Julie | Fanfic | Ballykissangel

Alignments
by Julie Barrett

A beat-up overloaded Volvo station wagon made its way down across the bridge over the River Angel and rolled to a stop just outside of Fitzgerald’s pub. Its sole living occupant eased out, adjusted his battered hat, and ambled in the direction of the front door. Inside, the regulars propped up the bar as Oonagh served up pints of draught.

“Now, can I finish the joke?” Brendan pleaded as Oonagh placed a pint on front of Siobhan.

“Oh, if you must.” The vet rolled her eyes, anticipating the forthcoming tale about as much as a bull looks forward to being clipped.

“Two weasels sat at a bar...” he began.

“Weasels? Does this involve animal husbandry?” asked Edso. Siobhan shot the mechanic a look.

“May I?” asked Brendan, and took their silence as an assent. “The weasels had obviously had a pint or two, and one was practically falling off of his stool.”

“How’d they get up there in the first place?” asked Donal?

Brendan ignored the remark and continued. “The really drunk weasel turned to the other and wailed, ‘I’ve slept with your mother!’ ”

“Oh, so it does involve animal husbandry.”

“Shut up, Edso, and let the man put us out of our misery.”

“Thank you, Siobhan. Now, the bar went dreadfully silent, as the rest of the patrons waited to see how the other weasel dealt with it. He simply helped the first weasel down, and said, ‘Come on, dad. I think you’ve had more than enough to drink.’ ” His audience sipped their drinks in silence.

“Padraig sent you that one, didn’t he?” Brendan nodded. “Sounds like one of his. Tell him we loved it,” Siobhan said.

“It’ll only encourage him, you know.”

“But if it gets him to write, I’ll live with his jokes. How’s he doing?” “Fine. He sends his love and says he might visit soon.”

“Oh, good, then we’ll hear his jokes in person,” Liam interjected sarcastically. “But it’ll be good to see him, won’t it Donal?” He had timed the question to finish just as his partner had stuffed his mouth full of crisps. Donal managed a nod and a mumble, and then took a drink to wash down the salty food. Just as he began to taste the lager, a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

“I bring celestial greetings to you, Donal!”

Donal, in turn, choked on his beer. “Uncle Minto. What are you doing back here?” Bringing trouble, everyone suspected.

“Preparing, my boy. Preparing for the convergence!”

“The convergence?” echoed Donal.

“Only the biggest celestial event to come in a long time! A planetary alignment not seen since –“

“The age of Aquarius,” finished Siobhan with a wink.

“Nearly so,” replied Minto in all seriousness. The planets will align next week. Pilgrims will be arriving from all over. We must prepare.”

“Prepare for what?” Donal instantly regretted the question.

“Are the space aliens coming again, Uncle Minto?” Liam added.

Minto started out the door, turned around, and dragged his nephew off his stool. “Come on, Donal,” he insisted. Liam reluctantly followed, mostly due to his friend’s plaintive look.

Paul Dooley wiped a glass clean and sat it rim down on the bar. “What was that all about?”

“Oh, you know. One planet moves near another, and the New Agers go nuts.” Brendan glanced out of the window at the old Volvo. “I almost feel sorry for Donal.”

Paul threw his towel on the end of the bar and walked in the direction of the door. “Be right back.”

“There goes trouble,” Siobhan remarked as the door closed.

“Don’t you know it,” answered Oonagh.

Paul found Uncle Minto next to his car, talking and gesturing wildly. “This is the big one, Donal.”

“Another space ship, is it?” Liam asked with a grin.

“It marks the opening of a new era of peace,” Minto answered, pinning both men against his wagon. “There will be a large ceremony. Lots of preparations to be made.” He opened the rear passenger door and pushed Donal in. “And yes, Liam, my calculations were incorrect. The New Age worshipers believe that their goddess is coming, but they’ve got it wrong. It’s a spaceship. We need to get busy before Tim comes.”

“Who’s Tim?” Donal shot a look at Liam, as if to say that he really shouldn’t have asked that.

