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The Sign of The Cross - A Native Son
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that I was, I panicked once more, wondering if they were clean. I followed
the others and stripped slowly down to my briefs, ordinary y-fronts, like
most of the other men taking the water, and reasonably presentable. What
would happen now? Would we wear our underpants in the baths? Also, how deep
was the water? Was it cold? We had always been told that even if the person
before you had an infectious disease, it would not matter, the water was
powerful and blessed and you could not catch a disease from it. I found as
I stood there that I still believed this, and that even though the old man
who was in front of me had scabs on his legs, I, nonetheless, had no fear
that I would develop a horrible skin ailment from taking the same water as
him.
We were herded into the room where the baths were. I was instructed to stand
in the corner and face the wall. I obeyed orders, although I could see no logic
to this. A man then took a towel and spread it out behind me, shielding my
bottom from sight, as he told me to take off my underpants and hang them on the
nail above. And when I had done this he tied the towel around me without touching
me. He was fast and skillful as though he had been doing this all his life. I
turned around and faced the baths. Three men were waiting there, and they motioned
me towards them.
"English?" one of them asked.
"No, Irish," I said.
"Paidreacha as Gaeilge?" he asked. I was surpised by this. I did not know anyone
here was Irish, and I realised that I had probably forgotten my prayers in Irish,
and had to say no, in English please. And then they got ready. The previous day
someone had talked about an Irishwoman with cancer who was so overwhelmed in the
baths and believed so fervently in the power of the water that she was sure she
must be cured, was
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