KENNY - Prologue. Prologue

With a soft hiss the priest opened the sliding screen door in the confessional booth. He intoned . . .

‘In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.’

‘Bless me father, for I have sinned. It's been two weeks since my last conf. (choke). .confession, and, and . . . father, I need help. (Pause) I can’t control myself. At least, I don’t think I can. I try, but every time I look at them, they . . . they’re so beautiful. I just want to touch . . . to hold. But then (sounding anguished) I get overwhelmed with lust, and . . . and . . . father, I just can’t help myself.’

There was a silence interrupted by the sound of soft sobbing. The priest waited until the penitent had composed himself.

‘My son, why don’t you just tell me what’s troubling you; out with it. It’s better to be candid for only then I can help you, and getting your problems out is the best way to deal with them. It also takes a large burden off your soul. But as a practicing Catholic you know that don’t you?’ Remember, Jesus forgives all our sins if we have the courage to admit to them.’

‘Yes father, I do but I’m ashamed and, and . . . frightened. It’s getting worse – I’m afraid that I’ll do something bad - really bad.’

‘Just tell me; unburden your conscience. Take your time . . . when you’re ready. Sometimes when we bottle up our problems they become more serious than they really are.’

Silence; then,

‘I’m a year 9 & 10 teacher at a boy’s college and I’ve become infatuated with the boys at the school, (pause) particularly the aborigine boys. They’re so beautiful, so carefree, so open, and so warm. Their eyes . . . their dark brown eyes are so . . . appealing. At (talking quickly) night I become aroused just thinking about them. My loving turns to lusting, so much so that I can’t control my urges.’ But there’s one . . . ‘

‘Did you say you’re a teacher, a teacher of 14 year old boys, and you want to molest them?’

‘Yes father, yes I do; but I don’t really molest them because I give them money for their services. There’s one boy who’s special; he’s not a full blood aborigine, and he’s so beautiful. I carry his image with me all my waking moments. I watch his every movement in class, on the playground and on the sports field. He’s driving me crazy. In my mind I imagine him naked, lying on his stomach with his gorgeous buttocks open and inviting . . .’

‘Stop . . . stop there! I don’t want to listen to your details; just your confession. (Pause) Try and accept Jesus into your heart and ask for forgiveness. You and these boys are all in danger. I can give you absolution if you truly repent your sins. Tell me, do you believe you’ll take action on your perversion? Do you think you’ll harm any of these boys and succumb to your lust?’

‘I don’t . . . (sob) know father. I don’t want to . . . but I think I’m losing control. Please . . . please help me.’

‘My son, all I can do is help you mend your soul, and hopefully rid yourself of these impure and obscene thoughts. God will not forgive you if you act on your unhealthy desires. Do you understand?’

There was silence in the confessional before the priest continued,

‘We can say an act of contrition together, but as a teacher, you know you’re betraying your duty of care, as well as perusing acts that are illegal under the law. I can’t help you there. You must seek professional help. I’ll give you absolution only if you promise to undertake counseling. Is that understood?’

‘Thank you father, yes, yes I do.’

‘Good! For your penance, say ten our fathers and ten hail Marys. Now, then let’s say the Act of Contrition together’

‘Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all of my sins because . . .’

♂♂

Father O’Brien waited sometime after the penitent had departed before leaving the confessional. It would not do to be face to face, especially on a matter as contentious as pedophilia.

Had he emerged sooner, he might have seen the penitent climb into his car, divest himself of his casual garb, and don regular clerical attire.

But thankfully he did not. As he crossed in front of the alter he genuflected before proceeding to his living quarters. His curate, Father James was preparing a cup of tea.

‘Sit. Sit you down father, the tea’s brewing; won’t take a minute. You look like you need some sustenance – a troubling confessional?’ Father James lilting Irish brogue seemed almost musical to the ears.

‘In many ways yes, in many ways. There are times when being a priest and trying to live with the seal of the confessional is a burden too large to bear; especially for one person.’

There was silence as Father James pushed a now steaming cup of tea towards Father O’Brien. The curate did not want to intrude on a clearly troubled mentor.

‘Yes, I can understand. Often, whilst we let our penitents unburden themselves to us before God all that really happens is that they transfer their problems onto ourselves. To be sure it’s unfair because we end up living with a problem on our conscience.’

‘Exactly (pausing to sip his his steaming hot tea),exactly. Just now I heard something that I should report to the police, but I can’t. Damn! Damn it!’

There was silence as Father James gently stirred his tea and Father O’Brien stared morosely into his teacup.

‘Aarh, have done with it now father. There’s not a thing you can do. Let it be. It’s a good man you are father; don’t distress yerself so.’

‘Easy to say, oh so easy to say. I only wish I could. I have a feeling . . . a bad feeling that this will come back to me soon in a way that will affect not only you and I, but the whole community.’