{"id":342,"date":"2020-02-26T12:40:44","date_gmt":"2020-02-26T12:40:44","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/?p=342"},"modified":"2020-02-26T12:40:46","modified_gmt":"2020-02-26T12:40:46","slug":"sin","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/sin\/342\/","title":{"rendered":"Sin"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Father Scanlon wanted to be at his meal, a good stew washed down with a glass of red wine. Involuntarily he licked his lips. Saturday evening confessions were always difficult: the trivial sins of his flock comingling with his sharp pangs of appetite. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

            His\nattention returned to the penitent behind the grill. The fellow was rambling,\nunable or unwilling to name his sin. It was the mortal sins that mattered, and\nthe priest couldn\u2019t judge the sins\u2019 gravity. <\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u2018The thoughts Father, impure they be, when I see the neighbour, y\u2019 know. I\u2019ve tried not looking out the window, but when she\u2019s in the garden, when it\u2019s sunny like, and why wouldn\u2019t you look out in sunny weather, well I\u2026’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018What\nimpure thoughts, my child?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Bad\nthoughts, y\u2019 know. When she\u2019s bent over that basket of washing, a rake of bad\nthoughts.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Sexual\nthoughts?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018That\u2019d be\nthe guts of it.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Are there\nimpure actions.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018There\nare.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Actions\nwith yourself?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018No\nFather. With the wife.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Sexual\nactivity with one\u2019s wife isn\u2019t impure, my son.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Amn\u2019t I\nthinking it\u2019s the neighbour I have in bed with me, and not the wife.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018You\nfantasise?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018That\u2019d be\nthe nub of it.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018God is\nforgiving. You may be being disloyal to your wife in thought. But you are still\nwith her?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018I am.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018You are\nnot in a relationship with this neighbour?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018I\u2019m not.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Then your\nsin isn\u2019t one of act but thought. Say three Hail Marys and pray for me.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The fellow\ndeparted. A fellow from the island, no doubt. Decent country people with a\ntinge of their barbaric ancestors in their veins. The thin constraints of\ncivilisation thankfully prevented them from regressing: the law, the word of\nGod, and sometimes the word of the priest. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Two more\ncame in, confessed, departed. The priest put his head out of the box. One\nremaining penitent, and then he would finally have his supper. He licked his\nlips again, imagined the stew, hot in his belly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The woman\nwas nervous but he teased out she was another with egregious thoughts. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018When I\nput my washing on the line, Father, I\u2019m aware I may be tempting others. My\nsmalls, Father. I try not to peg them out in a manner that\u2019d catch the eye of\u2026\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Of whom,\nmy child? The neighbourhood? Or one in particular?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018There\u2019d\nbe one I believe who\u2026 watches.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018And do\nyou have impure thoughts about this one?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018I do. I\u2019m\nashamed.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Father\nScanlon sighed to himself, like one discovering how a story ended before\nreaching its conclusion. Another islander. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Do these\nthoughts extend to the marital bed?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018They do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Do you\nimagine your husband is your neighbour?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u2018I do.\u2019 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He gave her three Hail Marys, and went to his meal served by the cook, Mrs Connelly. He eyed the meal appreciatively, then Mrs Connolly\u2019s buxom body, pleasant on the eye. Momentarily he wondered if she thought of him when abed. The idea was too astonishing to give brain-space to. He ate his stew enthusiastically. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Father Scanlon wanted to be at his meal, a good stew washed down with a glass of red wine. Involuntarily he licked his lips. Saturday evening confessions were always difficult: the trivial sins of his flock comingling with his sharp pangs of appetite.             His attention returned to the penitent behind the grill. The fellow […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"rop_custom_images_group":[],"rop_custom_messages_group":[],"rop_publish_now":"initial","rop_publish_now_accounts":{"facebook_10158782359051062_103813597863211":"","twitter_1225722811282530305_1225722811282530305":""},"rop_publish_now_history":[],"rop_publish_now_status":"pending","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[121,185],"tags":[188],"class_list":["post-342","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-121","category-the-island","tag-sin"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/sbrNJE-sin","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/342","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=342"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/342\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":344,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/342\/revisions\/344"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=342"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=342"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=342"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}