Minto shook his head. “Tim is their leader.”

“The spacemen?”

“No, the New Age group. He’s got some title like Grand High Poobah, or something. He’s kind of wedged his way in on this,” he said dismissively. “And no,” he added, anticipating Donal’s next question, “I don’t know his last name. They just call him Tim.”

“How do you …” Donal's query was cut off by Minto as he closed the car door.

Dooley sensed his opening and took it. “Perhaps I can be of some help, Uncle Minto? How many people do you expect?”

“Oh, lots - possibly thousands.” The two started to confer while Donal sneaked out the other side of the car. He and Liam took off in the direction of the church. Minto spat into his hand and offered it to Paul, who reluctantly returned the gesture.

Dooley returned to wiping glasses, looking quite pleased with himself. “You look like a dog who’s just found his favorite toy,” Brendan said, as Oonagh turned to face her husband.

“What have you done, now?” she demanded.

“I’ve got us a concession contract.”

“A what?”

“Sole provider for the Ballykissangel Celtic New Age Festival.”

“The what?” Edso nudged Brendan as spoke. This was going to be good.

Paul shrugged and set down his glass. “Minto and some guy named Tim are holding some kind of ceremony. A big crowd is gathering to see some sort of planetary alignment.”

“More like a loony alignment,” quipped Brendan, to the appreciative laughs of those at the bar.

Oonagh motioned to the kitchen door. “In there, Paul.” Dooley threw down his towel and stalked inside to hoots from the customers. “You did this without consulting me?” She yelled as the door closed. “This is my pub. I sign the contracts.”

“This is big. It’s going to put Ballykissangel on the map,” Paul protested.

“And us in the poorhouse.”

“No, no. Let me explain. We’re in charge of concessions. Anyone who wants to sell something comes to us first to buy a space. And of course, we get the best spots to sell food and beverage.”

“And how many do you think will come?” she sighed.

“Hundreds. Thousands.”

“By next week?”

“That’s what Minto says.”

Someone banged on the bar. “Can a guy get a drink out here?”

Oonagh threw up her hands. “This one’s yours, Paul. Fitzgerald’s will have nothing to do with it.”

“You’re missing out on a great opportunity.”

“I’m missing out on being humiliated.”

“Just because you don’t believe...“

“I know; it’s business. But that’s the reason. I don’t think..."

“You don’t think big enough,” Paul put in.

“I think realistically.” She opened the door. “Drinks are coming!” She turned back to her husband and looked him in the eye. “Just keep Fitzgerald’s out of this.”

Two days later, Liam and Donal began to plaster the street with posters under the watchful eye of Paul Dooley.

“Did you ever see such a thing, Father Vincent?” exclaimed Kathleen as she handed him his change.

“Not exactly my cup of tea, that’s for sure, Kathleen. But there’s nothing that I can do about it.”

“But you’re the curate. Surely…”

“Kathleen, I can’t tell people how to worship, or what to believe.” The shopkeeper gave him a reproachful glance. “Though I certainly wouldn’t mind having a few more pews full at Mass.”

“You know I’ll be there, Father.”

“I appreciate your support, Kathleen.” Father Vincent Sheahan left the store and walked in the direction of the church. Oonagh stopped him on the way.

“This isn’t my doing,” she declared.

“I didn’t think so. Not your style, I’d think.” Vincent nodded at a poster on the wall, done up in garish Pop Art style. “I think whoever designed that has had a little more than Guinness in his system, if you get my drift.”

Oonagh looked down at the ground. “Actually, Grainne did that. Not that I had anything to do with it.”

“—or, as I was going to say, a preteen girl with quite an imagination.” Vincent laughed nervously. “I stuck my foot in my mouth that time, didn’t I? Sorry about that.”

Thankfully for Vincent, Garda Sullivan stuck her head out of her door. “There you are. Father McAnally’s looking for you. Just got off the phone with him.”

