to the priest to tell him all his evil and dark ideas which would never have occurred to him had he not been told to go to confession!
He was so pleased with himself and could not understand the holy man’s reaction of disgust that “such filth could come from one so young, Holy Mother of God, etc.” He thought he had done what he was supposed to, and he found that when he really tried he could think of anything, no matter how degrading.
The Malone determined to take an immediate interest in the minutest aspects of this cricket game. He would follow each ball bowled and that was all his mind would be on. His mind, however, had other ideas so that the more he tried to keep the dark clouds of chaos and madness away, the more in reality they were there. And his struggle of will was enhanced and punctuated by the outside reality. So, the sky darkened over the Waitakere Ranges threatening to move eastwards from the west, thus nature was empathising with the Malone’s uncertain internal spirit. It was like masturbation thought the great Malone mind –
“thinking what you shouldn’t be thinkin’, but only being able to think it because of what you were doin’, which is what you should be doin’. But it’s worse if you think about something else and keep doin’ that because then you’re thinkin’ what you’re doin’ whilst doin’ what you shouldn’t be doin’ or even thinkin’ of doin’. Yes that’s it. Catholicism is two nutshells. A grand cock and bull story, it cannot be denied. Well, it can but…”
The thoughts were drowned by the crowd cheering, as Morrison hit Chatfield down to deep cover and sent Hemi, grey-hair, grey-beard flying like sails, off for a run. The chief ran like the wind so that Baxter, who was obviously the least fit of the two, was stretched to the limit but made it home for three runs.
“Ha Ha! I bet that got the old cogs in the wheels turning, John. I thought the old guru of the New Jerusalem was struggling a bit there.”
“Yes Dennis, but he made it and his thinking must be matching his physical triumph at this moment.
Man! He has called me again
From that place inside me – the unworthy
Servant! He called me three times
When I, in my mortal dung heap mind
Would have settled for one
And all the lice in my beard jumped out
For fear of this terrible century’s (looming) speed
Who will torment me now, at night
Who will remind me of Him –
And sin! Which this mad old devil
Commits with every eyelid bat, every thought
Kei te Rangitira o te ngati porangi, ahau –
I stand at the end of the crease Colin
Knowing He only wants what He knows I can do
“Well, John, it’s difficult to imagine Hemi taking a victory easily. His sense of guilt is so finely developed that you can’t even imagine him waking up in the morning without him saying he was sorry to someone. I’d really like to see if he actually thinks in sonnets. Oh well, I suppose that will remain one of life’s imponderables…….
“Dennis, you know so much has happened here that while I remember, I must acknowledge Te Rauparaha’s fifty has come up! In fact it came up a couple of overs ago – and he faced only thirteen balls.. I’ll look through my records but I’d say that must be one of the fastest half-centuries of any batsman in the world.”
“What a cricketer he is! Out of a team score of seventy-eight, two of which have been extras, this man has scored fifty-eight. If there ever was a case of a captain leading by example, this surely must be it.”