The church bells rang, Peadar began to sing along. “The bells of the Angelus,
is calling to pray, in sweet tones announcing the sacred Ave…”
“That’s not the right words,” a passerby shouted. Peadar ignored him. He kept walking, his toes curled, gripping oversized slip-ons. Peadar was cold, the sweet sound of the bells gave him warmth. Twelve o’clock…it gave him time too.
Pushing the church door open, warm air hugged him. He shivered as he knelt. He hoped they wouldn’t chase him out today. They didn’t like the homeless hanging around. He never saw them pray. Gossiping only interested them. Craw thumpers. His belly rumbled. The Angelus, one decade of the rosary and a quick word in God’s ear, then he would brave the cold again, shuffling around the corner to the soup kitchen.
It was Christmas day tomorrow; lights lit every window. Peadar remembered Christmases past. His Mammy made Christmas fun, singing in church, decorating the tree. He had loved Christmas with his Mammy. She protected him from his Daddy. He ducked, awaiting a blow even at the thought of his dad. He tried to shut him out, the insults crept in… amadán, lúdramán, nincompoop, pure mule. Daddy always said Peadar’s brain was banjaxed, that he’d been in the back of the line when the good Lord above was handing out brains. Mammy would whisper “Lord forgive him.” Peadar wished he could hold her hand once more.
Peadar’s Mammy died eight years ago; he was seventeen. After several beatings from his dad, name calling and abuse, he ran away and lived on the streets. Anonymous to all ever since. No money. No roof over his head. No record of him. Nobody missed him. No one ever questioned, “why?” Why would they?
At the soup kitchen the kind lady greeted him, “Hello, how are you today?”
He smiled back, no words. He learnt to be mute rather than converse with people. She handed him a delicious dinner. He sat quietly in a corner eating.
“We’re having a special dinner tomorrow, turkey, ham, pudding. Are you coming?”
Peadar nodded.
“Great! See you tomorrow,” she smiled.
He hadn’t known the soup kitchen opened Christmas Day. For years he’d gone hungry. He wanted to thank her; nerves wouldn’t allow it. If words came out, there would be repercussions. He finished and left.
The eight o’clock bell woke him Christmas morning in the abandoned warehouse. He pulled the worn carpet over himself for warmth. No shops open today. Little footfall on the streets. He waited where he was until the Angelus bells rang before heading out.
Following his usual routine, he left the church and walked to the soup kitchen. The tables were dressed, tablecloths, crackers, serviettes and a Christmas tree. He felt at home. The lady served him and returned with a present.
“Happy Christmas,” she said, urging him to open it.
Inside lay boots, thick soles, fur lined with laces to pull tight. His eyes lit up.
“Thank you” escaped his lips.
She smiled. “Try them on.”
Beaming from ear to ear, he did. He rocked back and forth in comfort. They fitted like a glove.
“Will you come to choir with me?” she asked, “I’d like to hear you sing properly.”
He was shocked.
“I hear you singing the bells of the Angelus through the kitchen window every day. It’s beautiful. Will you come?”
He nodded.
Christmas dinner, pudding, new boots and a kind lady who wanted to hear him sing. Mammy must be looking out for him. He looked to heaven and hummed, “Ave, Ave, Ave Maria.”
