John and I were intrigued by the powers a priest was given. The ability to serve ma.s.s, say last rites, baptize babies, perform weddings, and, best of all, sit in a dark booth and listen to others confess their sins. To us, the sacrament of confession was like being allowed inside a secret world of betrayal and deceit, where people openly admitted dark misdeeds and vile indiscretions. All of it covered by an umbrella of piety and privacy. Confession was better than any book we could get our hands on or any movie we could see because the sins were real, committed by people we actually knew. knew. The temptation to be a part of that was too great to resist. The temptation to be a part of that was too great to resist.

There were two confessional booths on either side of Sacred Heart, lining the walls closest to the back pews, each shrouded with heavy purple curtains. The thick wood door at the center of the confessional locked from the inside. Two small mesh screens, covered by sliding wood panels, allowed the priest, if he could stay awake, to sit and listen to the sins of his parish. Every Sat.u.r.day afternoon, from three to five P.M P.M. a handful of parishioners would head into those booths. There, every affair, every curse, every transgression they made during the week, would be revealed. On those days there was no better place to be in h.e.l.l's Kitchen.

John and I sat in that church every Sat.u.r.day afternoon. We knew Father Tim McAndrew, old, weary, and hard of hearing, always worked the first hour in one of the booths closest to the altar. Father McAndrew had a penchant for handing out stiff penalties for the slightest trespa.s.s, whether he heard it confessed or only thought he did. He was especially rough on children and married women. Self-abuse was worth a dozen Hail Marys and a half-dozen Our Fathers.

On a few occasions and always at my urging, John and I would sneak into the booth alongside McAndrew's, shut the door, and hear the sins we had only read about. We couldn't imagine what the penalty would be for getting caught, but whatever it was, it couldn't possibly surpa.s.s the joy of hearing about a neighbor's fall from grace.

I was inside the second booth, squeezed onto the small wooden bench, my back against the cool wall. The Count, John Reilly, sat next to me.

"Man, if we get caught, they'll burn us," he whispered.

"What if our mothers are out there?" I asked. "What if we end up hearing their their confessions?" confessions?"

"What if we hear somethin' worse?" John said.

"Like what?" I couldn't imagine anything worse.

"Like a murder," John said. "What if somebody cops to a murder?"

"Relax," I said as convincingly as I could. "All we gotta do is sit back, listen, and remember not to laugh."

At ten minutes past three, two women from the back pew stood and headed for the first confessional, ready to tell their sins to a man who couldn't hear them. They moved one to each side, parted the curtains, knelt down, and waited for the small wood doors to slide open.

Seconds later the sides of our booth came to life.

"Here we go," I said. "Get ready."

"G.o.d help us," John said, making the sign of the cross. "G.o.d help us."

We heard a man's low cough on our right as he shuffled his way to a kneeling position and leaned his elbow on the small ledge facing him. He chewed gum and sniffed in deep breaths as he waited for the door to open.

"We know him?" John asked.

"Quiet!"

There was a woman's sneeze from the other side of the booth as she searched through an open purse for a tissue. She blew her nose, straightened her dress, and waited.

"Which one?" John asked.

"The guy," I said, and moved the small door to my right. The man's thick lips, nose, and stubble faced us, separated only by the mesh screen, his heavy breath warming our side of the booth.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," he said, his hands folded in prayer. "It has been two years since my last confession."

John grabbed on to my shoulder and I tried to keep my legs from shaking. Neither of us spoke.

"I done bad things, Father," the man said. "And I'm sorry for all of them. I gamble, lose all my rent money to the horses. Lie to my wife, hit her sometimes, the kids too. It's bad, Father. Gotta get myself outta this hole. What can I do?"

"Pray," I said in my deepest voice.

"I been been prayin'," the man said. "Ain't helped. I owe money to loan sharks. A lot of it. Father, you gotta help me. This the place you go for help, right? I got nowhere else to go. This is it." prayin'," the man said. "Ain't helped. I owe money to loan sharks. A lot of it. Father, you gotta help me. This the place you go for help, right? I got nowhere else to go. This is it."

John and I held our breath and stayed silent.

"Father, you there?" the man said. "Yes," I said.

"So," the man said. "What's it gonna be?"

"Three Hail Marys," I said. "One Our Father. And may the Lord bless you."

"Three Hail Marys!" the man said. "What the h.e.l.l's that gonna do?"

