The Salesman

by Joseph O'Connor

  ‘That’s right, y’didn’t. So now I can’t let y’out, can I?’

  The travellers’ car revved again in the distance. He turned towards the wall and cocked his head. Quickly, I managed to toe the glass into the blanket.

  ‘Yes, true enough, yer absolutely correct there, Homer, I can’t. And d’y’know what it is? Me heart pumps piss for yeh, Homer, it really does. I swear to God.’

  He looked back in my direction and did another deep belch.

  ‘Now chuck me out that glass, Homer, there’s a good lad.’

  ‘No,’ I said.

  The bullfinch, the rook, the black-hooded crow. His voice was calm and measured. ‘If y’ever want to see me again, Sweeney, throw that bastardin’ glass out here now. And quick.’

  Still with my back to him, I tossed it through the bars. A waft of sticky, rich pine-sap scent drifted on the air. I could hear his soft whistle recede as he strolled up the garden. The back door clunked shut. A few minutes later the sound of loud punk rock started blasting from the house.

  Corvus corone. The carrion crow.

  He left me in there for two days and nights with nothing at all to eat except the birdseed in the trough and only an occasional cup of water. Before long the stomach pangs became unbelievable. I began to imagine that I could actually feel my intestine beginning to tie itself into a knot. Whenever I could not stand the hunger any more, or the thought of birdseed, I reached out through the hole in the mesh, pulled up a few handfuls of grass and dock leaves and ate those. I tried eating dandelions also but they tasted bitter and poisonous.

  The attacks of diarrhoea grew terrible and completely unpredictable and by the third day I had soiled myself several times. My thighs and buttocks were so raw that it was becoming difficult to walk. Also, that was the morning I realised that despite my efforts to shade myself my head and arms had been badly burnt by the sun, and the back of my neck was heat-blistered. I remember being absolutely terrified that I would get sunstroke, there in the cage, with hardly anything to drink. I managed to tear a piece out of my shirt to cover my peeling, roasted scalp. I lay down on my front, so weak that I could barely move.

  That night I stirred in my sleep and saw your mother sitting on the perch above me. A pink phosphorescent gleam seemed to surround her. She had a gaunt smile on her waxy face and her hands were stretched down in my direction.

  On the fourth morning the sun climbed fast, bright and mercilessly hot. By eleven o’clock the sweltering garden seemed almost completely airless, and the stench from where I had gone to the toilet in the corner of the cage was appalling. There were maggots and bluebottles and crawling flies everywhere. My scorched mouth felt as though I had swallowed a cake of salt. My ankle was very bad, the insides of my thighs scalded with pain. When I tried to move I realised that the ache in my back had spread up my spine and into my shoulders.

  Around what I thought must have been midday, he came down from the house with two cans of Coke. He was wearing a pair of clean white track pants – yours – and a grubby faded T-shirt which was mine, left over from some promotion we did in work, across the chest a washed-out, discoloured cartoon of a satellite orbiting the earth. He popped open one of the cans and rubbed it against his forehead.

  ‘God now, that’s lovely and cold.’

  He took a long slug from the can and allowed it to gurgle in the back of his throat before swallowing. ‘Straight out of the freezer, it’s cold as a well-digger’s arse, that is, Homer.’

  Another slug, a long gargle and a gasp of pleasure. ‘Would y’like one, Homer? Lookat, I’ve two here.’

  I said nothing.

  ‘I’m after bringin’ one down for yeh. Would y’not like it, Homer, no?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Well, I’ll give it in t’yeh so.’

  And then he smiled.

  ‘Gimme out that blanket and I’ll give y’in one of these cans. That’s fair exchange, isn’t it?’

  I thought about this for a moment. Then I gathered the blanket into a ball and pushed it out through the hole in the mesh.

  He looked down at it, kicked at it. ‘Jaze, the state of that.’

  He laughed and shook his head. ‘But yer some dozy shite; Homer, aren’t you?’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Well y’didn’t really believe me, did yeh? Y’didn’t seriously think I’d give y’in one of these lovely cold cans of Coke did yeh? For that stinkin’ thing?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘But why should I, Homer? When y’think?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘That’s right. Y’don’t. And neither do I.’

  He whipped around as though heading back up to the house. But then he turned again, strolled over slowly and handed me in one of the cans, a big toothy smile on his face. I opened it, drank it down as fast as I could. It was so cold that it stung the back of my throat but I did not care. It bubbled up through my nostrils and made me splutter and choke. He reached into his pockets and took out five or six bread rolls. These he threw in to me, one by one, and I caught them, a performing animal in a zoo. He would cheer softly whenever I managed to catch one. I devoured two and started on a third.

