The Wine of Youth Read Online Free PDF

turned meek smiles of relief.
    The first boy who confessed came out with a lot of noise. He blustered, his chest in the air. The next had a little opinion in his eyes; a cinch! it said.
    Suddenly I made up my mind to confess frankly. I began to get boldly sorry now. I wanted to go in and get it over with. I pitied the priest. My Confession would burn his insides.
    When my turn came at last, I was greedy to enter. I jumped up and went in. I knelt and blessed myself. The booth was dark and cold, smelling like an ice-box. The sliding door clicked. There was the priest with his nose in his handkerchief. I drew a long breath. I began the prescribed ritual. At once my courage froze.
    â€œBless me, Father, I confess to Almighty God and to you, Father, that I have sinned. This is my first Confession.”
    Then: “I made six sins. I said something very bad, Father. I knew it was a sin, too. I said something you will not like, Father. I won’t do it again, Father. I am awfully sorry, Father. And now I ask penance and absolution of you, Father.”
    â€œI can’t give you penance and absolution until I know the sins you committed,” the priest whispered.
    â€œThey were awful bad, Father. I think you will be mad when I tell you, Father.”
    â€œNo, I will not be mad. You must tell me.”
    â€œOh, Father! They were awful. You will not like it, Father.”
    The priest changed his position, moving his arm. I jumped. I thought he was going to hit me.
    He said: “Did you take the name of the Lord?”
    â€œOh, it was a lot worse than that, Father. You don’t know how bad it was, Father.”
    â€œDid you speak foully? You must tell me. You mustn’t be afraid.”
    â€œOh, I’m awfully sorry, Father.”
    â€œTell me. The priest is your friend.”
    â€œOh, I’m awfully sorry, Father.”
    The priest sighed.
    â€œDid you say ‘God damn’?”
    â€œOh, it was worse, Father.”
    â€œDid you say ‘Jesus Christ’?”
    â€œOh, no, Father, I never say that.”
    â€œDid you say ‘bastard’?”
    â€œNo, Father. It was almost that, though, Father.”
    â€œWas it ‘son of a bitch’?”
    â€œYes, Father.”
    The priest sighed.
    â€œIs that all?”
    â€œOh, yes, Father.”
    I recited the rest of the formula: “And I am sorry for these and all the sins of my past life, and I ask penance, pardon, and absolution of you, Father.”
    He gave me my penance—a few short prayers. He lifted hishand in quiet absolution. I came out of the confessional. I was happy, very happy. I knelt at the altar and said my penance. I went out into the sunshine of a serene afternoon. I never felt so clean. I was a bar of soap. I was fresh water. I was bright tinfoil. I was a new suit of clothes. I was a haircut. I was Christmas Eve and a box of candy. I floated. I whistled. Some day I would be a priest. I had better run home now and feed the chickens, and mow the lawn, and get in the coal and wood, and go to the store.
    III
    The next morning the sixteen of us were to receive our first Holy Communion. The boys were to wear white shirt-waists and dark breeches. My mother was in the hospital, so my father asked my grandmother to take charge of me, to dress me. I didn’t have a white waist, but my grandmother said she would fix that, all right. You bet she fixed it! She went to the bureau for one of my father’s white shirts. She snipped the sleeves off at the elbows. I could wear it now, she said. I thought it was a grand shirt to wear, my father’s. It covered me like a sheet. The pockets sank below my belt. The sleeves were still too long. The tail bagged like a pillow. My grandmother agreed: it certainly was a swell shirt. She blessed me, and I went to nine o’clock Mass. I was to offer my first Communion for the success of my mother’s operation. They would wheel her into the operating room