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<TD ALIGN="LEFT"><B><FONT FACE="Georgia">Behold the Man</FONT></B></TD>
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<TD ALIGN="RIGHT"><B><FONT FACE="Georgia"><A HREF="bios_a2l.shtml#Conroy" TITLE="click for author info">R.M. Conroy </A></FONT></B></TD>
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<TD><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">We should begin with the place.<BR>
<BR>
Protestant Row is a small, grimy lane off Wexford Street, between
Clarke's pub and the butcher's. It hardly needs a name; the couple
of small houses at the end are boarded up and the rest of the
lane is really just the sides of the pub and the building opposite.
There are two black doors in the side of this building. One of
them says, rather mysteriously, The French Pleating Company. It
has an intercom, though I have never seen anyone coming or going.
The other black door was always slightly ajar, and from time to
time you would see men swerve off Wexford street, walk swiftly
up to that door and step inside. For years, right over a family
butcher's shop was a small brothel.<BR>
<BR>
It was a winter afternoon that set in unusually early. By three,
the cars were switching on their headlamps. A fine rain was falling.
A priest with a large black umbrella, walking slowly, walked up
Wexford Street from the direction of town, turned left into Protestant
Row and walked swiftly through that doorway into a small hall.
He took down his umbrella, shaking it two or three times, and
pressed the buzzer on the intercom.<BR>
<BR>
"Hello?" said a woman's voice.<BR>
<BR>
"Are you busy?" he asked.<BR>
<BR>
"Come in," the voice replied, and there was a buzzing sound. He
pushed the door. In front of it was a flight of stairs covered
in dingy carpet.<BR>
<BR>
He called upstairs, "Anyone home?"<BR>
<BR>
A face appeared over the banisters and smiled; "There you are.
Come on up–we thought you weren't coming."<BR>
<BR>
"It took hours to get the accounts done, Jenny, and I'm worn out
with them."<BR>
<BR>
At the top of the stairs there is a small room with a low fire
lit in the fireplace. There is a strong smell of cigarette smoke.
There is a second woman in there, sitting in a dressing gown,
smoking and drinking a mug of coffee.<BR>
<BR>
"How are you Christine?" said the priest.<BR>
<BR>
"I'm well enough," said Christine. "Come in and warm yourself
a bit."<BR>
<BR>
"I don't mind if I do," said the priest. Jenny had come in behind
him and closed the door. She retrieved a cigarette from the ashtray
and picked up the end of a mug of tea or coffee.<BR>
<BR>
"Still raining out, is it?" she asked.<BR>
<BR>
“Miserable old afternoon altogether,” he said, shivering. “God,
that’s a fine fire you have going.”<BR>
<BR>
“We were so bloody cold we actually went out and bought more coal,”
said Christine. “The amount they leave us for a whole day is pitiful.”<BR>
<BR>
“I put a light to the fire inside for you though,” said Jenny.<BR>
<BR>
“You say that to all the boys I bet,” said the priest, warming
his hands by the fire.<BR>
<BR>
“Few enough boys today, I’ll tell you,” said Christine. “Hardly
worth your while coming in on a day like this.”<BR>
<BR>
“Slow day?”<BR>
<BR>
Jenny threw her cigarette into the fireplace. “Two fellows earlier–just
before lunch–and then nothing.”<BR>
<BR>
“They’re often in on a Friday,” Christine said. “They come together
and we both do them.”<BR>
<BR>
“I sometimes think they’re queer,” said Jenny suddenly. “They
get more excited looking at each other’s cocks than they do from
us.”<BR>
<BR>
“It keeps them happy, doesn’t it?” said Christine.<BR>
<BR>
“That’s the important thing,” said the priest.<BR>
<BR>
Jenny finished whatever was in her mug. “Will you go on in?” she
asled.<BR>
<BR>
“I’ll do that,” said the priest.<BR>
<BR>
The room next door was dimly lit, with the brown curtains drawn.
There was a massage couch covered with a towel, and a small table
with talc and Dunne’s Stores baby oil as well as several boxes
of tissues.<BR>
<BR>
“Are you having a shower first?” Jenny asked.<BR>
<BR>
“I will,” said the priest, because I’m all dusty.”<BR>
<BR>
“Well, you know where it is–give me a call when you’re ready.”
