Father Brogan sighed. “I felt as if my mother had abandoned me and my brother. I know now that was not the case. But that night I went to bed hurt and angry at her and at my father. With age and maturity, I came to realize she had no choice in the matter; she had eleven of us to raise. As it was, she ate every meal with a child over her knees and another in the bassinet. She couldn’t run out and fight our battles for us. We had to fend for ourselves, even the battles we knew we couldn’t win. So, you see, I can tolerate much, and I know how boys behave. It takes a big man to stand up to a bully and an even bigger man to take it.”
I felt both proud and anxious. I knew Father Brogan was paying me a compliment of some sort, but that also meant he knew I was lying, and I could feel the fires of hell tickling the soles of my feet.
“Any man can raise his fists and fight. But it takes a special kind of man to take his beating without complaint, to not rat out another to save himself.” Father Brogan turned his attention to David Bateman. “What I can’t stand is a liar.”
“I can assure you, Father Brogan—” Mrs. Bateman began.
“And I can assure you, Mrs. Bateman, that your son is a liar.” Father Brogan had grown red in the face. His eyes blazed. I couldn’t imagine any boy capable of beating him up, and I was certain Father Brogan put up one heck of a fight in defeat.
Mrs. Bateman bristled. “He’s nothing of the sort.”
This time Mr. Bateman joined her, mumbling, “Outrageous.”
“Outrageous?” Father Brogan slapped the table with the palm of his hand. “I’ll tell you what is outrageous, sir. What is outrageous is for three boys, each twice the size of another, to beat him until he can stand no more. You are a coward, David Bateman. A coward. And the only thing I can stomach less than a liar is a coward.”
“See here, Father,” Mr. Bateman said.
“I am president of the parish board,” Mrs. Bateman shrieked.
“Not any longer, woman. As of this moment, you are relieved of your duties. And as of this moment, David Bateman, you are expelled from Our Lady of Mercy Grammar School.”
The words struck like a dagger. Mrs. Bateman placed her hand over her heart, and Mr. Bateman nearly jumped in his seat. David, however, did not so much as flinch.
“Expelled?” Mrs. Bateman said. She pointed her finger across the table at me, the flab of her arm shaking. “But he said he fell off his bike, that my David had nothing to do with this.”
“He is not your son’s accuser. I received telephone calls earlier this evening from Mrs. O’Reilly and from Mrs. Leftkowitz. It seems their sons participated in the beating of this poor child, holding him while your son punched with such ferocity they feared that maybe he had killed Samuel. And, unlike your son, they had enough of a conscience to tell their parents.”
“They’re lying,” Mrs. Bateman said.
Father Brogan put his hands flat on the table and stood up. “I spoke to the two children myself in this very room not two hours ago.” He held up two sheets of paper. “They both gave me a descriptive account of the beating your son administered and signed their names to it. I can assure you, the only liar in this room is the one sitting between the two of you.”
This got Mr. Bateman out of his chair, and it was a scary sight. He towered over Father Brogan and was as big around as a barrel. Father Brogan did not back down an inch. “Your son is expelled, and all I can say is that you should thank your lucky stars that is all that may happen to him. If Samuel were my son, I’d be reporting this to the authorities, and David might very well not find himself at the local public school come Monday, but at juvenile hall.”
Mrs. Bateman gathered a large handbag. “I am not going to sit here and allow you to insult my son.”
David got up from his chair to follow his mother, but he got just one step before his father grabbed him by the back of the collar with a hand as big as a baseball mitt. “Is this true?” He shook David like a rag doll. “I want to know. Did you lie to your mother and me? Did you beat up this boy?”