Lamb

Contents

About the Book

On a promontory jutting out into the Atlantic wind stands the Home run by Brother Benedict, where boys are taught a little of God and a lot of fear. To Michael Lamb, one of the youngest brothers, the regime is without hope, and when he inherits a small legacy he defies his elders and runs away, taking with him a twelve-year-old boy, Owen Kane. Radio Eireann call it a kidnapping. For Michael the act is the beginning of Owen's salvation. Posing as father and son, they concentrate on discovering the happiness that is so unfamiliar to them both. But as the outside world closes in around them - as time, money and opportunity run out – Michael finds himself moving towards a solution that is as uncompromising as it is inspired by love.

About the Author

Bernard MacLaverty was born in Belfast, where he worked for ten years as a medical laboratory technician before studying English at Queen's University. He then moved to Scotland and taught for a number of years. He now writes full time and lives in Glasgow.

He has written three novels,
Lamb
,
Cal
, both of which have been made into successful films, and
Grace Notes
, shortlisted for the Booker Prize, and four collections of short stories:
Secrets
,
A Time to Dance
,
The Great Profundo
and
Walking the Dog
.

ALSO BY BERNARD M
AC
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LAMB

Bernard MacLaverty

There were things at the bottom of Brother Sebastian's bag that he didn't know were there. He was just unpacking when there was a knock on the door and the boy Higgins said that Brother Benedict would see him in his room as soon as he was ready. Brother Sebastian shaved quickly in cold water because, with all the fuss, he had not had time that morning. Then, in the late light of the evening, he went along to the Superior's room.

‘Come in,' called Brother Benedict. He was stooping over, poking the fire, and when Brother Sebastian went in he turned short-sightedly to see who it was.

‘Ah, Brother Sebastian. It's you. Sit down.'

Brother Sebastian was tall and broad-shouldered. His hair was slightly longer than Brother Benedict would have preferred it to be.

The room was shelved from floor to ceiling with books. There were piles of books on the table and the desk and a pile stood precariously on a small set of library steps.

Brother Sebastian sat while the fire was raked of its dead ash and new black turfs built into a pyramid. A yellow flame burned up.

‘It must have been a trying time for you,' said Brother Benedict. ‘I know what it can be like. You look drawn. I keep a little something for an emergency such as this.'

He rattled deep in a cupboard and produced a bottle of Power's.

‘Will you take it alone – or with water?'

‘With plenty of water, please,' said Sebastian, smiling.

‘When I indulge I take it neat. It's the only way.'

Brother Sebastian wondered what was wrong. He had never been treated like this before by Benedict. He was after something. Brother Benedict poured Sebastian a whiskey but refused to have one himself.

‘Well, how are things? How did the funeral go?'

‘Not so bad, considering.'

‘You'll forgive my appearance.' Brother Benedict indicated himself with inturned fingers. Over his soutane and white collar he wore a plastic apron with a large bottle of Guinness on it. He picked up a purple feather duster and began to wave it around. ‘But I've decided once and for all to catalogue my books.
You
don't have much call for them do you, Brother? In the woodwork room. Skills of the hand rather than the mind.'

‘No.'

‘I decided a long time ago to specialize. Latin, Greek and Gaelic. You'll find nothing else among my books. I always say that a man with one language is like a man with one eye. Now I myself have four good eyes and a few lesser ones – which could be polished up, as it were. Like glass eyes – not much use but presentable.' He laughed aloud.

Brother Sebastian smiled for him.

‘Just wait till I finish this one and I'll be with you,' said Benedict. He took a book from the library steps, dusted it thoroughly then wrote a number in white ink at the base of the spine. He blew on the ink to dry it. Then he wrote something on to filing cards he had on his desk. He put the book on the shelf and moved the rest to the table.

‘I bought this little lot on the Quays in Dublin – oh, it must be thirty years ago. They were second-hand before you were born.' He smiled at them. He lifted his soutane at the knees and sat on the library steps. The toecaps of his black shoes were burnished and reflected the light from the fire. He lit a cigarette.

‘Was there any trouble in the Six Counties when you were home?'

‘No. That was the last thing I was thinking about.'

‘Yes, I'm sure,' said Brother Benedict. ‘But, you know, it's something we should keep at the front of our minds. If in our position we can't be seen to help, then we should not stand in their way. They are angry men with vision, Brother, and by God their anger is justified. Ireland has not much longer to suffer. Her misery will soon be over and we'll be a united country again.'

‘Yes,' said Brother Sebastian, ‘but I don't like their methods.'

