He had served his church in areas that would make a professional street fighter blanch. He had served his church in Rome and on one memorable occasion he had met the Holy Father, il papa himself. During the course of his life he had witnessed great good. During the course of his life he had witnessed great evil. He absolutely believed in the maxim that a good shepherd takes care of and protects his flock by whatever means, and if he had to bend the rules a little every now and again to do so then so be it.
Father O’Brien
Father Brendan O’Brien celebrated his sixty fourth birthday on the twentieth of August two thousand and seven with a small gathering of friends. Father O’Brien loved music and books. His friends, aware of his eclectic taste in both bought gifts accordingly, not that he expected gifts but they wanted to show their appreciation of his handling of a very sad affair sometime previous. An affair, if so it could be called, that just about brought the neighbourhood to a standstill. Friends and neighbours had died, many were injured, six of whom were maimed for life. He counseled Eileen, a lovely girl, who lost a loved one and helped her through a difficult time. His friends were grateful and not for the first time counted themselves fortunate that the now aging priest had settled in so well amongst them. More that ten years had slipped by since he took over the old church and turned the rectory into something like home. They were grateful and thanked the good Lord for his presence and continued good health despite his propensity for smoking hand rolled cigarettes and the occasional glass or two. “He is a good man” they said, “one of the best” as for his birthday gifts, well, most all the regular Sunday morning crowd had chipped in with a dollar or two.
“Presents,” he exclaimed jovially, “show me a man, woman or child who doesn’t like presents and I’ll show you someone who should be confessing to the sin of lying,” he exploded in laughter, his eyes gleaming with the unexpected pleasure of presents. He unwrapped each gift with care, his eyes damp with gruff emotion. “God love you all,” he husked, “God love you all.” He eyed his gifts one by one in silence, his friend’s beamed. “Would you look at that now,” he said almost in awe as he picked up a four CD box set of the late, sad but gifted Nick Drake. “The Lord gives” he murmured softly “and the Lord takes away. He was a truly gifted artist you know.” His friends didn’t but they nodded their agreement anyway.
You might think it strange that a group of regular church goers got together to buy their local priest a birthday gift and you would probably be right. On the other hand why not? We all like to receive but how many of us are willing to give. Besides, Father O’Brien was a truly good person and he makes a difference. In the aftermath of the explosion that stole the life of Eileen’s smiling young man and others, he was an absolute tower of strength, the Lord’s rock upon which we lean, so if a few members of his congregation wish to show their appreciation then why not? Why not indeed? Though he did murmur that he wasn’t sure if the good Bishop St Clare, God love him would approve, as it turned out he did.
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At the age of sixty four Father Brendan O’Brien had given more than forty four years of his life in service to his God, and by extension his church and he regretted not a single one. “The good Lord willing, there’s forty year or more left in me yet” he once said with a chuckle.
He had served his church in areas that would make a professional street fighter blanch. He had served his church in Rome and on one memorable occasion he had met the Holy Father, il papa himself. During the course of his life he had witnessed great good. During the course of his life he had witnessed great evil. He absolutely believed in the maxim that a good shepherd takes care of and protects his flock by whatever means, and if he had to bend the rules a little every now and again to do so then so be it.
One time he recalled, way back during his years at the seminary a young novice who later viewed his elevation to the priesthood with fire and passion; a young supremely intelligent young man with a great career ahead of him. Eventually he was selected to work in the Vatican. Then suddenly he suffered a crisis of faith, refusing all offers of help he resigned from the priesthood and disappeared, resurfacing two years late in the poor quarter in Mexico City drifting aimlessly. He died in a drive by shooting, murdered in other words. When Father O’Brien heard about it he was shocked to the core.
“Something evil passed by and stole a life from the Lord,” he was heard to say. From that time on Father O’Brien stood forth against evil wheresoever he found it. And if he had to bend the rules now and again to defeat an evil then so be it. He came close to losing his life on two occasions, undeterred he fought on. “The Lord will call me when he’s good and ready until then,” he said with grim determination “I’ll be about his work.” Nor did he waste his breath concerning those who in evil’s name visited harm on the innocent, other than to say such be the devil’s minions everybody knows that.
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As the months and years slipped by Father Brendan O’Brien like a great many of his brethren faced the shocking truth that a great and terrible evil was loose and intent upon the destruction of their world and the casual slaughter of innocents. Not since the mad little Austrian corporal with the funny moustache strode the world’s stage, resulting in the death of more than fifty million souls, had the world seen such pure unadulterated evil. Terrorism, such a small word, he sometimes thought for such an all embracing doctrine of hate. “The devil is loose,” he murmured as he prayed for the strength to continue his stand against the rising spread of evil. “Thy will be done,” he intoned, “until the end of my days.”
The bulk of the collection is eight short stories that are set in yesteryear. The compilation is filled out with four entertaining fantasy pieces and three poems.
3 WAY MIRROR is about a lost identity as experienced by a twenty-eight-year old who thinks he's Charles Randall, until strange events suggest otherwise.
London: Lashed, Lacerated, Lampooned and Lambasted satirizes 18 popular Jack London novellas with adult content and language and the work is author Jay Dubya's 37th published hardcover/paperback book.
