A continuation of this story from last Friday.

The plan was for Paul to meet his friend Ed Doherty in front of the TNT Tap, which unlike most of the other taverns in the neighborhood was located in the middle of a residential side street next to a railroad viaduct. Ed was late, as usual, and Paul had to stand in front of the tavern as the neighborhood men entered after having had their dinner at home. They liked his costume very much and almost all of them invited him in to show Ryan the bartender. But Grandma Jane had categorically forbidden him under pain of mortal sin to ever set foot in a tavern. In any case, Paul had very mixed feelings about this tavern. There was a rumor that his grandfather had shot someone there once. Not shot dead and not shot on purpose, but while he was messing around with a World War I revolver that someone had brought in. Still, it had seriously shaken his grandfather up. Grandma Jane said that it had probably taken 8 or 10 years off of grandpas life and had added thousands of years of Purgatory to his sentence that would now have to be worked off by her. Grandpa hadnt gone to jail of course. The police hadnt even been called. It was an Irish tavern and probably a good quarter of the men in the place were police anyway. But it had been a close thing. And for the rest of Pauls grandfathers life you could tell when he ran into a drinking buddy on the street, because the invariable greeting was Hey Charley, I didnt know you were out of the joint! to which his grandpa would sort of laugh.Doherty was coming and Paul was shocked to see that Eds mother had dressed him up like Aunt Jemima, with a huge bosom stuffed with pillows, a red dress with many petticoats, a white head scarf, and a charcoal black face.Eds mother was considered odd, as was her son Ed. For one thing, Eds mother was actually from Ireland and had a college degree from some place in Cork. For another, she considered herself an artist rather than a housewife and she came from a relatively well-to-do family and liked to say that she definitely had not immigrated to America in search of potatoes. She did watercolors of soft looking foreign places. She was known for having a wicked sense of humor.Ed was short and a bit pudgy and tended to remind people of a Teddy Bear. But his voice was deeper than the other boys and he spoke with an upper class Irish accent that made him sound almost, but not quite, English. His mother had not only taught him to speak well, but with irony. Hanging around with him was sort of like hanging around a fat old Irish poet and hearing his distinctive voice coming out of Aunt Jemimas face was doubly strange.---Good evening Beirne, he said to Paul. Nice day for it.Ed always called Paul Beirne and always insisted on being called by his own last name as well.---Yes, thats a costume you have on there, Doherty. Did your father see it?Eds father was known as an avid racist whose jibes of Negroes went way beyond the normal genteel racist banter that was expected when the subject came up. Eds father was a meter reader and was not in fact as sophisticated as he had first seemed to Eds mother when she had met him in the pub the night he had accidently gotten her pregnant up against a tree out in the back. Working for the gas company had been her idea. Meter readers were known to eventually take their clipboards into management desk jobs. Eds father would have preferred to work with gas pipes than clipboards, but he obeyed his wife to keep peace in the family and because he had this feeling that he owed her something. But the desk job was still a long way away at this point, and his job was mostly boredom punctuated by the occasional moment of sheer terror when a confused sewer rat would run up his pant leg while he was reading a meter in someones sub-basement. A Rat Incident invariably caused Eds father to go on a three-night bender, and Paul knew that he had just come off one, which is why he was home in bed with the flu tonight and not walking into the TNT Tap.---My mother made this costume to cheer my father up, said Doherty, wryly. Aunt Jemima and the almighty Patrick.Their plan was not to trick or treat in their neighborhood with the six flats, but to go to the bungalow streets off of Washington Boulevard where the lace curtain Irish lived. Grandma Jane had told him that these people were lace curtain Irish because all the girls had hyphenated names, like Mary-Kate, Mary-Pat, and Mary-Frances. Paul couldnt see what that had to do with lace curtains. But he did like the uniform neatness and order of the bungalows all of which had their own lawns.---No apples with razor blades from the bungalows, said Ed. No Hersheys Kisses. Full sized candy bars and dimes and sometimes even quarters. And no endless stair cases to be climbing to people who arent home. And would you look at what I have here.Ed held up his palms and pulled Aunt Jemimas sleeves back. Around each wrist he had an ace bandage from under which jutted a couple of inches of aquarium hose.