“Thanks, Frankie.” He turned to Oonagh. “Time to go put the oth

er foot in my mouth,” he sighed, as he walked into Fitzgerald’s to return the call.

Paul Dooley had turned one of the rooms at Fitzgerald’s into a command center. Maps of the area lined the walls. Colored dots marked vendor areas. He answered the telephone on the first ring. “Ballykissangel Celtic New Age Festival, how may I help you? Yes, we can get you a spot there, but it’s in the prime area, it’ll cost you extra.” He concluded the conversation and placed a dot on one of the maps, mentally counting his profits.

Vincent stuck his head in. “Looks like you’ve got everything under control here, Paul.”

“I’m trying. Minto keeps throwing up roadblocks.”

“Well, it is his festival.”

“His and some New Age group.” He looked at his maps, then back at Vincent. “I don’t see the attraction myself. It’s just business you know, Father.”

“Oh, I know that.”

“Father Sheahan, it’s about time you called.” Vincent was grateful for the distance between him and Father MacAnally. “What are you going to do about this?”

“About what?” the curate replied with an air of innocence.

“You know what. That Celtic New Age Festival, or whatever they’re calling it.”

Vincent took a deep breath. “I don’t know what I can do about it.”

“The Church needs to take a stand.”

“Well, I don’t think we can stop it,” Vincent replied.

“This abomination is making a mockery of the Church!” Vincent could feel the bile on his end of the line.

“Tell you what: Let me check with Frankie – Garda Sullivan – and see if it’s legal. If it is…”

“Just do something,” the priest on the other end growled. The line went dead.

Vincent replaced the receiver on its cradle and noticed Frankie walking by on patrol. “Frankie,” he called out through the open window, “I need a word.”

“I’m on patrol, can’t it wait?”

“Father Mac can’t wait.”

Frankie looked upward to gather strength. “Well, in that case…”

Vincent ran outside and briefly explained the parish priest’s objections. “As far as I’m concerned, Frankie, there’s nothing I can do to stop them.

“Neither can I. They’ve got proper permits, the permission of the landowners, and Cilldargan is sending a few Guards over to help with traffic. Paul Dooley’s arranged the lot,” she added with distaste. “Unless they break the law, they have every right to proceed. Between you and me, Father, I think it’s all quite loony. But I’m the Garda, and I have to uphold the law.”

“Just doing your job, Frankie. I wouldn’t expect anything less of you.” Vincent smiled. “It’s not going to go over well with Father Mac, but that can’t be helped.”

The Garda adjusted her hat. “Tell you what: Why don’t I have a word with Father Mac – in an official capacity, of course.”

Vincent let out an audible sigh of relief. “That would be great, but it won’t get him off my back.”

“No, but maybe it’ll untwist his dog collar a bit.”

“Frankie!” Vincent reacted with genuine surprise.

“This place is going to be a madhouse in a few days. You should see the paperwork piling up on my desk. I’ve been through three rolls of fax paper today! They’re burying me in the stuff! The last thing I need is an over-officious priest rampaging through town. Present company excepted, of course.”

“Of course. You understand that he’s going to make me do something.”

“Just keep it low-key, okay?” The Garda started back on her rounds, paused, and then turned back to face the priest. “And legal, please.”

Liam and Donal roped off an area in an open field, following Uncle Minto’s directions to the letter. They had to: Minto was there, supervising every step. “Put that stake just a little to the left,” Minto instructed after he consulted a diagram. “Perfect, boys. Take a break.”

Paul Dooley stalked up, his face registering distress. “You can’t put that there, that’s the prime vendor spots!”

Minto strode over to Paul and brought himself up to his full height. “No, Paul, this is where the ceremony must take place. And,” he gestured to another area, “that space has to be empty for the spaceship.”

“Minto—”

“Paul Dooley. Stop right there. It’s important that everything is done right. If not, everyone’s going to leave mad, and you won’t make any money at all!”

“Okay,” Paul relented. “Can I put the vendors over there?” He pointed to a grassy area to the east.

