chip. He reached up and opened the window above the stove. It required effort, the lock slightly stiff. On the shelf next to the stove was a picture. He looked at himself in the picture and stifled a sigh, that when it was taken he had a lot more hair. Next to him was Bishop Séadna O'Heifearnain, at the time Father O'Heifearnain, with his arm around him. He pondered how young they both looked.
Taking his flask in hand, Father Teger placed his cassock over his plain white shirt and jeans, then entered the confessional.
He sat in stillness for a long time, before looking down at his watch. It was 9:45. Sipping at his tea, he closed his eyes. For a long moment, he enjoyed the silence and continued sipping. He heard the door move scratchily on its hinge. Then a high-pitched cough, before the movement of the curtain by his head. Someone had entered the other side of the confessional.
There was another cough and a slight rustle of fabric as someone sat down. Father Teger opened his eyes and waited.
“Good morning,” Father Teger said, continuing to wait.
Another cough. “Good morning.” The speaker coughed again. “Father.” It was a female voice.
“Would you like to talk?”
Another cough. Another shuffle of fabric. “Yes, father.”
“Proceed when you are ready. I am here to listen.”
A couple of coughs this time. “It has been…” Coughing broke the speaker’s train of thought. “It has been five years since my last confession.”
“I see.” He paused. “Is there anything specific you’d like to talk about today?”
Another cough, but less forceful. “Yes, father.”
“All right. Please, take your time.”
The cough came, but the quietest thus far. “Years ago, I....”
He waited, let the silence work.
“Years ago, I… had a baby.”
He waited, but no further words came. “I see. Perhaps you can say more when you are comfortable.”
A cough, louder this time. “I was… I was very…” More coughing. “I was so… young.”
There was another pause, the shifting of material against material.
“Please continue if you wish. I am here to listen.” Teger waited, the previous sounds briefly accompanied by a further, quieter cough.
“The baby, I couldn’t…”
He waited.
“The baby, I was too…”
He waited.
“The baby, they made me…”
He waited. But this time, no further response came. “Go on if you’d like. I am here as always to listen.”
A small cough was now accompanied by a sharp, involuntary intake of breath. “They made me give away my baby.”
There were further sharp intakes of breath, as the silence sat.
“Thank you for sharing this with me. I can see how difficult it must have been. Have you ever voiced this before?”
The cough now sounded almost distant and was outweighed by the intakes of breath. “Yes.” A pause as she continued to gasp for her words. “Once.”
“Perhaps you could tell me about that, when you are able?”
The coughs had dispelled. The only sound now was short mouthfuls of air. “It was…”
He waited.
“It was f…”
He waited
“It was five years ago…”
He waited, as the inhalations began to become less frequent.
“It was five years ago, here. To Father O'Heifearnain”
He waited, but this time it was him who could not find the words. Teger looked down and saw he was gripping his Thermos flask with both hands, like he was hanging on to stop the word from spinning.
Father Teger went to speak. His mouth was dry. Now, he gave a cough to try and clear his throat. “What was…” He coughed again. “What was his advice?”
“He said I should forget about it. Move on with my life.”
“How…” He coughed. “Did you…” He clutched his flask even tighter. “How was that advice received?”
The silence formed between them, anticipated. Father Teger loosened his grip on the Thermos flask, to put it down. To find there was a mild tremor in both of his hands.
“I didn’t want to…” The breathing returned. “I never could.”
Teger clasped his hands together. “So, my child, you seek absolution for giving up your baby? You will have it. God believes that you did things with the right intentions.”
There was a long pause, broken only by the staccato rhythm of quickening breaths.
“No.” A few sharp intakes of breath, a slight shuffling of material. “I seek forgiveness for listening to them.” The last word stood out amid the softness of the rest of the words.
“Them?” Teger enquired.
“My mother…” The breathing became more erratic still. “And Father O'Heifearnain.”
*
Father Teger boiled the kettle, taking out two tea bags from the cupboard and placed them in his Thermos. His eyes glanced over the chipped tiles, then caught sight of the picture of him with Father O'Heifearnain. He moved it slightly to the left, finished making his tea and returned to the confessional.
He sat in contemplation, sipping at his tea. Then he looked down at his watch. 11:47. The repose was broken by a grunting and a shuffle of the curtain. A figure sat down heavily. Teger received the smell of tobacco and sweat. He put his flask down.
“Hello father.” The voice was deep and clear. It was a man.
“Good morning, what’s on your mind?”
“I need to confess, father.”
“Okay, well please begin in your own time.”
“Certainly, father. But it’s a bit of a long story.” A foul smell that appeared suddenly, alongside the tobacco and sweat. Father Teger had known similar happen before and ignored it.
