A Fool's Knot by Philip Spires

with the first few words. In both cases, he continued word perfect to the end of the section, leaving the priest quite speechless, impressed, perplexed and immediately considering how this talent might be developed. The two remained silent for a minute or more.
    â€œYou have an excellent knowledge of the Church’s teaching, young man,” O’Hara said reassuringly. “I can arrange the baptism for next Sunday, if you want.”
    The boy was immediately proud. “I also want to ask you, Father, about the name I will take as a Christian. You said that it should be Pat… Pat…” he could not pronounce the name. There was no letter ‘r’ in his language.
    â€œPatrick,” said John. “It’s a fine name to choose, my boy. Your church is dedicated to him and a finer saint or more Christian man it would be hard to find.”
    Mwangangi’s small body, lost in the large armchair, heaved a little as he continued nervously. “But Father…” He looked up to see O’Hara’s eyes glaring at him across the room. He was afraid. “Father, I want to have the same name as you. I want to be called John.”
    John O’Hara was deeply moved, but tried not to show it. His love for this boy had always been strong, but had intensified to an almost paternal affection since his illness. He was not quite sure what he might say or feel. Thus he said nothing for some time as he fought to control the tears that he wanted to cry. His face was set in a stern unchanging expression, but his colour changed. Gradually, and much to Mwangangi’s growing fright, the priest’s skin turned from light pink to bright red. Mwangangi had never before seen a white man blush and found the red skin, standing out in contrast to his prematurely silver-white hair and black bushy eyebrows quite frightening. And through this the priest’s clear blue eyes seemed to pierce him with their steel gaze. It was hard to look at blue eyes, thought Mwangangi, who swore that when he felt them meet his own gaze, he could feel them piercing his head. Why did Father John remain silent? He had gone too far. He had offended him. To share someone’s name is a difficult thing to ask.
    Suddenly John O’Hara rose from his chair and walked out of the room. Mwangangi half rose to follow, started to ask what might be the matter and then sank back into his chair feeling dejected, already constructing his apology. He was not sure what he had done, but he knew it was wrong.
    In his own room, Father John O’Hara wiped the tears from his eyes and knelt before the crucifix on his desk. Aloud, he begged Jesus Christ’s forgiveness for crying, for feeling such misplaced pride. He prayed for the boy’s future and then bent forward to kiss the cross and whisper a repeated amen.
    The door opened slowly. “Is it all right, Father?” asked Mwangangi timidly.
    John jumped to his feet and shouted at the boy for coming into his room without knocking. Mwangangi felt sure that he would be beaten and cowered away in fear from John’s outstretched arm. But the arm held him and embraced him. “Of course it’s all right,” said John after a moment. “Of course it’s all right.”
    Mwangangi’s face lit up with joy. He threw his arms around John’s neck, embracing him as he would embrace his own father. “Thank you, thank you, Father John, thank you,” said the boy, close to tears but not crying.
    â€œBut you must promise me something, Mwangangi,” said John O’Hara a few minutes later. “You must promise me that you will never do anything to disgrace the name because, if you do, it will be my name that you will disgrace.”
    â€œFather, how could I do anything to bring disgrace on your name?” answered Mwangangi, still overjoyed. “I will try with God’s help to do only good things in your name. I promise to work extremely hard