---Watch this, biy. Not just stuffing in the old bazooms .He pointed his wrists at the hanging TNT Tap sign and squeezed his elbows against his sides. A thick red liquid that looked like blood shot out and hit the sign squarely.---What the heck is that?---Lots of red food coloring mixed in corn syrup. Anyone who calls me a darkie tonight had better come armed. This stuff stains. Shall we proceed, so?Paul was titillated by the thought of the dye but a bit nervous as well. There might have to be running away from people tonight with that dye and he couldnt see how he could quickly clear a fence if he had to, not to mention Ed in his dress.---Doherty, lets keep the dye inside. I cant run in this outfit.---No worries. If I use it, no one will notice until later when their mams get out the strap.Their progress through the bungalow district was very slow, because they had to go inside almost every house so that grandma and Aunt Mary-Louise could see their costumes. On the other hand, pickings were very good. And if the family took a photo of Paul (or impiously of Paul and Ed together) to send to the relatives they usually got a little extra in their bags, in true Chicago style.---Quality, not quantity, eh Beirne, said Ed after they had covered both sides of the street for six blocks.---But hey, whats this?On the corner across the street was a bungalow, just like the rest, that had all of its blinds up and of the lights on. Ed and Paul could see inside.---What, is it on fire?, said Paul.---No, I dont think so. But its very strange.One of the absolute rules of living in the city was that one must never, ever be allowed to see inside from outside. The moment a single light was put on, all shades, blinds, and curtains were to be closed. Even in the dead of a Chicago summer when it was so hot that otherwise modest adults wished they could sleep naked in the bathtub, only savages let people see inside.---Maybe someone died, said Paul.The house did have a strange dead look to it. They could see no people inside. No one was sitting and watching television in the living room. And even stranger, they could see no pictures on the walls.---Lets ring, said Ed.---Im not ringing. You ring.---Okay.They walked to the stairs and climbed them to the front porch, not quite as fast as they had been climbing the other stairs. From the front porch they could see all the way from the living room through the dining room and down the hall into the kitchen. They still couldnt see any people. The living room was stacked waist high with so many boxes that there was just a narrow path through to the dining room. They could see that the china cabinet in the dining room was empty and the pictures were taken down in that room too. The dining room table was completely covered with stuff.---Oh, no wonder. Theyre moving. Might as well go, said Paul.---Not at all, said Ed. If theyre almost on their way out, they may just give us all the candy they have left, just so they dont have to worry about it.---Well, Im not ringing.---Ill ring.Ed pushed the doorbell and they could hear the four Big Ben chimes clearly. They waited a moment and saw a door open up in the hallway to the kitchen and a man come out carrying a half sized Santa painted on plywood. The man looked toward them, but because he was standing in the light and them in the dark, he couldnt see them. He leaned the Santa against a wall and walked up to the front door. For a moment, both boys had an irrational desire to run away.---Hey, said the man when he opened the door. Trick or treaters! The Pope and Aunt Jemima. Youre the first ones weve had all night. Come in, I want to show the wife. We didnt get any candy to hand out, but Ill bet that she can find you something in one of our piles.The boys followed him into the house to the dining room. The house had the familiar three cooked squares a day smell that they were used to as well an old lady smell. But there was also an ominous tang of urine and empty house staleness to it all.---Honey! Company!, he yelled. Then he turned to the boys and said in a quieter voice, shes going to love this.They heard footsteps on stairs and a door opened outward into the hallway. A pretty blue eyed black haired woman with very white skin who was wearing slacks and an old flannel shirt came through the door, slapping dust from her hands.---Hey. Its Aunt Jemima and St. Patrick himself!---What do you think, Mo. Can we round up some candy for these guys?