1984
Wee Orla McGrath’s starin’ at me, so she is, lyin’ in her wee bed just next to mine and she’s snivellin’ and I pray to God she’s not goin’ to cry again and keep me awake. But she’s only twelve, so she is, just a wean, and I promised to look after her so I’m holdin’ her hand and givin’ it a wee squeeze. I can hear one or two others sobbin’, another couple gigglin’ and a few snufflin’ and mumblin’; they must be dreamin’ already or somethin’. The fire in the dorm will be goin’ out soon and my nose is cold, so it is, so I pull the blanket up to keep it warm. The clock outside in the hall has just struck eight so there’s hours to go before we get up but I’m not sleepy because I keep thinkin’ about baby Jesus and what he’s doin’ tonight and what he’ll be doin’ the morra. I know what I’ll be doin’ the morra ‘cos it’s the same thing every day. After prayers and porridge, I’ll be scrubbin’ the stone floor in the chapel, so I will, and that’ll take up the mornin’ and then we’ll have a wee bowl of tattie soup and then I’ll be down in the laundry room with the rest of them boilin’ up the clothes and then it’ll be evenin’ prayers and then tatties again with a wee spoon of mince and then in twenty-four hours I’ll be lyin’ here with wee Orla McGrath starin’ at me all over again holdin’ my hand. There’s the sharp sound of the big metal bolt on the door and Orla gives out a wee shriek because she’s a wee mouse and she takes her hand away and pulls the cover over her head and everyone else is now awake and everyone’s quiet, waitin’. “Mary Keane!” It’s scary Sister Margaret so it is, and she’s shoutin’ my name and I don’t know what I’ve done this time. “Mary Keane!” she says again and she’s shoutin’ and gettin’ angry, and I push back the cover and sit up. “Come here now girl!” she says, and I put my feet on the stone floor and it’s freezin’ so it is, and I walk towards the door and Sister Margaret’s there with nice Sister Fiona behind her and the light from the hallway is spillin’ into the room and everyone’s holdin’ their breath and I see Clodagh Kelly peekin’ out from under the covers and sniggerin’, so she is, the wee bitch. “Come on!” says Sister Margaret, stern as ever and she pushes me ahead of her and Sister Fiona bolts the door again and the sound echoes in the hallway where the candles are flickerin’ and Jesus is lookin’ down at me from the other end. But he’s not my Jesus; he’s the first Jesus, so he is, not the second, not my Jesus. Sister Margaret’s pushin’ me in the back, and I go up the stairs where I’m not supposed to go, and it’s a long way up and up and the wood floor is warmer than the stone so my feet are not so freezin’ but it’s still cold because I only have my wee nightdress on. And then she’s pushin’ me again “Go on!” and walks past me and stops at a big wooden door and taps on it and I hear someone inside say “Come” and she pushes me inside and the door shuts behind me with a big clunk. It’s lovely and warm, so it is, and there’s a big fire roarin’ in the hearth and the floor is warm too and there’s one of them big beds with a post at each corner and lights either side. And there he is, sittin’ in the big armchair in front of the fire and I recognise him straight away. It’s the Father! Not my Daddy, you understand; the Father. And his face is gentle and smilin’ and his hands are together as if he’s prayin’ and he says in a kindly voice, “Hello there Mary. Do you remember me?” I nod my head because I’m not allowed to speak to anyone, and he says “You can talk to me you know. You can say anythin’ to me.” And all I can say is “Yes, Father.” He says, “I was visitin’ the Sisters and God said to me to go and see how wee Mary Keane’s gettin’ on” and I don’t know what to say and I can’t speak because I’m so happy that God has remembered me, and the Father has remembered me too. “Come closer my child and warm yourself by the fire,” he says, and I step forward and there’s big rug in front of the fire and it’s warm as toast, so it is, and it feels lovely on my feet and the Father’s smilin’ at me in a very kindly way and he says, “How old are you now, Mary?” and I say “Fifteen, Father” and he says, “Goodness me, you’ll soon be a grown woman. But you’ll always be a child of God,” and I feel my face gettin’ hot but it’s probably just the fire. “You know Mary, God has sent me as is his messenger to tell you he loves you and to thank you for givin’ birth to baby Jesus,” he says, and I think I’m goin’ to cry because I miss my baby Jesus but I fight to hold it back and I can feel God’s love all around me, “and God said to me ‘Father’ he said, ‘go and see my wee Virgin Mary and tell her I love her and I want her to feel my love inside her’ that’s what he said. Do you feel God’s love inside you Mary?” and I have to wipe my nose on my sleeve and I’m goin’ to cry because I remember when I had God’s love inside me before, it hurt but the Father had said God’s love was the most powerful thing on earth so it was supposed to hurt and he was right but it only hurts the first time and then everythin’s fine. “Are you sure you’ve got God’s love inside you Mary? Because God has so much love to give, he wants to give it to everyone, especially to you Mary,” and I cry tears of joy that God is thinkin’ of me and the next time scary Sister Margaret gives me the cane, or I get locked in the cellar or have to go without my dinner I’ll think of God’s love and everythin’ will be all right. The Father’s holdin’ out his hand and I reach out and my hand is shakin’ and the Father’s sayin’ “Come and kneel before me Mary and we’ll say a wee prayer and then I can give you God’s love” and I’m kneelin’ in front of the Father and I close my eyes and put my hands together and the fire is hot and he says “do you remember what you have to do Mary?” and I think I remember but the last time the Father gave me God’s love I was only fourteen and only a child “I think I do Father,” I says and he leans forward and puts a hand on the top of my head and starts to say a prayer and I feel so happy I think I’m goin’ to burst.