She went back out, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll drop you down
a fresh towel.” <BR>
<BR>
<BR>
When she was gone, the priest undressed slowly and carefully,
putting his clothes on the back of a solitary dining room chair.
He put his socks inside his shoes, and then stood up. He caught
sight of himself in the large mirror that ran along the wall beside
the massage couch. He stopped and looked at himself–his pale body
covered in fine black hairs, graying at the chest now. His belly
and neck had thickened over the years. He rubbed his crotch, looking
in the mirror at the also graying pubic hair, the dark purplish
colour of his scrotum, his cock lolling against one thigh as he
rubbed. He sighed, and smiled slightly, and walked out the door
and across the corridor into the shower. Jenny had put a fresh
towel over the coat hook on the back of the door and turned the
water on to warm up. The priest stepped into the shower and felt
the hot water cascade over his shoulders, running down his belly.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, letting the water
course over his face, and let out a long sigh.<BR>
<BR>
A voice–Christine’s–came from across the corridor. “Aren’t you
going to give us a song then?”<BR>
<BR>
The priest smiled. “All right,” he said.<BR>
<BR>
He was going to try to think of something to sing, but instead
the tune of St. Louis Blues came to him and he started singing
immediately:<BR>
<BR>
"Oh I hate to see, to see the evening sun go down, <BR>
Yes I hate to see, to see that old evening sun go down, <BR>
Because my baby, she done left this here town. <BR>
<BR>
And if I’m feeling tomorrow anyway like I feel today, <BR>
Oh and if I’m feeling tomorrow anyway like I feel to day, <BR>
I’m going to pack my things and make my getaway, <BR>
And make my getaway...” <BR>
<BR>
The words came back to him, though he hadn’t sung the song for
years. He washed his body in the flowing water and sang, hearing
in his head a wonderful recording of Duke Ellington that his father
used to play, years ago, when he was a child.<BR>
<BR>
“You’ve a grand voice, did anyone ever tell you?” Jenny called
across the hall.<BR>
<BR>
“In my younger day, maybe,” he called back.<BR>
<BR>
“You’re not doing too bad all the same,” she said. Christine said
something that he didn’t hear, and they both laughed.<BR>
<BR>
Back in the front room, he toweled himself slowly and sat up on
the couch. The day was darkening. Through a chink in the curtains
you could see people walking hunched in the drizzle, coming and
going from the fish and vegetable shops opposite.<BR>
<BR>
Jenny came in. She was carrying a whip and a vibrator and a long
leather leash.<BR>
<BR>
“Where in God’s name did you get the vibrator?” he asked.<BR>
<BR>
Jenny laughed. “A friend brought it back from England. I got it
for naughty boys like you.”<BR>
<BR>
“I’ll have to try and be good for once.”<BR>
<BR>
“It’ll do you no good–I know your tricks,” she replied, and they
laughed.<BR>
<BR>
“Up on the table with you,” she said.<BR>
<BR>
The priest swung over on his belly. Jenny slipped off her housecoat.
Under it she had a tight black leather skirt and a black lace
bra. He smiled, looking at her sideways. She grinned, and then
slapped him hard on the bottom.<BR>
<BR>
“See what I mean–sneaking looks at your mistress like that.”<BR>
<BR>
He put his head forward onto his folded arms. He heard the sounds
of Jenny pouring a little baby oil from the bottle onto her palms.