“That will do just fine.” Minto gazed around the grounds. “Donal! Liam! Time to get back to work!”

A man in a white robe appeared seemingly out of nowhere, though Minto took no notice. “Paul Dooley, I presume? I’m Tim.” His piercing gaze made Paul just a bit uncomfortable, and he suspected that Tim’s resemblance to pictures of Jesus was more intentional than coincidental. Boy, was this going to get right up Father Mac’s nose.

Dooley took the offered hand. “That’s right.”

“You’re putting the vendor stalls behind the landing site?”

“Unless you have any objections,” Paul sighed.

Tim surveyed the site, obviously making mental calculations. He motioned for Paul to follow as he walked to a clear space in the meadow. “We need to hold the ceremony here. Anywhere else you want to set up is okay with me, if it’s okay with Minto. He picked up a stick and marked off a broad circle in the grass. “Do not set up in this area, of you’ll mess with the Karma. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Paul nodded. He consulted his map and drew a circle. “Does that look right to you?” Tim nodded his assent. “No vendors there.”

“Then I wish you peace.” Tim picked up the stick and walked away.

Paul scrutinized his map, then called to Minto. “I’ve got to go back and rework everything.” Minto shrugged as Paul stalked off.

HONK!

Father Vincent awoke with a start and looked at his clock. It was almost time to get up for early Mass, but still too early to wake up to the sound of a truck horn. He threw on a shirt and peeked out through is curtains. Below, Frankie was directing traffic – lots of it. Vans and cars piled with merchandise, some painted in designs Vincent hadn’t seen since the 1960’s. Food and beverage trucks jostled for position among the smaller vehicles. And from the sound of it, none of the drivers were too pleased. Vincent opened his window. “Frankie? What’s going on?”

The Garda looked up at the priest. “Vendors. Come to set up. Paul didn’t tell me they’d be coming this early.” I’ve got to get someone down at the other end of the bridge. It’s a madhouse there!”

“Can I phone Cilldargan for you?”

“That’d be great!”

Vincent made the call, then brushed his teeth, put on his suit, and went downstairs. Perhaps someone else in a uniform could be of help, he thought. “Frankie, why don’t you go down to the other end of the bridge, and I can help out here until reinforcements come.”

Garda Sullivan considered the suggestion. “Don’t you have Mass?”

“Who’s going to get to church in this traffic?”

Frankie nodded. “Thanks, Father. I owe you one.” She ran down the road to untangle the mess of vehicles. By this time, most of the town had come awake, and the residents were either looking out through windows, or standing alongside the street, bleary-eyed. Then Vincent spied Kathleen on her way to the church building.

“Father, what are you doing?” She looked appalled.

“Just holding the fort until the Cavalry comes.”

“And what about Mass?”

Vincent reached into his pocket and tossed the keys at her feet. “Open up the church, Kathleen, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” The shopkeeper took the keys gingerly, as if they were going to bite her, muttered a few words under her breath, then walked away. The Guards showed up from Cilldargan quickly, and relieved Vincent just in time for him to run down to the church for Mass. Vincent performed the service to an audience of Kathleen and one vendor. He strongly suspected the vendor was just sick of the traffic, and had jumped at the opportunity for a break.

Vincent was thankful that the traffic had let up somewhat in time for Confession. Still he had few parishioners show up, save for the regulars. Just as he had started to put away his vestments, there was a knock at the sacristy door. “Come in.” Fr. MacAnally entered, looking none too pleased. “So, Father Sheahan, what are you going to do? This – ceremony – is tomorrow night.”

“I thought I’d hang up my vestments, then we could take a walk. I need some fresh air.” Father Mac sniffed at the impertinence, but let it slide. “I thought we could do a service of our own,” Vincent offered, as he held the sanctuary door open for his superior.

The older priest frowned. “How about some literature? You could distribute something around town; have some parishioners place it on car windscreens.”

“It’s a good idea, but the budget is pretty tight.”

“I’ll help,” he said curtly.

“I’m on my way to see Brendan. He told me that he’s got an idea.”