---I think I know where Gram used to keep something in the pantry.As she walked away into the kitchen, he husband said in a very low voice, Mos Gram died about a month ago and were cleaning the place out to sell it. And what a load of junk around here. The old lady lived here almost 70 years. Were sorting out what to keep and what to toss.Paul and Ed looked at the cluttered dining room table. On one end was obviously the keeper stuff; a couple of beautiful bisque Madonnas; an Infant of Prague doll in a homemade green vestment with the other liturgical seasons piled neatly along side it; a hand painted San Damiano Cross about two feet long; a collection of about 20 Hummel figurines; several rows of unused votive candles, and a panel with tiny mosaic scenes of Roman buildings.On the other end of the table were the obvious tossers. There were stacks of old New Worlds, Magnificats, and St. Anthony Messengers. There were some cheap warped and yellowed crosses and Madonnas made of celluloid and a stack of used votive candles. In a paper shopping bag with a broker handle and a Christmas tree printed on the side were hundreds and hundreds of holy cards, some new looking; some old and brittle; most with pictures of saints, but some with pictures of people; soldiers and sailors, innocent looking children, and old startled looking Irish people bordered in black on light green double fold cards. Pauls mouth dropped open. He noticed that wherever he could see the prayer with the indulgence on the back of a card, the amount of the indulgence was circled with a pencil and a check mark was placed next to it. He started to say something to the man, but stopped himself.In the middle of the table was the stuff they werent quite sure about. There were piles and piles of rosaries in stone, glass, wood, and plastic; some broken, some large and some very small. In another pile were scapulars, brown, red, white, or green; some new and some well worn. And then there was a pile of religious medals, some on chains and some on pins that had never been pinned to anything; in gold, silvers and porcelain and Paul could even see a wooden Tau cross.And there seemed to be a pile of odds and ends, like a couple of porcelain angels, some household sized holy water fonts, some memorabilia like Pauls mother had of the Eucharistic Congress of 1926, and something that made Pauls heart skip a beat. It was glass and round and about the size of the lid on an olive jar. Could it possibly be?---I think I found something, said the wife from the kitchen.Paul looked up as she came into the dining room carrying an old Barrys Tea tin.---Gram used to keep star mints in here when I was a kid and I can hear some shaking around. Its all we got, she said, shrugging her shoulders.She tried to pry the lid off with her fingernails, but couldnt.---Crap. Can you do it, she said, handing it to her husband.As the husband took the can, Paul looked back at the little reliquary. He felt his insides turning into water. Should he ask if he can have it? It was closer to the toss pile than to the keeper pile. But that might just be an accident. But he wanted it. But they might say noThe husband gave a yank and a pile of star mints flow out over the table and onto the floor.At the same moment, Paul let the crozier fall to the floor with a loud crack. While the adults were distracted by the candy and the stick, Paul palmed the relic. He glanced up to Ed to see if Ed had seen.Ed had seen.---Sorry kids, said the woman. No candy now. And its all we had.---Unless you want some holy cards, laughed the husband.---No, no, well be going, said Ed. But thank you sir and maam for trying. Come on Beirne, I think I hear your mother calling you.The boys said uncomfortable good byes and the husband escorted them to the front door and let them out.---Idiot!, said Ed and they walked towards the next house. Whyd you steal from them? What did you get? Lets see it.---I didnt steal it. They were going to toss it.---You didnt know that. Lets see it.---Paul handed the reliquary over.---A relic? You stole a relic? You actually took a relic?---I didnt really steal it.---Yes you did, Beirne. Lets see who it is if we can.They skipped the next few houses to walk down to a street light. Ed held the relic up and looked at it carefully for a few minutes. Then he laughed.---Perfect, he said.---Perfect? Who is it? Is it St. Paul? Is it St. Edward?---Its Dismas. You stole a relic of the Good Thief.Paul felt a real flush of guilt when he heard this. But he also found himself very excited. He had expected that it would be some saint he had never heard of. But this one was famous.Paul took the relic from Ed and held it against his heart. All of his life he had wanted a relic. No one in his family had one. Not even Olivetta had one. Julia had lots of relics, which she kept in her bathroom medicine cabinet.