She rubbed them together.<BR>
<BR>
“This oil is cold–and anyway I should have put more coal on the
fire before I wet my hands.”<BR>
<BR>
“I’ll look after that,” the priest said, and swung his legs off
the couch. There was a bucket of coal beside the fire. He shook
the coal carefully, banking the fire high. He stood before it
for a moment, watching the flames lick between the black coals.<BR>
<BR>
“We won’t freeze at any rate,” he said, as he climbed back up
on the table.<BR>
<BR>
Jenny slowly and gently rubbed the oil into the priest’s ample
back. “We thought you weren’t coming,” she said.<BR>
<BR>
“You know me–I may not be as young as I used to be, but I come
in the end.”<BR>
<BR>
She slapped him, smiling. “Oh trust you.”<BR>
<BR>
“All the week I work away,” he said, “and I look forward to a
little relaxation at the end of it. I’ve a hard teaching schedule
this year–I was telling you we lost one of the other English teachers
in October, very unexpectedly, and we still haven’t anyone to
replace him. That means that myself and the other teacher are
really doing one-and-a-half jobs. “It’s tiring really.”<BR>
<BR>
“Well here you are anyway,” said Jenny.<BR>
<BR>
“It’s true. Anytime I feel that I’m going to lift a chair and
brain some of those louts, I think to myself, ‘ah, but it will
be Friday in a few days and I’ll be going to pay the girls a visit.’”<BR>
<BR>
“It does you good, doesn’t it? I always say there’s no harm in
that. Aren’t we as God made us?”<BR>
<BR>
The priest sighed.<BR>
<BR>
“What?” said Jenny.<BR>
<BR>
“Just that teacher that went–well, in fact, we really sacked him.”<BR>
<BR>
“What about him?”<BR>
<BR>
“Well, the problem with him was,” he said, shaking his head slowly,
“he was interfering with a couple of the boys. Took games, coached
the swimming team, worked really hard at it. We thought we were
lucky to have him–school was never great on swimming, but this
fellow was a former Leinster champion. Took over the swimming,
and in a couple of years had a first class squad. Spent hours
of his own time after school and at weekends and everything.”<BR>
<BR>
“And what was he at?”<BR>
<BR>
“Ah, he was taking them for coaching sessions early in the morning
or late at night, and touching them up in the dressing room. And
worse. We have two sets of parents taking us to court.”<BR>
<BR>
“And the teacher?”<BR>
<BR>
“Bastard’s done a bunk to Scotland. By Christ, if I had known
the half of it at the time, it isn’t to Scotland that bastard
would have gone but to gaol.”<BR>
<BR>
“By Jesus,” Jenny said slowly, “if someone ever laid a finger
on any of my children, I’d kill them. I really would. Anybody
that can do that to a child–they don’t deserve to live. It makes
me, I don’t know, I just think I’d kill the man that laid a finger
on any of my children.” She poured more oil on her hands and rubbed
his thighs slowly, her lips pursed.<BR>
<BR>
The priest laughed suddenly. “You came near enough with your daughter’s
boyfriend,” he said.<BR>
<BR>
“Was I telling you about that? I tell you it was such a laugh–I
just got fed up of looking at his stupid face hanging around the
place the whole time. I didn’t really mean to hit him–well, I
did really, but I didn’t think he would just fall over like that.”<BR>
<BR>
“And has he been back since?”<BR>
<BR>
“Not a bit of him. I don’t even think they’ve met since. Good
bloody riddance to him. Never had a bloody penny and expecting
to be paid for everywhere.”<BR>
<BR>
The priest laughed again. “I’d still love to have seen that–you
taking a swipe at the boyfriend.”<BR>
<BR>
“He wouldn’t have been the first,” said Jenny, laughing.<BR>
<BR>
She was massaging his back slowly, rubbing gently down to his
buttocks. His flesh was white and curdled, and blue veins stood
out on his legs. Her hands slowly palmed the cleft of his buttocks,
following the curve around the inside of his thigh, brushing his
scrotum. The priest’s cock began to stir, and he lifted his hips
a little to let his erection burrow under his belly. As he did
so, Jenny’s fingers curved around the root of his cock, and a
little sound escaped from him.<BR>
<BR>
“Ah,” she said. “There you are now.”<BR>
<BR>
“God,” he said. “That’s good. It’s been such a long week.”<BR>
<BR>
“You’re looking tired all right. When are you getting a holiday?”<BR>
<BR>
“With a bit of luck I’ll get a few days in Manchester with my
sister before Christmas,” he said. “We break up in another three
weeks, and I keep meaning to go into town and book my ticket.”<BR>
<BR>
“You would want to be quick,” said Jenny. “Everyone’s going away
this year.” She reached over for the oil and held it over his
bottom, pouring a thin stream into the cleft. With one finger
she traced the line of jet black hair that ran into the cleft,
following it around. His balls tightened, and she wriggled her
finger under them.<BR>
<BR>
“Getting all comfortable, are we now?” she said in a teasing voice.
