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James K. Baxter Complete Prose Volume 1

Sacrifice

Sacrifice

They sat on opposite sides of the table in the small room. A young man, his clothes a little grubby, his dark hair uncut in front of his ears in the new-old side-lever fashion. A thickset grey-haired priest with the black gown and belt of a Religious. The young man stubbed out a half-smoked cigarette nervously. ‘. . . Gloria was too young. Father, I don’t think she understood what marriage means. First there was lodging trouble. She had to stay in that damned flat all day, with a new baby, sharing a kitchen with only a lot of sour old hens to talk to. And then there was in-law trouble. My mother disliked her from the start because she wasn’t a Catholic. Oh, she was pleasant enough, she’d talk about the child and so on, but cold as an iceberg underneath . . .’. ‘Was your wife ever instructed about the Faith?’

‘Yes, Father, she was, but I think it was just water off a duck’s back. Of course, I didn’t help much. I’d played around a bit before I met Gloria; and then when the rows began, I used to go out and get tight. If I hadn’t loved her, I wouldn’t have cared so much. It was my fault as much as hers.’

‘You say she’s applied for a divorce?’

‘Yes, Father. She wants to marry this other bloke. He’s an electrician or something . . .’.

‘How long have you been living apart?’

‘Three years. I’ve tried to get her back, but she won’t play. She’s not nasty about it. She just says it was all a mistake.’

‘And what about this other woman? What kind of relationship is there between you?’

The young man’s face lightened. ‘She’s a very good friend, that’s all. I never knew till I met Barbara what a woman’s friendship could be like. We go out to the pictures now and then together. And sometimes I go round to her placepage 457 in the weekend and listen to records. You can get damned lonely on your own in a town like this.’

‘How old is she?’

‘Twenty-five. Two years older than me.’ ‘Does she know you’re married?’

‘Of course. I told her the second time we met. I know she likes me, Father, but she’s a good Catholic. She never lets me kiss her or anything like that . . .’. ‘I take it you’ve tried.’ The priest’s voice was sharp. The young man flushed and shifted on the hard chair.

‘Of course, Father. God help us, I’m only human.’

The priest’s face softened and he spoke more gently. ‘That’s the trouble, Kevin. We’re all of us only human. If you continue to see this girl, except in the company of other friends, the strain will be too great for both of you. You’re placing her soul in danger as well as your own. God won’t give us the grace to resist temptation if we deliberately seek occasions of sin. And what have you got to offer her? You’re a married man. Let her go and find someone else. It’ll be hard at first, but better in the long run.’

‘What do I do then?’ the young man said roughly. ‘If Gloria gets her divorce, I’m still married in the eyes of the Church. I might go on for fifty years yet, not married or unmarried. Do I have to live like a hermit?’

The priest was silent. His red, lined face looked tired. His hands were tucked in the sleeves of his gown.

‘It’s different for you,’ said the young man. ‘You’ve taken a vow of celibacy. I never took one.’

The priest rose to his feet. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘You know the answer yourself. Look up there’ – he pointed to the large wood-and-plaster crucifix on the whitewashed wall – ‘to the world that looks like nonsense. Death. The end of life. To the Church – and that means you and me – it’s the only life possible. We have to join Him in order to save our souls. Often unwillingly. But it’s only then we begin to understand why we were born.’

For a minute or more the young man stayed seated, looking at the crucifix. Then he crossed himself and stood up.

‘Well, Father, Barbara’s waiting outside. Do you think it’s all right for me to tell her how we stand?’

The priest smiled an extraordinarily warm smile, like light reflected on a pool of water. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘explain it to her. But don’t go home together.’ He paused, then spoke again. ‘And ask the Blessed Mother of God to help you. Put everything into her hands and leave it there.’ Then more gently, ‘Pray for me.’

The priest watched from the window. He saw the young man cross the rainy street in the darkness lit by a few street-lamps. From an open garage door a tall girl in an overcoat stepped out. The priest could see the clear-cut, wide mouth, the bright eyes, and the red-gold hair under a hood. She waspage 458 exceptionally beautiful. The couple walked slowly side by side down the steep street together.

1961 (248)