---Not enough room in there for Popos and my medicines anyway, she said. And, its the last place that a relic thief would look.Julia had three shelves in her medicine cabinet upon which she put her three classes of relics. First class relics with their bit of bone with dried blood or a bit of hair from a saint went on the top shelf of honor. Her best first class relic was an actual bishops thumb that she would show Paul in its little golden box on very special occasions. She had a number of second class relics too. These were objects that had been associated with a saint, like small pieces of parchment cut from their Bibles or maybe a small piece of cloth from their robes. These went on the second shelf. The third shelf was covered almost to overflowing with third class relics. These were mostly devotional things like scapulars or holy cards that had physically touched a first class relic. Paul supposed that even Julias medicine cabinet was technically a third class relic, although he had never asked her. But as common as her third class relics were in her cabinet, he didnt even have one of these. When he had asked her if she could give him one of her doubles, she had told him no.---Relics are very powerful things and you cant have one until you are confirmed. Ill give you a nice relic as a Confirmation present.---But Popo has a relic in his collar and hes a dog.---Popo is special. He is almost two hundred dog years old and he needs all the help he can get. Besides, its a second class relic and besides I lost the piece of paper on it so I dont know whose relic it is.---If Popo needs all the help he can get, why didnt you give him a first class relic?---I thought about it. I have one here, a little bit of bone, with no name on it. I have no idea who it is. But then I thought that it would be cruel to give a dog a bone as a relic.---So, can I see the thumb today?---Sure. Just dont touch it. This is the thumb of St. Christopher, Patron Saint of Travelers. Who knows what might happen if you touch the thumb. My sister sent it to me from Sicily and she touched it and she was never the same again.---What happened?---Never mind.Paul knew that there was some terrible story about the thumb, but no one would tell him what it was.---The story of that thumb, said Pauls mother several years later (while in a festive mood from drinking Cuba Libres on a balmy summer night) was this. Julias got a sister in Palermo who is even crazier than she is. I met her once. Wears her hair in a bun covered in a hair net. Her hair must go all the way down her back when she has it unfurled, because when she has it up it looks like shes wearing a turban. She got this idea in her head that her family was somehow descended from St. Christopher and that she should have one of his relics. Theres a church she goes to that has a lot of saints on display including one they claim is Christopher, all laid out in pretty coffins like dried sardines. Shed had her eye on that saint for years thinking about how she could discretely take a little piece off of it. Finally she figured that she would just go for it. Shed take something unobtrusive, not like a nose or something but maybe like a fingernail. But there was always this guard around who watched her like a hawk. Still, one day she was standing next to the coffin praying for some way to filch a fingernail and get away with it, and she saw the guard on the other side of the church having some kind of loud argument with a tourist. On impulse, she bowed down like she was bowing to the saint and she bit off one of the thumbs from his praying hands. Unfortunately for her, the saints been lying there for about a thousand years and the other thumb was stuck to the first one. So she suddenly finds herself with a mouth full of thumbs. Just as she reaches up to her mouth to take them out, the suspicious guard suddenly shows up, almost at her shoulder. So she clenches her teeth together and clasps her hands together in prayer, nods to the guard, and goes and kneels in a nearby pew, hoping to God that the guard wont notice that St. Christophers thumbs are missing. In the meantime, the guard gives her the gimlet eye, and then he walks over to a chair in the shadow of the nearby doorway that she had been planning to use to make her escape and sits down. Shes sure hes watching her from the shadows and that he knows about the thumbs. Of course hes not going to put a hand on her shoulder because she might just swallow the evidence and then where would he be, not to mention St. Christopher? So she figures the guards just waiting there to catch her when she takes them out of her mouth to stuff them into her purse. She doesnt know what to do, so she keeps kneeling there. She cant even pray. Who is she going to pray to? Certainly not St. Christopher. Those are his thumbs in her mouth. And she cant very well go back to the coffin and put the thumbs back. For like three hours she kneels there. Then she sees the guards head tip back and his hat falls off and he doesnt pick it up. Then he starts snoring. Hed been sleeping all along. So she gets up, genuflects to the altar, and walks out of the church. She walked three blocks with those things in her mouth before she could find a quiet corner to spit them out.