Abruptly she brought the palm of her hand down on his bottom.
The slap made a sharp crack in the quiet room. Her hand was oily,
and his flesh quivered.<BR>
<BR>
“Just when I was getting comfortable…”<BR>
<BR>
“I’ll give you comfortable,” she said. “Get down off that table
at once. Down on your knees.”<BR>
<BR>
The priest rolled off the table and knelt on the floor in front
of her.<BR>
<BR>
“That’s better,” she said. “Get me that whip.”<BR>
<BR>
“Yes,” he said, and began to make his way towards the little table.<BR>
<BR>
“Yes what?” Jenny said in a stern voice.<BR>
<BR>
“Yes, mistress,” he said, and picked up the whip bringing it to
her. He knelt there in front of her, one burning mark on the cheek
of his bottom reddening into a weal. She took the whip.<BR>
<BR>
“Now lick your mistress’s shoes,” she said in a quiet voice.<BR>
<BR>
The priest bent over, his face drawing near to her shiny black
patent shoes. His lips brushed gently over the leather. She leaned
back against the couch and exhaled softly. She lifted one leg
and rested the stiletto heel on the priest’s shoulder.<BR>
<BR>
“Lick,” she repeated, and her heel pressed into his white flesh,
digging in to the shoulder.<BR>
<BR>
His tongue started at the tip of the toe, licking slowly in little
sweeps around the side and along in instep. He had to tilt his
head to one side to lick the instep, and she watched his face,
red from bending, and his purplish tongue as it licked. His eyes
were half closed. <BR>
<BR>
<BR>
She flexed her toes and the shoe fell to the floor. She held out
her foot. The priest took the foot in his hands, cradling it before
him. Then he bent over it and kissed it, pressing his lips softly
to the nylon of her stocking.<BR>
<BR>
The first crack of the whip was so unexpected that he wobbled,
making a grunting sound. Jenny’s eyes were closed. The whip had
cut deep into his back, leaving a slash from his shoulder to his
buttock. Slowly, her eyes still half closed, she trailed the whip
across his shoulder and dangled it over her foot. She held it
in front of his lips. He kissed it, his lips looking deep purple
against the black of the leather.<BR>
<BR>
“Now crawl for me,” she said quietly.<BR>
<BR>
The priest bent forward on his hands and knees and began to crawl.
Jenny slipped her shoe back on and walked silently behind him.
She looked at this man, crawling along the grubby carpet, the
flesh of his thighs and belly wobbling as he rocked from side
to side. She slowly raised her whip arm high above him, brought
down the thongs in a long, wide arc, cutting deep into his bottom.
The thongs curled, bit deep into the cleft, clawed at his scrotum.
He whimpered.<BR>
<BR>
“And again.”<BR>
<BR>
“Yes mistress,” he said in a choked voice.<BR>
<BR>
She did not do it for a moment. She watched as the first cuts
began to swell. She pushed her heel into the small of his back.<BR>
<BR>
“On your belly,” she said.<BR>
<BR>
He lay on his belly, waiting.<BR>
<BR>
“Put up your arse for the whip.”<BR>
<BR>
He pushed up with his hips, thrusting his bottom upwards. It
looked, felt so vulnerable.<BR>
<BR>
“Up,” she whispered, “right up.”<BR>
<BR>
He stayed like that for a long time.<BR>
<BR>
“How many?” she asked.<BR>
<BR>
He said nothing.<BR>
<BR>
“You’re afraid of the answer, aren’t you,” she said quietly. “You
think you couldn’t bear it. What is the number you couldn’t bear?
It’s not six, it’s not ten…”<BR>
<BR>
The priest closed his eyes. “It’s twenty,” he said, so quietly
that she hardly heard. She said nothing for a while.<BR>
<BR>
“I knew.” she said.<BR>
<BR>
He cried out at the first one. After waiting for so long, the
shock of the thongs cutting into his flesh was so sudden. Jenny
waited, waiting for the pain that would slowly pour from the cut,
crawling up his spine, filling his belly. The second cut dug into
him as the pain reached a peak. The thongs curled under, slashing
into his scrotum, reaching the root of his cock. Pain washed up
his neck into his jaw. He pulled away.<BR>
<BR>
“No,” she said softly. “You must reach up, push your arse up,
give it to me, give it to me to be whipped.”<BR>
<BR>
“You are being whipped,” she said slowly. “Again, and again, and
again, and each time you must give it to me for the whip. Now.
