Confessions of a Liar, Thief and Failed Sex God

by Bill Condon

  'But he'll come around after a while, don't you reckon? Let you go back home?'

  'No. Not my father.'

  Without emotion, that's how he says it – flat – like it's a cold, textbook fact. After what's happened to him today, I think maybe he hasn't got any emotion left in him.

  He sinks down into himself then. I'm sitting so close to him, but he feels like he's off somewhere on another planet. He picks at a thread in the carpet – lost in thought – or just plain lost.

  'You okay there, Zom?'

  He takes a second or two to stir ...

  'I'm fine ... trying to put things together, that's all – this stuff keeps going around in my head – about Brother Michael.'

  'What about him?'

  'If I tell you, can it be just between us?'

  'Yeah, Zom, just between us.'

  'Well, I know I'm supposed to forgive him, but I don't think I can. I'm pretty sure I never will.'

  'So? That's only natural after what he did to you. You're angry.'

  'No. I'm over being angry. I don't care about what he did to me. It's what he did to my family, and what he'll do to the next family.'

  'What are you saying, Zom?'

  'Brother Michael isn't getting away with this.'

  'Yeah? What are you going to do?'

  'I'm not sure yet.'

  'I wouldn't mind seeing his letterbox get blown up. I've got some double bungers at home. They're all yours if you want 'em.'

  He pauses, soaks up what I said, then shakes his head.

  'No. If this is going to be done, then it should be done properly. I want to stop him. Completely.'

  Most blokes make a big noise when they talk about getting even with the Brothers. They're full of rage – shouting and swearing – I've heard it before. Every time it turns out that the big noise is all they've got. There's nothing behind their threats and they fizzle out in a few days or a week – and the Brothers carry on doing what they like.

  Zom hasn't made any noise at all. I believe what he's saying. Whether it happens or not is something else, but just the fact that he's considering it makes me feel bad. Troy and that wallet have brought him to this, and I've played a part in it – me and my silence.

  'Go, Zom!' Big smile. False laugh. 'You get him.'

  For once he doesn't smile back.

  I see his violin in a corner and stand up to have a closer look. Any excuse to change the subject. He follows me over to it.

  'You want to play something for me, Zom?'

  'I don't think so. Sorry, Neil. I only took it up because my father wanted me to. It made him happy. I didn't think I'd like it, but I really do. But I can't play it now. I'm not going to play it till I see him again – however long that takes.'

  I make my way to the door. Zom walks with me, squeezing in some answers to questions I should have asked.

  'I'm not going to look for another school,' he says. 'I was leaving at the end of this year anyway. I'll get a job; anything at all. I have to help Sylvie pay for food, pay my share of the rent – I want to get my own place as soon as I can.'

  'Good luck with it.' I step outside. 'Let me know how things go. I'm in the phone book. All right?'

  'Thanks, Neil. I'll do that.'

  I get the feeling I'll never hear from him again.

  I leave him with a punch on the shoulder and a final grin.

  'See ya.'

  Conscience time is over.

  11

  I wind down the steps and catch Sylvie on the ground floor about to head back up.

  'Did it go okay?' she asks.

  'Yeah, fine.'

  'I'm really grateful that you're looking out for Ray.' She glances up the stairwell to make sure we're alone. 'You never know what's going on inside with him. Did he say anything, about what happened at school?'

  Just between us.

  Have to stick to it.

  'Not really. He doesn't say much to me either.'

  'Well, he might one day – now that he knows he has someone he can talk to.'

  I feel like I should put her straight but I don't know how to go about it. I'm umming and ahhing when she suddenly leans into me – and kisses my cheek.

  'Thanks, Neil. For caring.'

  All I can do is stare at her. My face instantly burns with redness. I know a kiss on the cheek is not meant to be anything out of the ordinary, but it's never happened to me before. With my mum, yeah – but this is a real girl. This is a woman.

  'Do you live far away?' she asks.

  She's not just pretty. She's beautiful.

