The Digger's Game by George V. Higgins

the summer, God bless them, the envelopes come in from Boothbay and Cataumet. The ones that aren’t all tanned in February, from taking the kids to Saint Thomas, are all tanned from taking the kids to Mount Snow. This is for Monsignor Fahey’s parish, Saint Malachy’s in Randolph. He set it up. Then his doctor told him he’d prefer the Monsignor didn’t travel around too much until everybody’s sure the pacemaker’s working all right. So Monsignor Fahey asked me to take it. Well, he was my first pastor, and he still gets a respectful hearing at the Chancery. I’ll do the man a favor.”
    “Look,” the Digger said, “speaking of favors. I got a problem I was hoping maybe you could help me out with.”
    “Sure,” Paul said.
    “Well, I didn’t tell you yet,” the Digger said.
    “I meant: of course you have,” Paul said.
    “I don’t get it,” the Digger said.
    “Jerry,” Paul said, “am I stupid? Do you think I’m stupid?”
    “God, no,” the Digger said. “You had, what was it, college and then you’re in the seminary all that time. You went over to Rome there, you even went to college summers. Now you got all this. No, I don’t think that.”
    “Good,” Paul said.
    “I never had any education like that,” the Digger said.
    “Because you weren’t interested,” Paul said. “Not interested enough to do what you had to, to get it.”
    “Well,” the Digger said, “I mean, you wanted to be a priest. I thought Ma was always saying, that’s something you get from God. You don’t just wake up inna morning and say, ‘What the hell, nothing to do today, guess I’ll be a priest.’ ”
    “You could’ve done it other ways,” Paul said. “You could’ve finished school in the service. You could’ve finished school when you were in school, instead of being in such a hurry to be a wise guy that you couldn’t bother.”
    “I hated school,” the Digger said.
    “Right,” Paul said. “That’s what I’m saying. Nobody handed me anything I’ve got.”
    “I didn’t mean that,” the Digger said. “You earned it. I know that.”
    “I don’t,” Paul said, “I don’t know any such thing. I think I lucked out. I was in the right place at the right time, two or three times.”
    “That’s just as good,” the Digger said.
    “It’s better,” Paul said, “I’ll take it any time. My problem wasn’t getting it. My problem was keeping it after I got it. That problem is you.”
    “Now just a goddamned minute,” the Digger said.
    “Take two if you like,” Paul said, “they’re small. I’ve been here eight years. Eight years since Monsignor Labelle got so far into his dotage nobody could pretend any more, and they put me in as administrator. That was in November. He was still alive in December, when Patricia was christened. After Christmas.”
    “I thought we might get into that again,” the Diggersaid. “Funny thing. I did time and then I come out and I never been in trouble again. Governor even give me a piece of paper, everything’s fair and square. But the other thing, I guess that’s gonna go on for the rest of forever, that right?”
    “Keep in mind how you got to be such buddies with the Governor,” Paul said. “And if you want to bring up that Christmas when I was Uncle Father and Daddy both, you can go ahead. I didn’t plan to.”
    “I made a mistake,” the Digger said. “I admit it. I didn’t think it’s a mistake at the time. Now I know. Move over, Hitler.”
    “Come off it, Jerry,” Paul said.
    “Come off it yourself,” the Digger said. “Big deal. I went to a football game. The State’d forget about it by now, they couldn’t prove after eight years I went to a football game and it was a crime. I think probably even Aggie forgot about it by now.”
    “She’ll never forget,” Paul said.
    “You guys,” the Digger said, “you guys know more about women on less practice than anything I ever see. You want to know something? That celibacy thing, I