people do not see God in the same way we do ourselves, but they are part of our community.'
After a while, some of the pupils put on their coats. There were buses to catch and suppers to be in time for, but Mark and Lisa seemed in no hurry to go home. It ended up just being the three of us, and their talk grew ever freer, even more rude, as if the extracurricular atmosphere had bled into one of immunity and licence. Except when quoting their prejudices, they spoke of their families as if they were enemies and spoke of the future as if it could never come quickly enough, a fixed site of retribution, where no one was boss and beer was freely available.
I pointed out of the classroom window at the middle of the sea. 'That's Ailsa Craig over there,' I said. 'Have you ever been out there?'
'To the rock?' Mark said. 'Paddy's Milestone. Why would anybody go out there? It's just an old rock covered in bird shit.' I looked past the coast to where the island rose like a lilac pyramid in the fading light.
'Because it's beautiful, Mark.'
'It's always been there,' said Lisa, walking over to the window and pressing a new stick of gum into her mouth.
'Exactly,' I said. 'You've both lived here your whole lives, haven't you? What, fifteen years? And Ailsa Craig has been out there every day. Don't you wonder what it's like?'
'I know what it's like,' said Lisa. 'It's boring.'
'No, you're boring,' I said. 'There are no people out there. Just a world on its own in the middle of the sea.'
'No government,' said Mark, looking out.
'No nothing,' said Lisa.
'It's a bird sanctuary,' I said.
During the short time we watched it from the school window, Ailsa Craig became several degrees darker until it folded into the dusk and a small light blinked at the base of the rock.
'So what do you like, Mark?' I said.
'Celtic,' he said.
'So that's your tribe. A football club.'
'It's no' a tribe,' he said. 'It's a tradition. Oh, man. Did you see the Liverpool game at Anfield? We're in the semifinal of the UEFA Cup for the first time in thirty-three years or something. That game. I'm telling you. That was bitchin'. Totally awesome. To beat Liverpool on their own soil.'
'I used to like Liverpool,' I said. 'Not the team. I don't know anything about football teams. I liked the place.'
'That's why he's so happy,' said Lisa. 'He thinks Celtic are going to win the European Cup.'
'The UEFA Cup,' said Mark.
'Whatever.'
'We could do it, by the way,' said Mark. 'Martin O'Neill could do it for us. Henrik Larsson could do it. You know what? That Liverpool game was the best night of my life. No kidding. When that guy came on at the beginning and sang "You'll Never Walk Alone", that was it. Every fan in the stadium held up their scarf. Just a sea of colours. Pure magic. We drew with Boavista. If we beat them in the return match in Portugal we're in the final. I'm telling you, this could be the best year we've ever had.'
Lisa rolled her eyes. 'Paul Lambert,' she said.
'That's right,' said Mark. 'He's awesome. Even I would shag him.'
'Excuse me,' I said. 'Language. That's quite enough of that.'
Mark was a danger to himself and others; you could tell by the way he narrowed his eyes and screwed around with his hair. He knew how to insinuate himself into peoples worries about themselves, and he did it with his eyes and his hands, as well as with his words, the kind of sharp and brutal honesty that passes for charm with some people. 'Father,' he said, 'in your whole life have you ever had sex?'
'Stop it,' I said.
'You've got to answer,' said Lisa.
'I'm not answering,' I said.
'Come on,' said Mark. 'Get over yourself.'
'Get over myself? Is that another one of your American television phrases?'
'Right. Whatever. Come on, Father. Is it yes or no? Have you ever had sex in your whole life?'
'You're very disrespectful,' I said. 'And I'm not in the business of answering a question like that.'
'That's awesome, man. He has!' said Lisa.
'I know he has,' Mark