Up. Push it up.”<BR>
<BR>
The priest slowly pushed up his hips.<BR>
<BR>
“That’s it now,” she said gently, “there you are.” And the whip
swooped down, blinding as it dug deep into him. She trailed the
thongs over his flayed skin as she lifted it, pausing then, her
arm high in the air, high above him, before slashing across his
naked body, again and again. He trembled each time the whip bit
into him. He drew back, and she waited, simply waiting, time after
time, until he pushed his hips up, offered himself again.<BR>
<BR>
At twenty she suddenly said, “Get your collar.” He started to
rise, and then fell back to his knees, crawling across the floor.
She watched him lift the collar and leash from the little table
and bring them to her. She slipped the collar around his neck
and jerked it tight.<BR>
<BR>
“We’ll go for a little walk now,” she said. He crawled beside
her as she walked slowly across the room in her high heels. She
led him through the door and across the corridor into the other
room. Christine looked up from her magazine. She had lit another
cigarette.<BR>
<BR>
“What have we here?” she asked.<BR>
<BR>
“My dog,” said Jenny.<BR>
<BR>
“Look at the dirty little cock on him,” Christine said. The priest’s
erection stuck out under his belly, swollen and purple.<BR>
<BR>
“Lick Mistress Christine’s shoes,” Jenny said.<BR>
<BR>
The priest bent low over Christine’s high heels. The smell of
her tights filled his nostrils. His lips touched the patent leather.
He ran his tongue slowly around the toe, tasting the bitterness
of her shoe. His lips searched upwards, running up from her instep,
inside her leg. Her dressing gown fell open. She was naked underneath.<BR>
<BR>
“Kiss my pussy,” she said, and took another drag on her cigarette.<BR>
<BR>
The priest’s face was purple as his lips slowly moved nearer to
her pussy. Her lips were small and pale, like a young girl’s.
He breathed in the musky smell and the tang of urine. The thong
caught him unawares, slashing across the back of his legs.<BR>
<BR>
“Kiss that pussy,” said Jenny.<BR>
<BR>
He buried his face in her pussy. From behind, Jenny’s hand grasped
his scrotum. She began to squeeze, gently at first, but then harder
and harder. His breathing became ragged, and his mouth twitched.<BR>
<BR>
“Suck it, you filthy bastard,” Christine said. “Or your mistress
will rip your fucking balls off and stuff them in your filthy
mouth.” Jenny twisted him slowly in her hand. He whimpered. She
twisted him more. He shuddered.<BR>
<BR>
“Suck it,” Christine screamed at him. Jenny wrenched at his balls,
and he cried out with a high-pitched whimper.<BR>
<BR>
“Jesus. Are you all right?” Jenny asked, dropping down on her
knees beside him. The priest’s face was contorted with pain.<BR>
<BR>
“What did you do to him?” asked Christine, pulling her housecoat
around her again.<BR>
<BR>
The priest’s breathing slowed and he opened his eyes again.<BR>
<BR>
“I’ll be all right in a minute, girls,” he said. “I just got a
pain there for a minute–it’s indigestion I think.” <BR>
“Would you like to sit down for a while?” said Christine.<BR>
<BR>
“No, no, it’s passing now,” he said.<BR>
<BR>
“Come on back in,” Jenny said, helping him to his feet. Together
they crossed back into the other room and the priest got back
up on the couch. He lay on his back and closed his eyes.<BR>
<BR>
“Do you want to rest?” Jenny asked.<BR>
<BR>
“No,” he said. “Come here and give me a wank.”<BR>
<BR>
She laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”<BR>
<BR>
She didn’t some over right away. She went first to the small table
and unwrapped a condom, unrolling it over the vibrator. The priest
watched her, and his cock stirred, growing stiff and dark. The