“Well, I work on a farm. I’m a labourer. I mostly do mornings.”
“Please continue when you are ready.”
“I’ve been working there for six or seven year, on and off. Mostly on. Pretty happy too father, you know what I mean?”
“Sure, just take your time.”
“So, anyway about eighteen month ago, no twenty, no two year. Aye, two year. The farmer’s daughter shows up, out of the blue like.”
The father took a sip of tea, while processing what he heard so far. “Please, do go on.”
“Well, she was absolutely fuckin… Sorry mate, sorry father. She was proper gorgeous, like.”
“Do not worry about the language. Continue your story.”
“Got talking with her, she’d split up with her boyfriend. Before long, you know, I’m giving her the message.”
“I see.” Teger again sipped his tea.
“The sex were… It were… She were amazing. I was happy.”
“So, you were happy? What was the issue?”
“I were right happy. You know, proper happy.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“But her mother found out. Must have heard us one day like.”
“Her mother lived on the same farm?”
“Aye, aye.”
“I see. This proved problematic?”
“You what, father?”
“It was difficult?”
“Aye, you could say that aye.”
“Please continue if you’d like to. I am here to listen.”
“The mother found me on my one in their kitchen. She called us all kinds of names, you know?”
“Just take your time, my son.”
“I thought she hated us, like. Wanted us gone.”
Father Teger put his flask down, leaned in towards the curtain. “Just take your time. I am here for you.”
The same foul smell resurfaced, only more acute this time.
“It happened so fast. One minute we was arguing, the next her hands was all over us.”
The odour worsened, as Teger waited. “What happened? Just take a moment if you need it.”
A purge of air shook the curtain. “Before I knew it, I was giving her the message too.”
There was a lengthy reticence. Father Teger closed his eyes for a moment, clasped his hands together. “You have finished what you wanted to share?”
“No, father. There’s more mate, father. I just, it’s hard. You know?”
“Of course, please take as long as you need.”
“So, for a minute, I was giving them both the message one day or another. But I weren’t happy, you know? I know the shit would hit the fan, you know what I mean?”
“So, you knew that this was unsustainable?”
“What?”
“You knew it could not continue?”
“Aye, aye.”
“What did you do then, my son?”
“I came here, like. For advice.”
Father Teger clasped his hands together, tighter. “Here? To this church?”
“Aye, aye.”
“I do not recall our conversation, my son. I feel I would have remembered.”
“You didn’t speak to us, father. I reckon it were before your time.”
“You spoke to my predecessor?
“What?”
“You spoke to Father O'Heifearnain?”
“Aye.”
Teger clasped his hands even tighter. “What did he say to you?”
“He told us to come clean, to make our peace with god, like.”
“How did you feel about that?”
“I didn’t really think it’d go well, like.”
An intake of breath. Father Teger realised it was him. “So, what happened?”
“I didn’t tell her about me and her mother at first, you know? Then I went back to see him again. The following week, no, the week after.”
“For further counsel?”
“No, I’m not interested in politics, mate, er father.”
“Sorry, for further advice?”
“Yeah.”
Teger shifted in place, smoothed the front of his cassock. Closed his eyes and forced himself to unclasp his hands. He looked down and saw that he had dug the nails into each of his hands.
“And what advice did you receive, my son?”
“He got angry with us,” There was a sharp intake of air, this time from the man. “Told us I must tell the truth or god would judge us, like.”
Teger picked up his flask and held it with both hands. “Did you agree with his advice?”
There was a further sharp breath from the man. “No mate, father. But I didn’t feel… I couldn’t disagree with a priest, like.”
Teger tightly held the flask in front of him, before realising he had closed his eyes again. “Do you wish to tell me what happened next?” He let the quiet linger for a long moment. And was honest with himself that he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“I had a few drinks, like. Cos I just couldn’t face it. Then wended my way to the farm.”
The flask had been put down. Teger had refastened his hands together. Opening his eyes, he continued. “Did you tell your lover the truth, my son?”
The foul smell returned, even more pronounced this time. It was accompanied by several sharp gasps. “Yeah.”
Teger dug his hands into each other. Even together, they quivered. He lifted his hands and pushed his knuckles briefly into his forehead. “And what happened, my son? Please go on if you want to.”
The smell only worsened, as the gasps became more frequent. “She’s…”
“Yes my son?”
“She’s gone.”
Continuing to push his knuckles into his forehead, Teger fortified himself to resume. “Gone?”
The gasps of air had only become more recurrent. “Gone.”
“You seek forgiveness for the act of cheating upon your lover? You are absolved.”
The breathy gulps of air slowed just for a moment. “No.” The smell returned. “I seek forgiveness for listening to that bastard.”