"It's for your soul," I said.

"f.u.c.k my soul!" the man said in a loud voice. "And f.u.c.k you too, you freeloadin' b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

The man stood up, pulled aside the purple drapes hanging to his right, and stormed out of the booth, his outburst catching the attention of those who waited their turn.

"That went well," I said to John, who finally loosened his grip on my shoulder.

"Don't do the woman," John said. "I'm beggin' you. Let's just get outta here."

"How?" I asked.

"Don't take any more," John said. "Let 'em all go over to the other booth. Have 'em think no one's in here."

"Let's do one more," I said.

"No," John said. "I'm too scared."

"Just one more," I pleaded.

"No."

"Only one more."

"One," John said. "Then we're outta here."

"You got it," I agreed.

"Swear on it?"

"You can't swear in church," I said.

[image]

THE WOMAN'S VOICE was soft and low, barely above a whisper. The edge of a veil hung across her face, her hands curled against the darkness of the booth, the tips of her fingernails sc.r.a.ping the base of the wood. was soft and low, barely above a whisper. The edge of a veil hung across her face, her hands curled against the darkness of the booth, the tips of her fingernails sc.r.a.ping the base of the wood.

"Bless me Father," she began. "It has been six weeks since my last confession."

We both knew who she was, had seen her more than once walking the streets of h.e.l.l's Kitchen, arm in arm with the latest man to catch her fancy. She was a woman our fathers smiled about and our mothers told us to ignore.

"I'm not happy about my life, Father," she said. "It's like I don't want to wake up in the morning anymore."

"Why?" I asked, my voice m.u.f.fled by the back of John's shirt.

"It's wrong," she said. "Everything I do is wrong and I don't know how to stop."

"You must pray," I said.

"I do, Father," she said. "Believe me, I do. Every day. It's not doing any good."

"It will," I said.

"I sleep with married men," the woman said. "Men with families. In the morning I tell myself it's the last time. And it never is."

"One day it will be," I said, watching her hands curve around a set of rosary beads.

"It's gonna have to be soon," the woman said, holding back a rush of tears. "I'm pregnant."

John looked at me, both hands locked over his mouth.

"The father?" I asked.

"Take a number," the woman said. The sarcasm could not hide the sadness in her voice.

"What are you going to do?"

"I know what you you want me to do," the woman said. "And I know what I want me to do," the woman said. "And I know what I should should do. I just don't know what I'm gonna do." do. I just don't know what I'm gonna do."

"There's time," I said, sweat running down my neck.

"I got lotsa things," the woman said. "Time just isn't one of 'em."

The woman blessed herself, rolled up the rosary beads, and put them in the front pocket of her dress. She brushed her hair away from her eyes and picked up the purse resting by her knees.

"I gotta go," she said, and then, much to our shock, she added, "Thanks for listening, fellas. I appreciate it and I know you'll keep it to yourselves."

She knocked at the screen with two fingers, waved, and left the booth.

"She knew," John said.

"Yeah," I said. "She knew."

"Why she tell us all that?"

"I guess she had to tell somebody."

John stood up and brushed against the wall, accidentally sliding open the small door to the confessional. A man knelt on the other side, obscured by the screen.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," the man said, his voice baritone-deep.

"So?" John said. "What's that make you? Special?"

John opened the main door and we both walked out of the booth, our heads bowed, our hands folded in prayer.

5.

WE SPENT AS much time as possible outside our apartments. John and Tommy-the Count and b.u.t.ter-had no televisions at home, Michael-Spots-wasn't allowed to watch anything when he was alone, which was most of the time, and my parents would often just sit and watch the Channel 9 much time as possible outside our apartments. John and Tommy-the Count and b.u.t.ter-had no televisions at home, Michael-Spots-wasn't allowed to watch anything when he was alone, which was most of the time, and my parents would often just sit and watch the Channel 9 Million Dollar Movie. Million Dollar Movie. The radios in our apartments were usually tuned to stations that focused on news from the old hometowns of Naples or Belfast. So the bulk of our daily entertainment came from what we read. The radios in our apartments were usually tuned to stations that focused on news from the old hometowns of Naples or Belfast. So the bulk of our daily entertainment came from what we read.

