He Took Me to Catch the Rat, But the Rat Was Him novel · Chapter 9 of 24

Chapter 9: The Carving

Phelim Dwyer carved the Sunday roast at the head of a table that sat twenty.

His house in Mayfair was a big brick twin with a plastic runner down the hall and a crucifix over every door.

The six old men of the Table sat along one side with their wives, and I sat along the other beside Cathal.

"Beef for the guest of honor," Phelim said, and laid a slice on my plate.

"You'll want your strength, love. February's a hard month."

I did not touch the beef.

"My father used to say a rat's not a man," one of the old men said, cutting his meat.

"He's a thing you drown."

"With a sack of bricks, in the Delaware," Phelim agreed pleasantly.

"That's how it was done, in my day."

I looked at Cathal.

He had lifted his water glass, and the water in it was trembling.

He set it down, and the base clattered against the plate.

Phelim was not looking at me.

He was looking at Cathal, quite steadily, with the carving knife still in his hand.

I did not understand it, and I put it away to think about later.

"Well, love," Phelim said, turning to me.

"The Table's glad to have you under a Dwyer roof."

"On the eleventh your father kneels in St. Colman's, or you come to us," he said.

"I'd hate for it to come to that."

One of the wives set down her fork.

I stood up.

My chair scraped on the linoleum, and every face at the table turned.

"My mother sat in the fourth pew at St. Colman's for three years," I said.

I kept my voice level.

"The woman in front of her moved to the other side of the church."

"The priest's housekeeper wouldn't hand her the Christmas candles," I said.

"Someone left a dead bird on our step on her birthday."

Nobody moved.

"Every man at this table walked past her in the aisle," I said.

"One of you said he was sorry yesterday, and I thank him for it."

The old man with the handkerchief looked at his plate.

"She died with her rosary in her hand and nobody to hold the other end of it," I said.

"I held it."

"I'm still holding it."

I sat down.

The silence went on until the wife nearest me began to cry into her napkin.

"Well said, love," Phelim said softly, and smiled at me.

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