*
Teger took out two teabags and placed them in his flask as the kettle boiled. He looked up at the photo next to the kettle once more. He edged it further towards the left. As he did so, he saw that there were a couple of small cuts on the knuckles of each hand. Before pouring the hot water into his flask, he ran the tap and washed the blood away. The water was cold.
He sat in the confessional, gripped his flask and carefully looked down at his watch. It was 12:51. His left hand still shivered as he read the time.
The hinge moved coarsely on the confessional door as someone entered. “Good morning, my name is Gabby Lange. I’m here to…”
“It is not necessary to share your name, my child.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” Gabby said. “I know that might be your procedure, but I like people knowing my name when they’re talking to me. It’s more personal father, wouldn’t you say?”
“If that makes you feel more comfortable, my child.”
“It does, it does. Thank you for your understanding, father.”
“Of course, of course.” Teger coughed. “Do you have something you’d like to confess?”
“Well, this is confession, is it not?” Her tone was friendly, rather than confrontational. He felt he heard a smile.
“That’s right. Please begin whenever you are comfortable, my child.”
“Gabby.”
“Right, right.”
“Well, I am deeply worried about my brother. You see, he’s been becoming more and more depressed for a long time now.”
“What is the source of this depression?”
“Well, he used to be such a happy child. You know, pranks, running around, making jokes, that sort of thing.”
“Please go on.”
“Then it seems to have started ever since he was twelve or thirteen.”
Teger sipped at his tea. “You think the start of adolescence might have had something to do with it?”
Gabby’s answer was gentle but emphatic. “No. He’s in his twenties now and it’s continued to worsen.”
“Oh, I see. So do you have any idea what might have started the issues?”
She nodded as she spoke. “Yes, he joined a football team at that age. He was quite a promising player. Over the year or so after that happened, it started and then just gradually spiraled.”
Teger supped at his tea again, before placing the flask on the floor. “Do you know any more about the football team?”
“It was based at and sponsored by a church.”
There was a long moment of muteness. “How did your brother spiral after that time?”
“At first, just moodiness coming home late. Then drinking. Then drugs. But Harry was just using them to cope, you know? He’s not a bad person.”
“What do you think he was trying to cope with?”
“I’m not sure. But something must have happened. With that football team.”
There was an unbroken silence as Gabby waited for the father’s response. But he was concentrating, hard. Concentrating on controlling the trembles in his hands.
“Your surname… it’s Lange?”
“Yes, father.”
He had clasped his hands together once more, in a futile attempt to control them. “And his first name is Harry?”
“Yes, father.”
Teger dug his nails deeply into each fist in an effort to stop his hands from shaking, then ran the hard bones of his knuckles across his forehead. He accidentally kicked over his flask and the clang echoed through the confessional. He repeated the gesture with his knuckles and the dull ache refocused him enough to speak. “I remember him.”
“Yes, father.”
He forced his joints still further into his forehead. “It was this church where he joined the football team?”
“That’s right father. What do you remember about him?”
“I… wasn’t the one who ran the football team, at the time.”
“Yes father, but what do you remember?”
“He was the best player on the team.”
“Is that all?”
“And Father O'Heifearnain…”
“Yes father?”
He was now pressing his shaking hands so hard into his head, they were leaving an indentation. “Father O'Heifearnain said he was…”
“Yes father.”
“Special. He said he was special.”
“Are you aware of the parable of the Good Samaritan father?”
There were large gasps of air followed by a long pause. “Yes. Yes. My child.”
“What does the priest do in that story?”
More gasps of air now, as Teger covered his face with his hands. “A priest sees a man stripped and beaten…”
“Yes father.”
Gasps. Teger realised his hands were soaking wet. “… he chooses to..”
“Chooses to what father?”
“To pass by…”
“Pass by where?”
“On the other side of the road.”
“Yes father. He saw what was happening and did nothing.”
Teger now had his head in his hands, palms covering his eyes. “I listened to him… I trusted him…”
Gabby, in a clear, kindly voice, said, “And what did the Samaritan do?”
From behind his hands, Teger said in a low voice, “He…acted. He helped.”
“Yes, father. So, the question is, are you still the priest or are you the Samaritan?”
*
Teger washed the salt and blood from his hands. They were still shaking. He put his flask down, turning his head to look at the photo next to him. His eyes went from one man to the other, then back. With an unsteady left hand, he held the photograph for a second more and then turned it face down. Teger walked over to the far wall of the kitchen and picked up the old rotary phone. He dialled two nines with his right forefinger, then hesitated. Crossing himself with his left hand, Teger dialled the final nine. “Police, please.”
