it all. She saw their cruelty and their pathetic weakness in the
face of the power of their own bodies.
There was nothing but disgust in the world, whether it belonged to men or women. She felt as if she had turned to stone as she sat above him in the bed. She stroked his back and he groaned
again. “There there,” she said, “you poor little thing. Did you never see a girl before?” She spat in Culligan’s eye and drove a knife through Molloy’s heart as
he stood before her with a face like a death mask above the lightbeam of the torch. Then she softened her voice. She could see that he wanted that. It was alien to him, accustomed as he was to his
own sweat and the smell of the animals. “Your little Josie is going to be so nice to you, oh so nice. You like that, don’t you?”
They lay there inert after that, until the first light of dawn touched the window and his eyes shot open as he reached out into the morning like a drowning man and cried frantically,
“Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!”
The smell of Josie Keenan began to encroach upon the house. She made one of the bedrooms hers, washed and starched the sheets and placed a flower in a vase on the mantelpiece.
When he came home from the fields in the evening, she looked at him with her eyes and that was all he wanted. When she found him in her room staring transfixed at her underclothes, she lifted the
petticoat and stroked his cheek with it. “What were you doing in my room, Phil?” she said. “This is a girl’s room, you know that. You shouldn’t be in a girl’s
room.” She unfolded the garment and spread it on the bed. “What do you want to look at things like that for, Phil? Mm? That’s for girls.”
When she asked him for money, she told him it was to buy “some nice things for herself” for she knew what this conjured up in his mind, and watched stoically as he rummaged in the
bag behind the sink where he kept the money in rolled bundles. “I’m going to buy a nice pair of stockings with that, Phil,” she said, and took the bus to a town across the border
where she sat on her own in a café listening to a jukebox and eating ice-creams. She knew he would never have the courage to ask what she did with the money. She could take all the dignity
he had from him with one flicker of her eyelashes.
He never queried anything she did. The house became hers and he wanted that.
One day, on her return from the town across the border, Josie saw that the door of the house was half-open. Her first instinct was to run but having told herself that it was nothing but another
of the irrational fears that had taken root in her since her days in the dark dormitories of the orphanage, she went on and crossed the stile, then walked up the lane to the house. When the door
swung open, she saw the white, hair-specked face of Sister Benignus. Beside her, a stocky priest with red jowls stood ominously with his hands behind his back. In the corner, the old man cowered
with tears on his cheeks. The silence ticked away. Then the nun cried out in a voice that was creaky with anger, “You have flown in the face of God. You have flung everything back in our
faces, you have abused your body which is the temple of the Holy Ghost. You have turned this man away from the path of goodness and virtue. You will have to ask the Lord God for forgiveness. You
have become a scarlet woman Josie Keenan. You will have to atone for your sins!” The priest looked away, reddening and sticking a finger inside his stiff white collar. Josie knew it all by
heart now, he was just another man, terrified of what his own body might do to him. But she also knew that the nun had no difficulty in staring straight into her eyes and gripping her viciously by
the wrist saying, “You are coming with myself and Father Mooney. We are going to take you into the convent. But we will keep a closer eye on you there than we did in the orphanage. This must
never get out and cause
face of the power of their own bodies.
There was nothing but disgust in the world, whether it belonged to men or women. She felt as if she had turned to stone as she sat above him in the bed. She stroked his back and he groaned
again. “There there,” she said, “you poor little thing. Did you never see a girl before?” She spat in Culligan’s eye and drove a knife through Molloy’s heart as
he stood before her with a face like a death mask above the lightbeam of the torch. Then she softened her voice. She could see that he wanted that. It was alien to him, accustomed as he was to his
own sweat and the smell of the animals. “Your little Josie is going to be so nice to you, oh so nice. You like that, don’t you?”
They lay there inert after that, until the first light of dawn touched the window and his eyes shot open as he reached out into the morning like a drowning man and cried frantically,
“Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!”
The smell of Josie Keenan began to encroach upon the house. She made one of the bedrooms hers, washed and starched the sheets and placed a flower in a vase on the mantelpiece.
When he came home from the fields in the evening, she looked at him with her eyes and that was all he wanted. When she found him in her room staring transfixed at her underclothes, she lifted the
petticoat and stroked his cheek with it. “What were you doing in my room, Phil?” she said. “This is a girl’s room, you know that. You shouldn’t be in a girl’s
room.” She unfolded the garment and spread it on the bed. “What do you want to look at things like that for, Phil? Mm? That’s for girls.”
When she asked him for money, she told him it was to buy “some nice things for herself” for she knew what this conjured up in his mind, and watched stoically as he rummaged in the
bag behind the sink where he kept the money in rolled bundles. “I’m going to buy a nice pair of stockings with that, Phil,” she said, and took the bus to a town across the border
where she sat on her own in a café listening to a jukebox and eating ice-creams. She knew he would never have the courage to ask what she did with the money. She could take all the dignity
he had from him with one flicker of her eyelashes.
He never queried anything she did. The house became hers and he wanted that.
One day, on her return from the town across the border, Josie saw that the door of the house was half-open. Her first instinct was to run but having told herself that it was nothing but another
of the irrational fears that had taken root in her since her days in the dark dormitories of the orphanage, she went on and crossed the stile, then walked up the lane to the house. When the door
swung open, she saw the white, hair-specked face of Sister Benignus. Beside her, a stocky priest with red jowls stood ominously with his hands behind his back. In the corner, the old man cowered
with tears on his cheeks. The silence ticked away. Then the nun cried out in a voice that was creaky with anger, “You have flown in the face of God. You have flung everything back in our
faces, you have abused your body which is the temple of the Holy Ghost. You have turned this man away from the path of goodness and virtue. You will have to ask the Lord God for forgiveness. You
have become a scarlet woman Josie Keenan. You will have to atone for your sins!” The priest looked away, reddening and sticking a finger inside his stiff white collar. Josie knew it all by
heart now, he was just another man, terrified of what his own body might do to him. But she also knew that the nun had no difficulty in staring straight into her eyes and gripping her viciously by
the wrist saying, “You are coming with myself and Father Mooney. We are going to take you into the convent. But we will keep a closer eye on you there than we did in the orphanage. This must
never get out and cause
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