Finton Moon (29 page)

“It's not much of a burn, as far as burns go. It'll heal on its own in good time. But I thought, since Finton has these powers, why not ask? Give the boy a chance.”

“I can't,” said Finton, stuffing his clasped hands between his legs.

“Please, Finton.” Father Power stood up, his hands folded as if in prayer at his waist. “You'd be doing your church—and me—a great service.”

“No,” said Finton. “I can't. I don't know why, but I think I lost it.”

“Can you at least try?” The priest sighed heavily, furrowing his brow. “I'm not saying I believe, but—”

“You don't understand.” Finton pushed himself away from the table and let himself down from his chair. He slipped in a spot of something on the floor and had to grip the table with both hands; the entire table shuddered and clanked. One candle went out, sending white smoke wafting upward. “I can't do it.”

“That's all right.” Tom cocked his head and winked. “You'd do it if you could, right?” He turned to the priest and gave a quick wink. “You have to understand, Father—I never really believed he could do anything special. Everything he did can be explained. You said so yourself: Miss Bridie was never dead. I'd venture to bet the young Connelly one was gettin' better on her own. And I never saw anyone really get healed.” Tom pulled a cigarette from his pants pocket and stuffed it between his lips. “I don't think there's anything to it.”

“Fine,” said Finton, suddenly feeling challenged by his father's doubtfulness. “I'll try.”

The priest immediately stuck out his arm, holding back his sleeve, while Tom gave him another sly wink. “What do I have to do?” Father Power asked.

“Nothin',” said Finton. He grasped the priest's wrist and took a deep breath. “This might hurt when I put my hand on the blister, okay?”

Father Power held his breath and nodded quickly. “Just get it over with.”

Quickly, but gently, Finton placed his palm over the burned area and closed his eyes. He heard a gasp as the priest shuddered and swore, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”

But Finton wasn't feeling anything. In his mind, he tried to reach for the Planet of Solitude. Tried to envision himself leaving the earth. Conjured an image of a white apple tree, but it wasn't the same one. He even tried praying a “Hail Mary” out loud. But when he opened his eyes, Father Power still winced in pain, eyes shut, looking as if he were about to pass out.

“You can open your eyes, Father.”

All three of them gazed at the wound, which was just as angry and raw as before, perhaps even more so. “It didn't work,” said Finton. “I don't know why.”

“It's fine,” said the bishop, shaking visibly as he rolled up his sleeve. “I'll just have Millie put something on it. “Go with God, my son.”

Father Power saw them to the door. “Your grandmother once told me that you were hoping to join the priesthood someday.” He gazed into Finton's eyes. “You'd make a fine priest.”

“Thank you,” said Finton. He considered admitting his recent doubts, but didn't see the point of making things worse. They were standing in the open doorway now, the chill of the night enveloping them all. “I'm sorry I couldn't help you.”

“It's unfortunate.” The priest rubbed his arms and began to close the door. With a touch to the father's shoulder, he said, “But at least now we know. Of course, if your circumstance changes, please apprise me. I'll tell the bishop what had happened, and that'll be that. No miracles for Darwin. At least not tonight.”

“You go ahead, Finton. I wanted to talk to Father Power for a minute.” Tom gave him a nod, and Finton did as he was told. Sitting in the car, he watched the two men converse, their figures illuminated by the light above the door. Considering his father wasn't religious, he wondered what Tom could possibly have to say to a priest. It might be a confession of some sort, but somehow he doubted it.

By the time his father said goodnight to Father Power and got in the car, Finton forgot all about it. He was simply relieved that the show was over.

On the Run

For Mary, the road to wellness was long and fraught with setbacks. Shortly after her Confirmation, she relapsed and became too weak to get out of bed. At the request of Mary's mother, Finton went to see her again.

She was awake, but barely and, in fact, she hardly seemed to know he was present. He didn't perform any special ritual, just sat and talked to her. He told her about school, that Dolly and Skeet seemed to be getting along, and that he was a little worried about Bernard Crowley. She didn't offer much of a response, just nodded once in a while and tried to smile. He considered telling her about Morgan.
Not that Morgan could replace you,
he would have said. But he decided it wouldn't help much to go blabbing to the girl he loved about his sexual encounter with another woman. Instead, he said, “I brought this great book,” and he opened his copy of Harper Lee's novel and read from the beginning. Before he'd finished the chapter, she'd fallen asleep.

“Thank you for coming,” Sylvia said when he was leaving.

He didn't tell her he could no longer heal, didn't want to explain. Finton was used to feeling different, but his power to heal people was the only thing that made him feel special. His one gift had left him on Confirmation Day and now that it was gone, it was highly possible it might never return, especially since he didn't know where it came from.

“You're welcome,” he said, feeling sadder than he'd ever been. “I hope Mary can come back to school soon.”

“I don't know about that.” Sylvia shook her head. “There's times I'm not sure anything can help her, except maybe time.”

“Hear about what happened at Bilch's last night?” Skeet stared down the orange metal hoop and lined up his next shot. Ever since his father had installed a hoop onto the Stuckeys' garage door, basketball had become the latest fad. Now and then, a bunch of the neighbourhood boys assembled for a game, but most evenings throughout the spring and summer it was just the two friends, bouncing the ball on the hardpacked earth and shooting twenty-ones. It was a simple game of follow-the-leader—when one player made a shot, the other one had to follow with a shot from the same location.

Finton found himself in the position of following. “Heard about it?” He laughed bitterly. “I'll probably never hear the end of it.”