“Brendan?” snorted the parish priest.

“Trust us. Gotta run. We’ve just got his lunch period to do this.” The younger priest ran down the street before the elder could get in another word.

Brendan already had a few web sites up on his computer screen when Vincent ran into his office. “I’ve got it.” Brendan declared, rubbing his hands with a mixture of delight and deviousness. “You’re going to blind ‘em with science – in only the best possible religious manner, of course, he said with a wink. But we have to get busy. There’s just enough time to put it all together.”

The sun shone brightly for the festival day. Traffic flowed fairly smoothly through town, thanks to Frankie and the extra help from the Gards. Vincent had enlisted the youth group to hand out flyers for the special service. All of the arrangements were in place, and he went to the sacristy to gather the last of his things.

“What is the meaning of this?” Father MacAnally burst in, brandishing a flyer.

“Oh, come in, Father Mac. Nice to see you. Coming to the service?”

“Don’t play innocent with me.” He thrust the flyer in Vincent’s face.

“Hey, I know what it says,” he protested, pushing the paper away. “I wrote the text, you know.”

Father Mac’s face grew about two shades redder. “What do you mean, by holding the service out at that rock at Dillon’s farm? What would Niamh say?”

“Great idea, I wish Sean and I could come.” He waited for the other priest to get past the boiling point. “I’ve got their permission. And the necessary permits. Garda Sullivan was very helpful in that regard.”

“Father Sheahan, I forbid you to do this. Now you’re making a mockery of the Church!”

Vincent took a stack of papers from on top of his Bible and handed them to Father Mac. “This is my sermon. If you find anything in there that you disagree with, feel free to handle the service yourself.” He stuffed his vestments into a bag and started through the door. “You’re more then welcome to ride along with me, Father.” The parish priest growled something under his breath and followed reluctantly outside.

At the festival site, Uncle Minto was feverishly making his last-minute arrangements. Liam and Donal had set up a series of towers in a circle. Each tower sported a series of colored lights. The whole contraption was attached to an aging gasoline powered generator. “Fire it up, Donal!” Minto pointed at his nephew, who tugged at the starter until the engine fired, generating more smoke than electricity. “Ah, it works. Turn it off!”

Liam pushed his way through the smoke, coughing. “How do you expect the spacemen to see you through all this?”

“They’ll find us. Don’t you worry about that.”

Liam cleared the smoke from his throat and asked the question he’d been dying to pose for several days. “If you don’t mind my asking, how do you know they’ll be landing here? Tonight?”

“I’ve been studying the signs. It wouldn’t do you any harm to educate yourself, Liam. Here.” He tossed a book to the other man. “This’ll get you started.”

Liam stared at the cover. “The Boy’s Practical Book of Space? What do you take me for?”

“It’s always best to begin at the beginning,” quipped Uncle Minto. Liam knew he’d heard that phrase somewhere before, but couldn’t quite remember where or when.

“Donal,” Liam called out. “It’s time to bring in the loony patrol!”

“I think it’s here already.” Donal pointed at Tim, who had engaged in an animated discussion with Minto.

“You have to take down those lights. We can’t see the stars without them.”

“And they…” Minto gestured upward “…can’t see us without them!”

“That’s it.” Tim walked to Paul Dooley’s tent and grabbed the bullhorn. “The ceremony will be two miles to the east. Let’s walk!” A small crowd followed him away.

Paul Dooley tried to keep the group behind, but his pleas got nowhere. Some of the vendors closed their booths or packed them up entirely to follow on foot. “Now, what am I supposed to do?” he asked no one in particular.

“You’ve still got us,” Minto replied.

“Just hope no one wants their money back,” Liam remarked as he began to break down the beer taps. Paul watched the crowd – and his profits - dwindle. Most took off behind Tim, while others wandered in the direction of the Dillon farm, clutching flyers from the church. A few stayed behind to see what would happen next, but it was clear that their enthusiasm was on the wane.

