The Brothers' Lot by Kevin Holohan Read Free Book Online Page A

inviting.
    He tiptoed down the corridor to minimize the squeaking of his shoes. He froze when he heard the soft sounds behind him. It sounded like a small bird trapped in a cardboard box. He pressed himself against the wall; his mind blanked. The weird fluttering stopped. The subsequent silence was if anything more eerie. Almost on the edge of hearing, Finbar noticed a light rustling sound. He slid back along the corridor toward the bottom of the stairs. Through the banisters he saw a shape on the stairs hugging the wall.
    Finbar watched aghast as Brother Boland whispered and cooed to the wall while he ran his hands lovingly over the mortar between the large granite stones. He inched back from the stairs as quietly as he could.
    “You, boy! What are you doing there?”
    Finbar spun round to see Loughlin striding down the corridor toward him. Behind him he heard Brother Boland flutter back up the stairs on his feet of ashes.
    “Brother Kennedy sent me for the extra leather.”
    Loughlin slowed his pace to a menacing stalk and it was then that Finbar saw Father Fury coming out of what was presumably the refectory and fidgeting down the corridor toward Brother Loughlin. Father Fury moved in short, angular motions with more energy than seemed necessary. He had the wiry build of a lightweight boxer and his thin lips pursed at regular intervals, the only animation in his narrow, suspicious face. He looked like a bad-tempered, constipated ferret.
    “Ah, Father Fury. You finished your tea. Good. Just in time. I have here before me one of our specimens who seems to be hell-bent on ending up in a reformatory. Brother Kennedy sent him for the extra leather.”
    Father Fury nodded solemnly at this news: “I saw many of his ilk when I was chaplain here, Brother Loughlin.”
    “You did indeed, but you stood for no nonsense. And how are the boys at Saint Bodhrán’s?”
    “No better, no worse. Deaf or blind or both.”
    “I’m sure that keeps them out of trouble.”
    “You’d think it would. They find their own ways of devilment.”
    Brother Loughlin nodded understandingly and returned his attention to Finbar: “Well … Mr… . uhm …”
    “Sullivan,” Finbar volunteered.
    “Ah yes, the new boy. Seems you’re already contagioned by the blackguardism abroad within these walls. Falling in with the wrong crowd already, I’ll bet!”
    Slowly Loughlin took the extra leather from the side pocket of his cassock.
    “Let me warn you, my young bucko, that if you start out this way here, it will be a very short trip to the Industrial School for you. Do you understand?” spat Loughlin as he gave Finbar two rapid stinging belts on each hand. “Mind your step, or I’ll mind it for you.” Loughlin held the leather out to Finbar. “Now take that to Brother Kennedy with my compliments.”
    Finbar took the leather and felt its weight in his hot, throbbing hands. He left the monastery and walked back toward the hall feeling with each step more humiliated by carrying the leather that would soon be used to beat him.
    Finbar walked back into the hall and Brother Kennedy sent him to the end of the line. “We shall save the best for last,” he taunted, taking the extra leather from him. “White vest!” Whap ! “White shorts!” Whap! “White socks!” Whap! “White running shoes!” Whap! “Next week!” Whap!
    Brother Kennedy went along the line and gave each boy five stinging tastes of the leather on the right hand and reminded them of the correct attire to bring along for Physical Education class the following week. Twice he had to pause to catch his breath. Finbar got an extra final belt called “Ingrate” for his supposed betrayal of his noble rural heritage for the pernicious influence of soccer.
    “Tell him you only play soccer and he’ll put you on the special line,” whispered Lynch to the bunch of third years who entered the hall as they were leaving.
    “You’re a bastard, Lynch,” said McDonagh.
    “Yeah, and