  ‘If I was you, I’d keep a few,’ he said. ‘Y’won’t be gettin’ any more today.’

  I put the rest of the rolls on the aviary floor.

  ‘Give me a cigarette,’ I said.

  He folded his arms.

  ‘I’m not sure I could do that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Cigarettes’re fierce bad for people, Homer. That’s why. It wouldn’t be right. It’d be on me conscience.’

  ‘Look, please.?’

  He sighed, took out a cigarette, sniffed it for a second, pushed it in through the bars to me.

  He peered up at the sky. ‘God forgimme,’ he said.

  ‘Have you a match?’ I said.

  ‘Your face and me arse, Homer.’

  ‘Give me a light.’

  ‘I don’t have one.’

  He pointed at me. ‘But I gave y’a cigarette. So just don’t say I did nothin’ for yeh, Homer. When all this is over, just remember somethin’. When y’were hungry I fed yeh. When y’were thirsty I gave y’a drink. And then a cigarette. So I treated y’better than you fuckin’ treated me.’

  Falco Tinnunculus. Larus ridibundus. Streptopelia decaocto. Athene noctua.

  Curk Coo. Oo-w-oo. Tek Twoo Coo. Kurruk. See-ee. Chackchack. Whee-ew.

  Swee-ney. Swee-ney. Sssssweeeeneeeeeyysss.

  Next day – I suppose it must have been early in the morning – I awoke from another hideous nightmare with that same terrible susurration of birdsong still in my ears. Everything around me was shimmering as though bathed in some gruesome light. My head was so heavy that I could not lift it. The edges of my lips felt as though they had been smeared with glue. I was not even sure that I was conscious.

  He is holding the bars and staring down at me. For a moment he seems to have black wings. When I blink and put my fingers to my caked eyes he vanishes.

  Minutes later he appeared again, on his way down the garden now, carrying a holdall, also an apple and a banana which he handed in to me. I remember looking at the fruits and gently touching them to see if they were real.

  I went to put them on the floor of the cage but he told me to eat them now, so I did. He handed me in a litre bottle of mineral water. He watched me eating and drinking. When I had finished he threw me in a box of matches and a pack of cigarettes, but I felt too sick to be able to smoke.

  ‘Drink more water,’ he said.

  I held the bottle to my mouth and sucked at it until it was almost empty. Gradually the sibilant sound in my head seemed to subside. I began to see things a little more clearly. And then I remember being suddenly aware of the black holdall as something dangerous, and wondering if he had the shotgun in there.

  When I had finished the water he told me to stand and remove my clothes. When I asked him why, he answered that he w
as going to allow me to wash, which, he pointed out, was again more than I had allowed him. He reached into the bag, produced a bar of soap, clean pyjamas and a couple of towels – these he pushed through the bars, and I remember smelling the soap as though it was some precious flower. He went back up to the rockery, where, I saw then, he had connected the garden hose to the outside tap. He turned on the tap, coiled the hose around himself, waited for the water to come spurting, then dragged it down the garden.

  He pushed it through the bars to me, the hose jerking and coiling like a snake in my trembling hands. Then he sprinted back up to the tap and turned it on full blast. I began by spraying the part of the floor where I had had to go to the toilet; next I attempted to clean myself. It was difficult to make the soap lather with the cold water, but still, I tried my best, spraying my scorched and peeling skin, so sunburnt and sore from the diarrhoea that even to twist my torso or raise my legs so that I could wash between them was an agony. All the while I did this he sat in the grass outside the cage, expressionless and munching on a fat red apple.

  When I was done he took the hose back from me and wandered up the garden with it, pausing from time to time to spray some of the flowers and shrubs. Then up to the rockery and he turned off the tap. My flesh was far too sore to use the towels on myself, so I folded them over the perch, put on the pyjamas and sat down to smoke one of the cigarettes. I fully expected him to go back into the house at that point, that I would not see him again until the next day. But he turned and came slowly back down for a third time. There was a serious and concentrated expression on his face. He told me that he had made a decision. He picked up the holdall. When he did that I felt a nauseating wash of fear.

  ‘Light yer cigarette,’ he said. The first drag made me cough up a mouthful of sticky, dark green phlegm.

  ‘I’m gonna let y’out now, Homer,’ he said. ‘Straight up and no tricks. But don’t try anythin’ smart or I’ll fuckin’ reef you round the gaff, I swear to Christ.’

  I asked myself whether this was another of his games. But no, over he came and unlocked the gate. He stepped back. I did not move. For some reason, in my state of half-madness, I still wanted desperately to see what else he had inside the bag.

  ‘Come on, come on. Just get out nice and quiet and I won’t touch yeh. Swear to Christ.’