A small crowd had gathered at the mass rock by the time Father Sheahan took his place. Father Mac was still leafing through his copy of the sermon; Vincent had made sure that he drove fast enough that the other priest couldn’t read much on the way out. He just hoped that his superior wasn’t too carsick.

“Thank you all for coming tonight.” Vincent looked out among the gathering crowd and noticed many people who had obviously been to the festival. “You are all welcome to worship with us.” A glance to the side confirmed the presence of an uncomfortable Father MacAnally. But he made no move to halt the service – just yet.

After a prayer, Vincent began his sermon: “Tonight is a very special night, celestially speaking, as our friends in the next field will tell you. We thought we’d have a little celebration of our own tonight, and I hope you’ll enjoy it. And who knows, God may have a surprise or two for us. First off, I’d like to thank our headmaster Brendan Kearney for his assistance with the text.” He indicated Brendan, who managed a sheepish little wave.

“Tonight’s sermon is based on Genesis 1:14-15: ‘And God said: Let there be lights made in the firmament of heaven, to divide the day and the night, and let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days and years to shine upon the heaven and give light upon the earth. And so it was done.’ Now, one point in particular from those verses: ‘for signs.’ Back in the time of the birth of Our Lord, certain people looked to the stars for signs.” He looked back in the direction of Father Mac. The man wasn’t happy, but not quite to the breaking point. Good.

“Among those people were the Magi – today we call them the Wise Men. They saw a number of celestial events which eventually led them to the Christ child. One of those signs was identical to what we are about to see tonight – what the astronomers call a triple conjunction of the planets Jupiter, Mars, and Saturn. The Magi took this as a sign that a king would be born to the Jews. I’m not about to bore you with lots of science, especially since I’m not an astronomer, but this particular event was the first of several that – in the space of several years – culminated in what we call the Star of Bethlehem – the one the Wise Men followed to Christ.

“Our lay ministers have provided us with the funds to print a small leaflet that explains the science behind this a little further. And I encourage you to read up on the topic. But now, the sun has set, and I’d like you all to look off to the southwest.” As darkness settled, what appeared to be a large star winked into view. “Now, Brendan tells me that these planets are actually a few degrees apart, and if you look closely, you may be able to see that. But think back to what the Magi must have felt on that night long ago, when they saw this as a sign of the birth of Our Lord. Now, I’d like to close out with a prayer…”

Vincent dismissed the group, inviting them to stick around and watch the night sky. One young man dressed in white and practically covered in beads and crystals shook his hand. “Wow, that’s powerful stuff.”

“Perhaps you’d like to join us at Mass tomorrow,” offered Vincent. “There’s a lot more where that came from.”

“Cool,” he answered, and wandered off. Several parishioners wandered by to offer their congratulations. Even Kathleen Hendley admitted that she was not especially offended by the proceedings – high praise, Vincent thought. Several of the parishioners mingled with the fairgoers, and they all began to take up their belongings.

“Look!” All eyes fell on Grainne, and followed her gaze to the northern sky, which had begun to glow white. Soon an array of greens and reds shot up into the sky. Everyone stopped what they were doing and just stared in wonder.

“Aurora Borealis,” said Brendan. “Also called the Northern Lights.”

“We get something like that in Austrailia, too,” Vincent rejoined.

“I’d read that there was a pretty good chance we’d get a show tonight, but I didn’t expect something on this scale.”

Kathleen Hendley moved closer to Father Mac. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they? I’ve seen the lights before, but they haven’t been this spectacular in years.”

“Yes, Kathleen, I daresay you’re right.”

“The Lord moves in mysterious ways, doesn’t he, Father?” The priest nodded slowly.

“Well, Father MacAnally, did it meet with your approval?” Vincent had moved in behind the pair.

“Well,” replied the elder priest. “Apparently someone approves.”

In a nearby field, Minto looked up at the sky. “Ah. We did good, didn’t we, Donal?”

“We? Those lights were going to show up, whatever you did.”

“You just don’t get it, do you, Donal? Come on, let’s pack up.”

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