foreskin parted and the knob began to stick out. Jenny walked
back over with the vibrator.<BR>
<BR>
“Turn over on your back and kneel up,” she said. He obeyed. She
straddled the couch behind him. He heard the small sounds as she
removed her bra. She leaned forward, brushing his buttocks with
her nipples.<BR>
<BR>
“Now here’s something special for you,” she said quietly, and
she began to probe his anus with the nose of the vibrator.<BR>
<BR>
“That looks very big,” he said.<BR>
<BR>
“You will take every inch of it up your arse if I have to ram
it in,” Jenny said. “Like this.”<BR>
<BR>
He moaned as the vibrator forced open his anus. Jenny pushed it
steadily forward, and it opened him wider and wider. He could
feel his anus distending, open like a silent scream now. Jenny’s
hand reached underneath and stroked the base of his cock.<BR>
<BR>
“Wank me, please,” he said. “It’s so stiff.”<BR>
<BR>
“I’ll wank you all right,” Jenny said softly. “I want you to spunk
all over the room. Everywhere.”<BR>
<BR>
“I’ll spunk everywhere,” he said, “I want to spunk everywhere.’<BR>
<BR>
“Where are you going to spunk?’ she asked.<BR>
<BR>
“All over everything, all over you, all over your face, on your
eyelids, on your tits, on your bum.”<BR>
<BR>
He was coming everywhere as Jenny’s hand milked his cock. The
sperm spattered over his belly and over the towel, drops ran down
her hand. He was moaning now, and trying to say something.<BR>
<BR>
“Shoot your load all over me,” Jenny said, milking his shuddering
cock. The priest lunged forward, burying his face in the towel,
and groaned. Jenny started to laugh, looking at him there with
the vibrator buried in his arse up to the hilt. The priest started
to turn over. His face was a dreadful bruise colour. He lifted
his arm, but it just fell again. Slowly, he toppled from the table
to the floor–so slowly that when he finally fell, the sound of
his body hitting the floor was horrifyingly loud.<BR>
<BR>
“Jesus, father, are you all right?’ Jenny said. From next door,
Christine’s voice called. “Is everything all right?”<BR>
<BR>
“He’s fallen on the floor,” Jenny yelled. Christine came running
almost at once. She was carrying a magazine in one hand, a cigarette
in her mouth.<BR>
<BR>
“Oh for fuck’s sake, he’s fucking having a heart attack,” she
said, and knelt down beside the priest. She tried to turn him
over.<BR>
<BR>
“If you’re fucking messing I’ll kill you,” Jenny said, and knelt
down beside her. They hauled him by the shoulders and turned him
over. He rolled over and lay there gasping. He was sweating heavily
and the colour was draining from his face.<BR>
<BR>
“We should call an ambulance,” Christine said. The priest’s eyes
looked terrified and he shook his head. His face was covered with
sweat.<BR>
<BR>
“We’ve got to get an ambulance–you could be fucking dying,” she
shouted. He closed his eyes tightly and whimpered. His breath
was coming in short rapid snorts. Suddenly his whole body tensed
as if her were lifting a great weight. And then he made a noise
that Jenny and Christine had never heard a person make before.
It was like a long, hoarse groan that went on, and on, slowly
petering out. And after that he was still.<BR>
<BR>
No one said anything for a minute. Then Jenny bent over him and
listened to his chest. She was starting to cry.<BR>
<BR>
“Oh no,” Christine said in a small voice, shaking her head from
side to side. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”<BR>
<BR>
“I think he is,” Jenny said.<BR>
<BR>
“Why did he have to do that in here?” Christine asked.<BR>
<BR>
“We’ll have to do something with him.”<BR>
<BR>
“We should still call an ambulance, shouldn’t we?’ Jenny said.
