Nursery Crimes Part 7

At last Dolly, showing obvious signs of strain, emerged. In her haste to leave the confessional she tripped over her dress and sprawled full length in front of Zanny. "Bleedin" 'eck!" she muttered, embarra.s.sed. And then whispered to Zanny that she had been given three Hail Marys.

While Zanny was settling herself in the confessional Father Donovan sent up a brief prayer that this one would be easier. They went through the preliminaries and then got down to business.

"It is sometimes a little difficult to bring sins to mind, but you've had a little time to think, child. Now what have you got to confess?"

There was silence for a moment or two - a little rustling of the satin dress -- and then a conspiratorial little whisper.

"Father, can you hear me if I don't say it loud?"

"I can hear you perfectly, child."

"I drowned little Willie."

"What?"

"I drowned little Willie - in the goldfish pond."

Father Donovan put his index finger in his ear and explored for anything that might be blocking it.

"Did you say dragged?"

"No -- drowned. I sat on his head."

Dear G.o.d Almighty, Father Donovan thought, what kind of game are You playing with me this day? He had always credited the Blessed Lord with a sense of humour, but he had never been teased by Him before. First one child hasn't sinned at all - and then finally obliges after much coaxing. The other child invents a whopping marvellous one. Straight off.

"It is wrong," he said severely, "to tell a lie."

"Oh, I know, Father. And it's wrong not to tell the truth, isn't it?"

A little niggle of doubt entered Father Donovan's mind. She sounded so very sure of herself. Very grave. Not a ripple of laughter. It wasn't beyond the bounds of possibility.

"How old," he asked, "was little - er - Willie?"

"Four."

Perfectly, appallingly, possible.

He dropped the pretence of not knowing who was on the other side of the part.i.tion. "Zanny?"

"Yes, Father."

"Are you telling me the truth, Zanny?"

"Yes, Father."

"Dear Christ! Why in the name of G.o.d did he let you?"

"Let me what, Father?"

"Sit on his head."

"I chased him into the pond - he fell and banged his head on the bottom -- before he could get up I sat on his head - he tried to push me off, but he couldn't. There was bubbles all over the place--and fish. When Mummy and the doctor got him out he was dead."

A graphic, very clear, explanation. Father Donovan believed it. He rested his head in his hands and had a sudden very strong desire to go to the lavatory, which he resisted. He had heard a whole range of sins in his time -- one or two quite hairy ones -- but none as hairy as this. He didn't know what to say - or do.

"Father."

He groaned. "Yes, Zanny?"

"Do I tell all my sins at once -- or spread them out?"

"You mean - there's something else?"

"Yes, Father. I murdered Evans the Bread."

"Who?"

"Mr. Evans who drives the breadvan. I exploded him. He sat halfway up a tree - all black - with flames coming out of him. He died."

"Oh," said Father Donovan. His bowels settled back into normality. The Blessed Lord was having a field day of it, today. He had almost got him believing it. What was his own sin? Being pompous? He had accused the other child of spiritual pride and now the Lord was pulling his leg like crazy. He had sent him this child -with her terrible imagination - and for half a minute there he had believed what she was telling him. He saw suddenly that she was an instrument of the Lord, this golden-haired creature, sent to him with the gift of laughter - of laughter at himself. Her only sin was reading the wrong sort of comics and then identifying with them. The nuns shouldn't allow that sort of literature into the building. Evans the Bread - that was a new one!

His voice shook with laughter which he did his best to suppress. "You know, Zanny, that it's wrong to tell a lie?"

"Yes, Father."

"Very wrong."

"Yes, Father."

"And you won't tell any more lies, will you, Zanny?"

"No, Father." (How could you tell more when you hadn't told any?) "Zanny."

"Yes, Father."

"You know it's wrong to read the wrong sort of books. What sort of books do you read?"

"Peter Pan," Zanny suggested cautiously. Taking gra.s.shopper leaps after his mind was tiring her.

"What about comics?!'

"Chick's Own and Rainbow." "Have you ever read any nasty comics belonging to boys?"

"No, Father."

"About people like Evans the Bread - or was it Evans the Dread?"

"No, Father."