‘Nor do I, Brother. Nor do I. But do you like the methods of the British Government any better?'

‘No.'

‘For one thing, the propaganda machine they have. The whole of the Press is totally behind them. They make our men of vision out to be thimbleriggers and cornerboys. A ragged army of louts. Do you think louts could harass the might of Britain for so long?'

Brother Sebastian shrugged and sipped his whiskey. Brother Benedict was on one of his themes again. It was obvious that Brother Sebastian did not want to become involved in an argument, but the old man went on.

‘I'll admit that every organization has its share of rogues. Even in the Brothers you'll find them. But we can't tar them all with the one brush. You're an Ulsterman. You should know the truth of the situation. What do you think?'

Asked such a direct question by his Superior, Brother Sebastian felt he had to answer.

‘You describe them as men of vision . . . '

‘I do. I do indeed.'

‘But human elements can't be kept out. Anger, hatred spoil the purity of the vision and the result is evil. If you know anyone who was killed then you know how evil it is.'

‘In the course of history we cannot mourn individuals, Brother. That may seem harsh but it is true. Who mourns for the innocent of the French Revolution? Anybody?'

Brother Sebastian refused to answer but sat staring at his feet, hoping that the conversation would end. He had had a hard three days since his father's death and only now was it beginning to sink in. Brother Benedict must have noticed his reluctance because he changed the subject.

‘Are there any relatives left at home?'

‘No. I was an only child and my mother died years ago.'

‘Your father was a good man – and immensely proud of you the day of your final vows. He and I had a long chat that day. He told me of the joy he felt that a son of his should be devoting his life to the Church. He said that it made his life worthwhile.'

‘Yes, I knew.'

‘The priesthood, he said, would have put too much responsibility on you. He admired your humility. What was it that . . . ?' Brother Benedict waved the feather duster vaguely and it was the tone of his voice that asked the question.

‘The doctor said that he died of a perforated ulcer. They found him with his rosary in his hands and a bottle of Milk of Magnesia on the table. He never knew he had an ulcer.'

‘Sad. Sad.'

In the fire the damp turf spat a bit and hissed quietly, Brother Sebastian waited for the next question. The whiskey was hot in his throat.

‘Forgive my asking, but did he die intestate?'

‘Sorry?'

‘Intestate.'

‘I don't know what that means.'

Brother Benedict rolled his eyes to heaven and said in a voice that was not meant to be cutting,

‘I am surrounded by the Educationally Sub-Normal. Did he die without leaving a will?'

Brother Sebastian hesitated. He thought he saw now the reason for the fire building and the substantial whiskey. He drank it off.

‘He left a will and, as far as I know, everything goes to me.'

‘Ah, good,' said Benedict. The long white ash of his cigarette dropped on to his soutane and he flicked it off with the duster. ‘Finance can be so difficult. These are hard times, Brother. Do you know, it has often occurred to me that we should have the boys neutered. Look what we would save in laundry bills.'

Brother Sebastian failed to make the connection and did not laugh.

‘The sheets, man, the sheets.'

He smiled because he knew the elder man wanted him to. Brother Benedict said,

‘Can I tell you a little story against myself? Do you mind?'

Brother Sebastian said that he didn't.

‘Well, the last time I was up in Dublin I was requiring a hair-cut – like somebody else I'll not mention – and I found myself in one of these . . . these . . . How shall I say it in English? One of these “modern joints” with female hairdressers. They set me down with this sheet around my neck and summoned this fine-looking lassie to cut my hair. I was looking at her in the mirror when, to cut a long story short, she banged me over the head with the brush and ran away.' He waited for an interested question from Brother Sebastian.

‘Why?'

‘She thought I was abusing myself.'

‘What?'

‘I knew that would get you. I had been cleaning my glasses beneath the sheet to get a better look at her – like so,' he moved his finger and thumb up and down slowly and rhythmically, ‘and she had seen the sheet moving and me watching her. When the manager took off the sheet and saw me – in clerical dress – cleaning my specs and the lassie at the back of the shop crying her eyes out there was all hell let loose. She got the sack for having a filthy mind.'

‘That's disgusting.'

‘I know. There's no telling the dirty minds people have.'

Brother Sebastian's face was wrinkled in distaste. There was silence between them.

‘You're not fit to live in the world, Brother. You think yourself too good for it?'

Brother Sebastian did not reply. Brother Benedict stared at the younger man and said,

‘You strike me as the sort of person who is witty in retrospect – in the quiet of your room afterwards.'

‘How do you mean?'