  'No, not far. Joyce Street. It's on the other side of the highway – 11 Joyce Street. Twenty minutes' walk, that's all. If you're ever going by you're welcome to call in.'

  'Thanks for that. Do you think you might come back here again – to see Ray?'

  'Yeah, I will for sure – definitely!'

  I say it with too much passion, too much need. And then, so there can be no mistaking that I'm an idiot, I say it again.

  'You can count on it – there'll be a next time!'

  A smile flickers around the corners of her mouth – is she happy or just amused? 'I'll look forward to it.'

  One last smile and she walks up the stairs without looking back.

  For a few minutes on the way home I manage to hypnotise myself.

  You're a sex god, Neil. Sylvie wants your body. That kiss was a big hint. Go for it!

  Then I think of her age and I snap out of it. She must be about twenty-two or twenty-three. It's not only that she's too old; she's way too classy for me in every way. She needs someone who's sexually cool. I can't order chicken breasts in a shop without blushing. Reluctantly, I have to admit there was nothing at all to the kiss, apart from her being nice. I sigh long and deep and store Sylvie way up at the back of my mind with all my other fantasies, in a box marked Impossible.

  12

  A day goes past, then three. School is back to normal. Every sign of Zom swept away like he never was. All traces of rebellion squashed. We're back in our cages again, too afraid to roar.

  Today, the same as every second Friday, we're marshalled into a snaking line that leads us two-by-two up the hill and over the white wooden bridge that separates us from the girls' school.

  Any boy caught crossing the bridge without permission in order to feel up, perve on, or do something equally wicked to the girls will be crucified.

  No Brother has ever said those words to us but we all know that's exactly what they mean. We'd have to be deaf and dumb not to know – they've been beating us over the head with it since we started at the school when we were nine or ten.

  The only day we're legally allowed to cross the bridge is today. That's when we go to confession at Sacred Heart, a church located slap-bang in the middle of Saint Brigid's school grounds. Brother Clementian watches our every move, of course, but it's still like a tiny wander through Heaven.

  Saint Brigid's girls wear long and flowing uniforms of steel that reach to their ankles. At that point white socks take over guard duty to ensure that not the slightest morsel of bare skin is available for the ogling pleasure of deviants such as me. These uniforms were designed with the specific intention of driving boys berserk ... lucky we've all got dazzling imaginations.

  'Eyes straight ahead, boys,' commands Clementian. It's like he's gone sticky-beaking into our minds and seen what we're thinking. 'You should be concentrating on what you are going to say to Father. Don't waste this opportunity. Make it a good confession.'

  We walk past an open door and I see girls my age. Beautiful girls. Singing. It's not the barbed-wire noise boys crank out. It's sweet and smooth, just like the silky skin on a girl's body ... it's amazing how excited I can get without even trying. Putting the words silky, skin and body in the same sentence is hazardous, for me at least. My thoughts cause what can best be described as a sudden growth spurt. It's not my fault, it's hormones. I might need to see a doctor because I think I have my share of them and someone else's as
well.

  Troy nudges me, a dirty smirk on his face. I think I've been sprung, but he isn't looking at me.

  He points ahead of us. 'Check out Bails.'

  Three rows up I see that Warwick Bailey has the same problem as me. He does his best to ignore it, but then falls out of line for a few seconds because it's tricky to walk and he needs to make an adjustment. Tell me about it.

  'Mr Bailey!'

  Clementian is right onto him.

  'Yes, Bra?'

  'What are you doing, boy?'

  'Nothing, Bra.'

  'Then get your hands out of your pockets before you do nothing again! And pull up your socks!'

  'Yes, Bra.'

  'It's not too hard for you, is it?'

  'Yes, Bra.'

  'What?'

  'No, Bra.'

  Clementian swaggers off as everyone laughs and sniggers at Bailey. We're all saying, 'What a loser,' but we're thinking, 'Lucky it wasn't me who got caught.' I close my eyes and I can see the girls singing angelically, without clothes on. I don't do it on purpose, which is one good thing, but I can't stop looking, which is equal to two bad things.