---Did anything happen to her?---Yes. She was never the same again. She mumbles now. I mean, she mumbled before because she has all these false teeth. But Julia says that she really, really mumbles now. No one can understand a thing she says. Anyway, since she ended up with two thumbs, she sent one of them to Julia by special delivery. I dont know. Julia was very excited to get it, as you can imagine. But I dont know if I could sleep at night if I knew I had a human thumb sitting in my medicine cabinet.So now Paul had a first class relic all his own. He was jubilant. He took it back from Ed and carefully reaching into his gown; he unbuttoned his shirt at the stomach, slid the relic behind his belt, and then safely buttoned it up again.---Lets just finish the block and head back, said Ed.So they did the rest of the bungalows on both sides of the street. Paul seemed distracted and Ed thought that he was probably feeling guilty about stealing the relic. What a thing to steal! How does one Confess something like that or even give something like that back? But Paul was actually anxious to get home so he could look at the relic in the privacy of his own room. He wondered if the top screwed off the case. If it wasnt too fragile, and if he could do it without breaking it, Paul wanted to touch the actual relic.After they had said goodbye to the last grandmother and Auntie Mary-Whatever, they walked back up the street towards Washington Boulevard.The streets were mostly empty of the trick or treaters except for a few bunches of somewhat older children running around and making noise, overdosed on candy. Ed and Paul walked down Washington Boulevard past the old greystone houses. They both felt that they had a good night.Suddenly out of a gangway three older boys dressed as tramps, with their fathers old flannel shirts, painted ties, brimmed hats, and beards painted on with burnt cork rushed up the steps and out into the street. They quickly ran up to Ed and without saying a word, one boy pushed him hard into the bushes. Another boy wheeled around the front of Paul and made a grab for his crozier. Paul dropped his treat bag and grabbed the crozier with both hands near the crook. For a moment or two the boys struggled for control of it. Then the boy pushed it as hard as he could into Pauls stomach. The crook end struck the relic and snapped off, falling to the ground. The boy dropped his end and the three boys ran off without saying a word. The whole thing had taken about a minute.Ed quietly pulled himself up out of the bushes, and Paul, also as quietly as a younger boy who had just been humiliated in front of a friend by older boys can be, picked up his bag and the two pieces of the stick.---Those jerks, said Ed. I think they were Public School kids. They broke your staff.---I borrowed this. Its very old.---Oh man, Beirne. Are you dead?---I dont know.Paul was in a sort of shock not from breaking Julias antique, but because he knew that something bad had happened to the relic. He was afraid to look.---Oh God, oh God, oh God, Paul mumbled.---Dont worry about the stick, said Ed, examining the ends in Pauls hand. If you dont have to give it back tonight, Ill bet that I can glue it and stick it in my fathers vice until the glue hardens and no one will notice a thing.---No, its not the stick. Here, hold these a minute.Paul handed his treat bag and the stick ends to Ed. He walked down the street to a house that had a particularly bright porch light on it. Standing on the sidewalk, he pulled his robe aside and ran hi finger over the form of the reliquary under his shirt. It didnt feel like anything had broken off of it. But tears were already coming to his eyes, before he had gotten the relic out of his shirt and saw a star fracture in the thick glass that had produced so many fine cracks that the relic was no longer to be seen.---Oh God. I broke the relic. Im dead. He stared at the thing in his palm like he was staring at his own severed fingers. Oh God, I broke a relic. Im going to hell.---What do you mean? said Ed. No one knows you even have it except me and I dont care. Just toss it.---Toss it? Toss a relic? You cant toss a holy relic! What am I going to do?---You should worry more about your stick. But I think we can glue this thing.---Oh God, I broke the crozier too. Im dead.---Calm down. They didnt take our candy and I think I got a couple of them with the dye when they were running away. Well figure out how to fix the stick. No one will know.---Its not the crozier. Its the holy relic. Im going to hell. I stole a relic and then I broke it.Paul was crying now. Ed was embarrassed. Then carrying both treat bags and the broken staff he said, Come on Paul, lets go home.