players lost a knight.
“He is bright. I’m glad you agree,” the rabbi responded, as he used a pawn to take one of the priest’s bishops. “That’s why it would be so unfortunate if he were sent away.”
Father Hanrahan looked quizzically at the Rav. “How do you come to know about all this, may I ask?”
“Well, many years ago the boy’s mother worked briefly for me. And the lad is currently in my employ … as a kind of Sabbath helper.”
“You mean a
Shabbes goy?
” the priest inquired with a knowing grin. “I’m not unacquainted with your religious practices.”
“Then you know that it’s a position of trust and responsibility, which through the years has been held by such distinguished gentiles as the great Russian playwright, Maxim Gorky—”
“—not to mention James Cagney, the great Irish-American actor,” Hanrahan added, as he suddenly moved his queen directly in front of the Rav’s king, amicably pronouncing, “Check!”
Trying to avoid being distracted by his dilemma on the chessboard, the rabbi stated categorically, “I don’t know this Mr. Cagney—but I do know that the Hogan boy is innocent.”
Father Hanrahan looked up at the rabbi and replied enigmatically, “I believe you’re right.”
“Then why can’t you do something?”
“This is difficult to explain, Rabbi,” the priest said, moving his knight forward, apparently absentmindedly.“But I’m party to certain information that the seal of confession forbids me to disclose.”
The Rav persisted. “Still, isn’t there any way of saving the boy?”
Father Joe pondered for a moment, and then remarked, “Perhaps I can speak to the lad—get him involved more in the church. That might give me some ground for dissuading Cassie.”
“So it’s mainly the aunt?”
Hanrahan looked at his watch. “It’s getting late. I must go. I hope you’ll excuse me.”
The Rav rose, but Hanrahan’s voice stopped him.
“Oh, just one more thing, Rabbi Luria.”
“Yes?”
Leaning over the board, the priest brought his remaining bishop straight down the diagonal, taking one of the rabbi’s pawns. There was no way of saving the Jewish king. The Catholic then tipped his hat in a gesture of jaunty respect and started off.
Rav Luria stood in the windy park and thought to himself, He outplayed me.
But the important thing is that I
won
!
Before meeting with Timothy, Father Joe studied what his policemen parishioners might have called the boy’s “rap sheet.”
There was an extraordinary amount to read. Yet what struck him was that every one of Tim’s teachers had been obliged to reduce his grades because of his misbehavior, despite the fact that he was by far the smartest in their classes.
“He’s a clever little devil,” Sister Mary Bernard had written. “If only his considerable talents could be marshaled for the good, we would all be blessed.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” the priest called.
The door opened slowly and Timothy Hogan, face nearly as white as his shirt, peeked anxiously inside.
At first, all he saw were endless rows of books set fromfloor to ceiling on wood and cinder-block shelves. It reminded him of a tidier version of Rav Luria’s study. Then he focused on the gray-haired cleric, nearly dwarfed behind his huge mahogany desk.
“You wanted to see me, Father?” he asked diffidently.
“That I did. Sit down, my boy.”
Before making the slightest move, Tim blurted, “I didn’t steal the money, Father Hanrahan. I swear to God I didn’t!”
The priest leaned across his desk and confided softly, “I believe you.”
“You do?”
Hanrahan pressed his palms together and addressed the boy again. “Lad, it doesn’t matter whether you’re in the right this time, you’ve got a record for rowdiness as long as my arm.”
Tim tried to read the old man’s thoughts. “It’s Aunt Cassie, isn’t it? She hates me—”
Father silenced him with an upraised hand. “Come now,
“He is bright. I’m glad you agree,” the rabbi responded, as he used a pawn to take one of the priest’s bishops. “That’s why it would be so unfortunate if he were sent away.”
Father Hanrahan looked quizzically at the Rav. “How do you come to know about all this, may I ask?”
“Well, many years ago the boy’s mother worked briefly for me. And the lad is currently in my employ … as a kind of Sabbath helper.”
“You mean a
Shabbes goy?
” the priest inquired with a knowing grin. “I’m not unacquainted with your religious practices.”
“Then you know that it’s a position of trust and responsibility, which through the years has been held by such distinguished gentiles as the great Russian playwright, Maxim Gorky—”
“—not to mention James Cagney, the great Irish-American actor,” Hanrahan added, as he suddenly moved his queen directly in front of the Rav’s king, amicably pronouncing, “Check!”
Trying to avoid being distracted by his dilemma on the chessboard, the rabbi stated categorically, “I don’t know this Mr. Cagney—but I do know that the Hogan boy is innocent.”
Father Hanrahan looked up at the rabbi and replied enigmatically, “I believe you’re right.”
“Then why can’t you do something?”
“This is difficult to explain, Rabbi,” the priest said, moving his knight forward, apparently absentmindedly.“But I’m party to certain information that the seal of confession forbids me to disclose.”
The Rav persisted. “Still, isn’t there any way of saving the boy?”
Father Joe pondered for a moment, and then remarked, “Perhaps I can speak to the lad—get him involved more in the church. That might give me some ground for dissuading Cassie.”
“So it’s mainly the aunt?”
Hanrahan looked at his watch. “It’s getting late. I must go. I hope you’ll excuse me.”
The Rav rose, but Hanrahan’s voice stopped him.
“Oh, just one more thing, Rabbi Luria.”
“Yes?”
Leaning over the board, the priest brought his remaining bishop straight down the diagonal, taking one of the rabbi’s pawns. There was no way of saving the Jewish king. The Catholic then tipped his hat in a gesture of jaunty respect and started off.
Rav Luria stood in the windy park and thought to himself, He outplayed me.
But the important thing is that I
won
!
Before meeting with Timothy, Father Joe studied what his policemen parishioners might have called the boy’s “rap sheet.”
There was an extraordinary amount to read. Yet what struck him was that every one of Tim’s teachers had been obliged to reduce his grades because of his misbehavior, despite the fact that he was by far the smartest in their classes.
“He’s a clever little devil,” Sister Mary Bernard had written. “If only his considerable talents could be marshaled for the good, we would all be blessed.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” the priest called.
The door opened slowly and Timothy Hogan, face nearly as white as his shirt, peeked anxiously inside.
At first, all he saw were endless rows of books set fromfloor to ceiling on wood and cinder-block shelves. It reminded him of a tidier version of Rav Luria’s study. Then he focused on the gray-haired cleric, nearly dwarfed behind his huge mahogany desk.
“You wanted to see me, Father?” he asked diffidently.
“That I did. Sit down, my boy.”
Before making the slightest move, Tim blurted, “I didn’t steal the money, Father Hanrahan. I swear to God I didn’t!”
The priest leaned across his desk and confided softly, “I believe you.”
“You do?”
Hanrahan pressed his palms together and addressed the boy again. “Lad, it doesn’t matter whether you’re in the right this time, you’ve got a record for rowdiness as long as my arm.”
Tim tried to read the old man’s thoughts. “It’s Aunt Cassie, isn’t it? She hates me—”
Father silenced him with an upraised hand. “Come now,
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