  The hormones cause me to remember Sylvie and that kiss she planted on me. She hasn't got any clothes on either. The difference between her and the schoolgirls is that we've talked, I've held her hand, she's kissed me. It's too much for me. Just by thinking about her, I'll go blind on the spot. I force myself to concentrate on something else, like an old lady's blue and bulgy legs, like the smell of cabbage cooking on the stove, or Mum serving up tripe for Dad's dinner. I manage to push Sylvie away but I know I'll bring her back later, when I'm alone. Sorry, God.

  13

  Today there are two confessionals operating. On the left side of the church about thirty kids sit in pews, all waiting to have their confessions heard by Father Collins. He's fairly young, fresh out of priest school. Tall and strong as any footy player. What I like most is that he jokes around, and lets us call him Jim. It makes him flesh and blood.

  On the right side of the church there are just a few waiting for Father O'Brian to hear their confessions. They must all have a death wish. O'Brian is an old crank. So many times I've heard him yelling at kids. He's famous for it.

  'Don't you lie to me, boy! You do that and you slap God across the face!'

  Goes over real big with your classmates when O'Brian's voice crashes around the rafters. Fruit loop.

  * * *

  Three of us have a pew to ourselves, me and Troy and Bails.

  'Glad I'm seein' Jim,' Bails whispers to me.

  'Me too. They ought to retire that O'Brian.'

  He keeps his head low so Clementian can't see us.

  'Drop him off a cliff, be better,' he fires back.

  'Feed him to the sharks,' mutters Troy.

  'Nooo.' Bails grins. 'He'd poison 'em.'

  Bails can't stop a laugh from escaping; just one short machine-gun cackle.

  The sound is too big for church.

  'Shhhhh!'

  Clementian appears, prowling up and down the aisle. He's short with slick oily hair, white as chalk. I haven't seen him in the dark but I wouldn't be surprised if his hair glowed like some kind of alien. He's probably only in his twenties, but he has a granite face, as if he was born already old and sour. I don't think he could crack a smile to save his life.

  He stops in front of our pew. His eyes burn a hole through my head. I kneel down as if I'm praying. Troy and Bails join me. They can't touch you if you're praying. I hope. You really never know for sure with Clementian. Unable to stop it, my mind screens a re-run of him grabbing Gregor Jozwiak by the shirtfront and dragging him out of his seat because he laughed. It's a Mortal Sin to laugh in Clementian's class.

  I'm back in the day when it happened, watching it in real time as Jozwiak is flung against a fibro wall, smashing a gaping hole in it. He lies on the ground face down. Clementian roars for us to get back to our work. Jozwiak doesn't move. It's only five or so seconds before his head comes up and he looks around him, but time never took so long.

  Clementian's still glaring. Deciding.

  And now here he comes.

  We're done for, until, at exactly that moment, Father O'Brian storms out of his confession box.

  'You boys!' He points at the mob waiting to see Jim. 'I want half of yer over here to take confession with me! Right this minute! Move!'

  Troy and Bails clamber over each other to be ahead of the pack and avoid Clementian. I'm right beside them. It's not too hard because no one else is exactly in a hurry to meet and greet the priest from Hell. He's a better bet than Clementian, that's all I care about. He doesn't pack a strap.

  We have some waiting time before our confessions roll around. Bails chomps his nails and flips the shrapnel at the line of heads in front of us.

  Troy sits with his arms folded tight against his chest as if he's keeping his heart held prisoner. I wish he was seeing Jim instead of O'Brian. Maybe then he could talk about the wallet... on second thoughts, he wouldn't even then. Nearly all of us are the same. I don't know if it's guilt or fear of the strap, but our secrets never see daylight.

  Finally it's my turn. O'Brian slides the window open that separates us. I make the sign of the cross and then parrot the words: 'Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It is two weeks since my last confession.'

