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The father.
Walks out.
He walks out, and everyone waits for the words.
For a while, he simply looks out into the crowd. Then his down-to-earth smile appears on his face and he says, "Hello out there," and everyone goes berserk. They clap and cheer, and the father looks more alive than I've ever seen him. What I don't know is that he also has a few tricks of his own.
There are no other words yet.
No prayers.
He waits again for silence, pulls a harmonica from his robe, and begins playing a soulful tune. Halfway through, three derelict men in suits also come out, one banging on top of a bin, the other playing violin, and the last also playing harmonica. A big one.
They play, and the music drums through the church, and an atmosphere I've never felt before spills through the entire crowd.
When they stop, the crowd roars again, and the father waits.
Finally, he says, "That song was for God. It came from Him and is dedicated to Him. Amen."
"Amen," repeats the crowd.
The father speaks for a while then, and I love what he says and the way he says it. He doesn't speak like all those preachers in those fire-and-brimstone churches, where there's more bullshit than anything else. The father speaks with a sincerity that's hypnotizing. Not about God, but about the people of this town getting together. Doing things together. Helping each other. And just getting together in general. He invites them to do that in his church every Sunday.
He gets those guys, Joe, Graeme, and Joshua, to do some readings. They're pretty hopeless and slow, but they're applauded like heroes when they finish, and you can see the pride ruffled on their faces. A far cry from scabbing money, cigarettes, and jackets.
For quite a while, I wonder where Tony might be. As I look over the crowd, Sophie catches my eye and we both raise a hand, and she resumes listening. I don't find Tony anywhere.
At the end, the father leads a rendition of the old favorite from school--"He's Got the Whole World in His Hands." Everyone sings and claps in time, and at the end of it, I finally see Tony.
He pushes through the crowd and stands next to me.
"Hi, Ed," he greets me. He's got a kid attached to each hand.
"Any cordial?" he asks. "For the kids."
"No worries."
Maybe five minutes later, the father sees me with Tony, standing up the back.
He's ending now, and there still hasn't been a prayer. Thomas O'Reilly finally gets around to it.
He says:
"People, I'm going to pray now, out loud, and then silently. Feel free then to say any prayers of your own." He bows his head and says, "Lord, I thank you. I thank you for this glorious moment and for all of these magnificent people. I thank you for free beer"--the crowd laughs--"and I thank you for the music and words you've given us today. Most of all, though, Lord, I thank you that my brother could be here today, and I thank you for certain people in the world who have awful taste in jackets.... Amen."
"Amen," the people repeat again.
"Amen," I say, delayed, and now, like many of these people, I pray for the first time in years.
I pray, Let Audrey be okay, Lord, and Marv and Ma and Ritchie and all my family. Please take my dad in your arms, and please, please help me with the messages I have to deliver. Help me do them right....
The father's last words arrive about a minute later.
"Thank you, everyone. And let the party begin."
The crowd roars.
One last time.
