Lamb by Bernard Maclaverty Read Free Book Online Page B

hadn’t realized the tension he had been under since they had left. Now that they were safe in a hotel under a different name he relaxed. He lay down on the bed and kicked his shoes off.
    â€˜It’s bed-time for you, lad. You’re bound to be knackered.’
    â€˜No I’m not.’
    â€˜We forgot to get you pyjamas, dammit.’
    â€˜Never use them outside the Home. I sleep in my vest.’
    â€˜Bully for you.’
    Owen was going through the drawers in the desk and slamming them shut when he found them empty.
    â€˜Right enough, what are we going to do tonight?’ he asked.
    â€˜We’re going to bed. That’s what. At least you are. At your age you need a full night’s sleep . . . ’
    â€˜But it’s not even dark yet. At home I don’t go till twelve.’
    â€˜You’re not at home now,’ said Michael, his voice quiet and threatening. ‘If we’re going to make this work, you’re going to have to obey some rules.’
    â€˜Fuck the rules, Brother,’ said Owen. He stubbed his cigarette out in the ash tray beside the bed.
    â€˜That’s rule number one. There is no need for language like that. Rule number two is that you go to bed when I say. In an emergency the captain of the ship has the power of life and death over his crew. This is an emergency. I am the captain. I say beddybyes. Do I make myself clear?’
    Grudgingly Owen stripped off. As he was getting into bed, Michael looked over at him.
    â€˜Jesus, look at the feet,’ he said. ‘How long is it since you had a bath? Don’t get into those sheets like that. Do you mean to tell me you put new clothes on over that lot? Let me see.’
    Michael inspected his feet, which were black with ingrained dirt at the heels and between the toes. He looked him all over. There was a watermark of dirt about his collar bone and the back of his neck was filthy.
    â€˜Into the bath,’ said Michael. ‘How long is it since you had one?’
    â€˜I don’t swim every day like the rest of them. Anyway, the water won’t be hot.’
    â€˜In hotels the water is always hot. This is not the Home.’
    The boy was offended and Michael was sorry he had spoken so harshly. He knew from experience that the one thing that hurt the boys was to be called dirty or to be accused of having a walking head. They could take pride in worn and dirty denims just so long as they themselves were not seen to be dirty.
    Michael ran the bath for him, making sure it was not too hot. Naked, the boy looked fragile, his shoulder blades jutting like wings, his ankles, elbows and wrists nodules of bone. Across the back of his legs, as if in a continuous line, was the shining skin of his scars. His body seemed blue-white, not flesh-coloured, a plucked fowl colour.
    â€˜If you turned sideways you’d disappear,’ laughed Michael.
    Prudishly the boy sheltered himself by bending over and holding his elbows. He ran for the bathroom. His bum like two pale eggs disappeared round the corner. Michael yodelled,
    â€˜ TAAAARRRZZZAAAAAN .’
    While Owen bathed, Michael unpacked. He listened to the boy’s voice imitating an engine and the gurgle and swish of the water. The sound of a diving plane was interrupted by a yawn, then continued to rise in pitch. Michael lifted the clothes that Owen had strewn about the floor and folded them. His trousers and new jacket he hung in the wardrobe. As he closed the door the metal coat-hangers clashed softly together in the emptiness like the slow tolling of thin bells.

Six
    He had met Owen for the first time about three years ago. He had just finished a lesson when word came through from Brother Benedict that he was wanted in his office. He hung his apron in the cupboard, brushed the sawdust from his soutane with the palm of his hand and walked to the Superior’s office. Reception was the only part of the place which had carpet. The