  I don't know what to say next. If I'd had more time I would have made up some lies. I have plenty of true material to draw from – like punching Kevin while he was asleep and swearing black and blue to Mum and Dad that I didn't do it; like standing in front of a mirror and taking a photo of myself in the nude with that new instant camera Dad got for Christmas, then weighing the camera down with a brick and throwing it into the river because my photo got stuck inside it; like knowing the truth about the nicked wallet. But I'm not telling O'Brian my real sins. Fat chance. I think everyone seeing him today is going to lie. Confession is supposed to leave you free of sin and spotless of soul. Not the way we do it. It's more likely that the lot of us will burn in Hell.

  'Well then, boy? I'm waitin' for yer.'

  'I missed Mass, Father.'

  'You WHAT?'

  Terrific. They must have heard that in China.

  'Talk to me, son. Why did yer miss Mass?'

  'Sorry, Father – I forgot.'

  'Oh, well that's all right then, if yer forgot, I beg your pardon – it's not a problem at all.'

  He likes to build your hopes up.

  'My good fellow –'

  Here it comes.

  'Do yer know what happens when yer forget God?'

  'No.'

  'He forgets you! And when God forgets you, it's Hell on Earth! Hell on Earth! Is that what yer want?'

  'No, Father.'

  'Then straighten yerself out! Yer with me there, lad?'

  'Yes, Father.'

  'For your penance say six decades of the rosary.' He rattles a prayer of absolution at me. He could be gargling for all I know. 'Send in the next boy.' The window slams shut.

  I kneel down, like you're supposed to do after confession, but I don't say the penance. I reckon it's enough just having to go in and face O'Brian. I'm not completely against praying, but I'd rather keep it for an emergency.

  14

  Troy is in with O'Brian for only a few minutes before he saunters out and joins us again. He rolls his eyes as he kneels down and pretends to pray. I guess that he's been given a hard time so I mime a belly laugh. You get good at mime when you go to our school. The Brothers don't know they're teaching it, but every time they strap someone for talking in class or at church, our mime skills improve out of sight.

  'Hey,' I nudge him, 'whatcha say to him?'

  'Same as you.' He looks down to his hand, thumb and forefinger curled into a zero.

  After the last confession is heard we file out of the church and drift back to school. When Clementian is far enough away, Bails tell his story.

  'That O'Brian, he was trying to get me to be a pries
t.' 48

  Troy laughs. 'That's a classic.'

  'Would be,' I say, 'if it was true.'

  'Deadset, Neil. He was telling me what a great life it was and how it was the best way to serve God. They have someone who does their cleanin' and cookin' and everything. It sounded pretty all right to me.'

  'What did you say, Bails?'

  'I asked him if I could bring me dog.'

  'You what?'

  'Ye-ah! I'm not leavin' me dog for anyone.'

  Troy turns to me, grinning like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. What makes it even funnier is that we know Bails is deadly serious.

  'And can you?' Troy keeps a straight face.

  'Nah. He said no dogs are allowed, so I told him, no thanks.'

  'Bails, you're a dickhead.'

  Troy and I say it together, as if we've been rehearsing it all our lives.

  'What did I do?' he asks. 'What did I do?'

  And that cracks us up even more.

  School can be a hard place when the teachers go mental on you. Then one of us will say something just plain stupid and it'll be like this and we're laughing and no strap is big enough to hurt us.

  15

  I'm back at home, walking past the phone one afternoon when it calls out to me, almost like it knew I was there.

  I snatch it up, thinking it's Troy.

  'Yep?'

  'Hello, Neil. It's Sylvie. Ray's sister.'

  I gulp first. Then I try to come up with something incredibly witty to say, but I don't have the hour or so it would take.

  'Hi. What's happenin'?'

  'I have some good news for you.'

  Wild and crazy thoughts stir inside me. I'm an optimist when it comes to sex.

  'What is it?'

  'Well, for a start, Ray's got his own place now. It's only one room but he likes it there. Isn't that great?'

  Is that all? Who cares?

  'Yeah, it is. That's really terrific news.'

  'Yes – but the best thing is – he's got a job!'

  Come on, Neil. Get some enthusiasm going here.