“I was there,” said Skeet, who delivered his shot, the ball boinging off the rim and falling to the dirt. “We were all playin' pool—a bunch of us, including your brother. I was just rackin' for another game and in she comes, sir, like the friggin' wrath of God. Says, ‘I'll give ya smokin'! I'll give ya girls 'n goddamn pool!'” Skeet wagged his finger and put his hands on his hips as he acted out the infamous scene. “‘Get yer arse home out of this den of iniquity!' she said.” Skeet pretended to grab Finton's collar and he was dragging him out a make-believe door. “Friggin' priceless. I'll never forget it.”

“Neither will Homer,” Finton said.

“What did he have to say about it?”

“Not much, b'y. Homer keeps that stuff to himself. He don't let on to anyone, but I'd say he's embarrassed.”

Skeet laughed. “Well, he should be. If my mother did that, I wouldn't show meself anywhere again.”

“Wasn't his fault.” Finton picked up the ball, arced his arm, and swept the ball into the hoop. “Mom just don't like him going to Bilch's.”

“It's still pretty funny.” Skeet spat on the ground, lunged for the ball, grabbed it and faked a layup. He was a little scrawnier these days, but had recovered well from his illness. And he was still bigger than Finton by far. “You know, you still haven't told me what you did to me that time when I was sick.”

“You said you weren't all that sick.”

“Well, I lied. What did you do to me?”

“Nothing. I just… I don't know, okay? Just leave it alone.”

“What about what you did with Mary—was that nothing too? And Miss Bridie?”

“I can't explain it, Skeet. I just can't. I laid my hands on you and just imagined you getting better.”

It wasn't the first time his friend had asked for particulars about those incidents. Furthermore, it had been two weeks since dinner at the priest's house, and Finton still hadn't divulged any meaningful details. But he didn't know how to explain either the healings or the fact that he couldn't do them anymore. Furthermore, to divulge that the priest had asked for a demonstration would feel like a small betrayal since Father Power had asked him not to.

And yet, despite the lack of details from the source himself, many in Darwin viewed Finton as a celebrity. He wasn't even sure why, or when, his life had changed so dramatically, but he'd come a long ways from when no one wanted to sit with him on the bus. Perhaps Sylvia Connelly's praise of him had softened some hearts. As well, Skeet had told Dolly about his quick recovery from “certain death,” thanks at least in part to an afternoon visitor—and confiding in Dolly was the surest way to spread news.

One day Finton got on the bus, and Albino Al and Dolly immediately squeezed in beside him, while a few more gathered around. Initially, he was flattered, but when the scene was replayed over and over, he grew tired of the constant attention. At school, as well, lots of people desired some favour, blessing or a simple touch, but even those who asked for nothing retained the right to gossip about him—or so he'd heard from Skeet, Dolly and sometimes one of his brothers. Most kids had grown accustomed to his extraordinary facility for healing, and some had begun shadowing him around the school grounds, hoping to catch proof of his supernatural talents. He'd come to think of them as akin to those pesky little birds that perch on the arses of rhinos and chew on their scabs. According to Marlin Perkins on
Wild Kingdom
, they were called “oxpickers,” a name that bore a certain ring of truth.

Every day, Finton clambered onto the bus and a few people would wave their hands for him to sit beside them. If he sat alone, someone would join him. More and more, he began sitting in the back beside Alicia Dredge, comforted by the secrets they shared—their moment in the library and the book she'd given him. She expected nothing from him and, in fact, was one of the few who had seen fit to give something to him. He'd read
To Kill a Mockingbird
again and kept it under his mattress; occasionally he took it out to reread certain passages. On the bus, in such close proximity, they exchanged greetings and the occasional bit of chatter about the inhabitants of a house they passed by or some animal on the side of the road. He felt as if he was getting to know her a little, but mostly he took comfort in the knowledge that she was even more of a social misfit than he was.

One day, she had been quieter than usual and barely raised a smile as he approached and sat beside her. After a couple of minutes of staring at the passing landscape, he asked her, “Are you okay?”

With obvious hesitation, she admitted that her father had come home from drinking the previous night and wreaked havoc upon the Dredge household. “Nights like that, I can't even sleep,” she said. “I stay up to make sure he doesn't hurt Mom, but there's not much I can do.”

“Does he hit you?” Finton asked.

“Not unless I really deserve it. But Mom gets it regardless.”

Finton nodded, wanting only for Alicia to keep talking, which she did. “I went to bed, but he was shouting and throwing stuff around. I heard him kick the TV, but he only hurt his foot.” She smiled faintly. “I don't know what he did to Mom, but she didn't get up this morning.

I checked on her, but she just told me to go away.”

“Pretty rough,” said Finton. “Dad only hits me when he's trying to teach me something… most times.”

“Oh, mine is teaching me something, all right.” She didn't finish the thought, but Finton was pretty sure of what she meant.

“I can't stand the cruelty of this place sometimes,” he said as they rolled past Bilch's where the chestnut brown horse was grazing behind the fence.

“I know,” said Alicia, and he could tell she was pretty sad about her mother. “Everybody drinks. You're nobody if you don't drink with them.”

“It's the beatings, too,” said Finton. “The fights. The names people call ya. The way they treats ya, like you're not even on the same level as them. But most of the time, they're just ignorant. They wouldn't know a good thing if it came outta the toilet and bit 'em on the arse.” He raised his head and nodded towards the skyline on the left. “That salt water out there is filled to the brim with drowned cats and dogs, sure. The woods got more rotten carcasses than a cemetery.” He hung his head and sighed, wondering if he'd gone too far. He lifted his gaze to see if Alicia felt the same.

She nodded slowly, as if coming to a sudden realization. “Darwin is a strange little place. Sometimes, I don't know how we live here.”