Her head was still hovering over his chest.<BR>
<BR>
“We can’t call a fucking ambulance, don’t be fucking stupid,”
Christine said. “Look at him–he’s a fucking priest and he’s fucking
dead in a fucking knocking shop and he’s covered in cuts from
your fucking whip with a vibrator up his arse. We’ve got to get
him out.”<BR>
<BR>
‘We can’t get him out,’ Jenny said. “He’s sick.”<BR>
<BR>
“He’s fucking dead you stupid cunt,” Christina shouted. She stood
up unsteadily. “Oh Christ, look at this,” she said and bent over
him, tugging the vibrator out. It resisted at first, then came
out with a plop. His anus remained wide open, like a mouth. She
moaned. “Give me a fucking hand, can’t you,” she said.<BR>
<BR>
“What are you going to do,” Jenny asked in a terrified voice.<BR>
<BR>
“Dress the bastard for a start. Come on.” And she gathered up
his clothes from where he had left them and began to haul his
underpants back on to him.<BR>
<BR>
“Come on,” she shouted, and Jenny began to help her, moving in
a stupefied way. They raised his legs and pulled his underpants
up. His cock was still stiff, and covered in sperm. Christine
stuffed it into the underpants and pulled them up around the sides.
The cock began to poke out through the fly. Jenny began to whimper.<BR>
<BR>
“For fuck’s sake get moving,’ Christina said. “Someone could come
by any minute.”<BR>
<BR>
They pulled him into his clothes somehow. The body was so heavy,
fell so awkwardly when you tried to lift it. Somehow they managed
to get it to the top of the stairs.<BR>
<BR>
“We’ll put it out the back,” Christine said.<BR>
<BR>
“We can’t do that,” Jenny said. “He’s dead.”<BR>
<BR>
“If we leave him here we’re all fucking dead,” Christine said.
“Now give me a hand.”<BR>
<BR>
They dragged him by the legs. His shirt rode up out of his trousers
showing his white belly and the line of black hair from his navel
down into his trousers. As they rounded the corner of the stairs,
one shoe caught in something and came off. It fell over the banisters
and clattered onto the basement linoleum. She started down after
it.<BR>
<BR>
“We’ve no time, we can get that later,” Christine said. “Come
on for fuck’s sake.”<BR>
<BR>
The back door opened into a little yard. The gate had been broken
down years ago, and the yard had filled with broken bottles and
rubbish. It smelled heavily of piss, even in the rain. Jenny and
Christine dragged the priest’s body out the door and propped it
up against the wall. They were both panting. Jenny tried to tuck
in his shirt, but whatever angle he was at she couldn’t get it
to stay in. Every time she pulled her hand away the shirt came
out again with it. Heavy drops of rain were beginning to stick
the shirt to his chest. His hair was spangled with raindrops.<BR>
<BR>
“What are you doing that for,” said Christine in exasperation.
“Let’s close up and get the fuck out of here.”<BR>
<BR>
“The shoe,” Jenny said. “His other shoe is still inside.”<BR>
<BR>
“Well get the fucking thing, then.”<BR>
<BR>
Jenny stumbled down the basement stairs. The light was broken,
and there was an overpowering smell of damp. She scrabbled around
in the dark. Christine yelled at her overhead, but she went on
searching. Finally her hand came on it. She drew back. The shoe
was still warm. Clutching it, she dashed back upstairs to the
back door. Even as she put her hand on the handle, she heard people
talking in the lane. She froze. Their voices were coming closer.
It sounded like a couple of boys. She found herself looking down
at the shoe. It was an ordinary black shoe with a leather sole,
looking as if it had been soled and heeled recently. The leather
had that lovely old-fashioned shine that her father’s shoes always
had. He must have polished them every night, sitting on the edge
of his bed.<BR>
<BR>
Christine was standing beside her. She had already changed into
her street clothes. She thrust Jenny’s coat and scarf at her.<BR>
<BR>
“Just put those on. You haven’t time to change now,” she said.
Jenny obeyed. She was listening. Had the boys gone? She wanted
to put that shoe on, and tuck in his shirt. Christine was heading
down to the main door. Jenny doubled back and raced to the back
door. She stopped, bending down to listen. She heard nothing.
She put her hand on the handle. Then, right beside her, she heard
a boy’s voice saying, “It’s a fucking priest, and he’s dead.”
Her hand stopped. She slowly backed away from the door, and began
to run up the stairs. She heard the front door slam as Christine
left. Outside, the boy was calling to someone. She held the shoe,
running her hand slowly over the warm, cherished leather. <BR>
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