We pored through the Daily News Daily News every day, working our way back from the sports pages, letting d.i.c.k Young and Gene Ward take us through the baseball wars, then moving to the crime stories up front, ignoring all else in between. We never bought the every day, working our way back from the sports pages, letting d.i.c.k Young and Gene Ward take us through the baseball wars, then moving to the crime stories up front, ignoring all else in between. We never bought the Post Post, having been warned about its Communist leanings by our fathers, and you couldn't even find find a copy of a copy of The New York Times The New York Times in h.e.l.l's Kitchen. We read and we argued over the stories, blaming the writer if he dared offer criticism of a favorite player or gloat over the tale of a criminal we thought was being given a b.u.m's ride. in h.e.l.l's Kitchen. We read and we argued over the stories, blaming the writer if he dared offer criticism of a favorite player or gloat over the tale of a criminal we thought was being given a b.u.m's ride.

We saved our money and sent away for Cla.s.sics Ill.u.s.trated Cla.s.sics Ill.u.s.trated comics and waited patiently for the package to arrive in the mail. What comic books we couldn't buy we stole from candy stores outside the neighborhood, the four of us keeping a combined collection in our bas.e.m.e.nt clubhouse where we stored them all- comics and waited patiently for the package to arrive in the mail. What comic books we couldn't buy we stole from candy stores outside the neighborhood, the four of us keeping a combined collection in our bas.e.m.e.nt clubhouse where we stored them all-The Flash, Aquaman, Batman, Superman, Sgt. Rock, The Green Lantern-in large boxes, protected by strips of plastic, each carton carefully labeled.

We collected baseball cards in the summer and traded them the year round. The cards, too, were organized and labeled, kept in team order in rows of s...o...b..xes. The hard piece of bubble gum which came with each pack was set aside until needed for the summer bottle-cap compet.i.tion. Then the chewed gum would be mixed with candle wax and poured inside an empty 7Up bottle cap for use in the popular street game.

None of us owned any books and neither did any of our parents. They were a luxury few in h.e.l.l's Kitchen could afford-or would want. The bulk of the men were literate only to the extent that they could follow the racing sheet of a newspaper; the women limited their reading to prayer books and scandal sheets. People thought reading to be a waste of time. If they saw you reading, they figured you had nothing better to do and wrote you off as lazy. For me and my best friends it was a d.a.m.n good thing we had a library to visit.

The public library in h.e.l.l's Kitchen was a large concrete gray building sandwiched between a tenement and a candy store. It was divided into two sections. The children's reading room faced Tenth Avenue and was always crowded. The adult section was in the back and was empty and quiet enough to hide a body in. It was well manned and well stocked, the half-dozen librarians accustomed to the unruly habits of their guests. It was open every day except Sunday, its large black doors swinging wide at nine.

My friends and I read quite a few books inside that library, after school on winter afternoons. We also created our own share of havoc. We laughed when we should have been quiet. We brought in food when it wasn't allowed. Sometimes, we slept at our seats, especially if the previous night had been hard. The library was the only place besides church and home where thievery was not permitted. In my time there, I can remember no book ever being stolen.

We also went there for the quiet. There was so much shouting and screaming in our lives, if we didn't have some kind of sanctuary, we might have gone crazy. Plenty of people in our neighborhood did did go crazy. But not us. We had the library. It was like home should have been but never was. And, since it was like a home, we didn't just read, of course. We also raised a little h.e.l.l. go crazy. But not us. We had the library. It was like home should have been but never was. And, since it was like a home, we didn't just read, of course. We also raised a little h.e.l.l.

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I WAS SITTING WAS SITTING at a light wood table in the back room of the library, reading a hardbound copy of at a light wood table in the back room of the library, reading a hardbound copy of The Count of Monte Cristo The Count of Monte Cristo, immersed in the mental battle waged by Edmond Dantes in his desolate prison cell.

"C'mon Shakes," John said, nudging me with his elbow. "Do it."

"Not today," I said, gently putting down the book, careful not to lose my place. "Tomorrow, maybe." maybe."

"Why not today?" Tommy demanded from the other side of the table.

"I don't feel like it," I said. "I wanna read."

"You can always always read," John said. read," John said.

"I can always always knock over a row of books." knock over a row of books."

"I bet you two Flash Flash comic books you can't do it today," John said. comic books you can't do it today," John said.

"I'll toss in two Green Lanterns," Green Lanterns," Michael added, raising his head from a Michael added, raising his head from a National Geographic National Geographic spread across his knees. spread across his knees.