  I got to my feet. Skin screaming with pain, I climbed out of the cage and fell face forward on to the grass, fully expecting him to be on me straight away, and – I think now – more than half-expecting that he was going to shoot me in the back right there. I could smell the earth, the loamy, bean-sprout aroma of the hot summer soil. I closed my eyes. I did not want to die. I felt myself start to weep.

  ‘Stop cryin,’ he said.

  I could not for a while.

  ‘Quit the fuckin’ pussin’, Homer, I’m tellin’ yeh. Or I’ll give you somethin’ to whinge about.’

  I tried to get to my feet but my legs were too weak and sore. He sighed loudly, grabbed the collar of my pyjama shirt and helped me to stand. He brushed a few strands of grass from my chest, went to the holdall and reached into it, pulling out slacks, a couple of T-shirts, some underpants, a pair of runners. These he threw at my feet. Then he jerked his head in the direction of the wigwam.

  ‘You’re to sleep in there.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re kippin’ in the tent, Homer. I’ll be up in the house. I’m gonna lock all the doors and the windows. I’ll be in the room upstairs at the back, your room. Y’better not come near me. There’s a bit of grub in the bag for y’there. Y’can let yourself in and outta the kitchen to get more grub when y’want and roam around the garden. But yer not to come near me. That’s fair, isn’t it? Y’can’t say that’s not fair, Homer.’

  ‘Get out of here,’ I said. My tongue felt as though I had bitten it again in my sleep.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ll be up in the house.’

  ‘I’ll call the police.’

  He smiled. ‘No y’won’t. Y’won’t do that, Homer.’

  ‘Why won’t I?’

  ‘Because if y’do, I’ll kill y’stone dead. And if I don’t, there’s others will.’

  ‘But this is ridiculous,’ I told him ‘You’ll have to go. Please.’

  ‘I’m not goin’ anywhere, Homer. I’m stayin’ here, I told y’already.’

  ‘You’re not. I’ll call the guards.’

  He sighed and moved over close to me. I prepared myself to be struck.

  ‘If you call the guards I’ll kill yeh, Homer, I swear to Christ. Or me pals’ll do it for me. And if they don’t manage it and I don’t, d’y’know what they’ll do then?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They’ll go down to that hospital, Homer. Where yer girl is. And she’ll get paid one little fuckin’ visit now that won’t be forgot in a hurry.’

  He turned and walked towards the house. Half-way up he stopped and plucked a few drooping dahlias. Then on, up the steps, into the kitchen. The back door closed.

  I went into the wigwam and lay down in the shade. The warm air was heavy with the smell of damp canvas and straw. I curled up and fell asleep.

  I dreamed that I was in a small church. You and Dominic were getting married. All your college friends were there, the rows of dark mahogany seats were completely full. Your mother was across the aisle from me, dressed from head to toe in black.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When I woke up again, my head was protruding from the tent and my nose was in the grass. I looked up and the first thing I saw was a line of dark shaggy treetops in the back field, moving gracefully in the pure breeze. The sky was shining like a blue lake. My face and arms were drenched with sweat. I remember actually being surprised to be still alive. I crawled over to the bushes, a scratchy wheezing sound coming from my throat, and went to the toilet.

  When I had finished I sat in the shade for a while and asked myself what to do next. Wisps of clouds eased across the sky like ghost ships. I looked at my ankle. It was still very sore and throbbing, but the swelling had started to go down. I waited for some time, absolutely certain that he was watching me from the house and would be down any minute to plague me, now that I was awake. But after almost an hour he still had not appeared. I found myself wondering what would happen if I tried to get away. Cautiously I pulled on the slacks and shoes. I crawled out of the wigwam and went slowly, on all fours, up the garden. There was no sound at all coming from the house. I tiptoed down the driveway, terrified that the gravel would crunch and betray me. The front gates were closed, a length of locked chain wound through the bars. With great difficulty and pain I managed to climb up and over the gates.

  My first thought was to hail a car but there were no cars. I began to limp down the hill towards Dalkey. At first it was an agony to walk, but before long I discovered that if I favoured one leg the pain was not quite so bad. At the bottom of the avenue a large hole had been dug into the tarmacadam. A bockety-looking cement mixer and a generator sat on either side of the hole like anxious parents guarding a cradle, but they were switched off and there was no sign of any workmen. On the far side, a yellow diamond-shaped sign had been nailed to a plank and shoved into an old barrel full of bits of old cement blocks. ‘Closed for Repairs. No Through Road.’

  The village was crammed with people. The summer festival had begun, a brass band was playing a pompous march on a makeshift stage in the church car park, the sweating, red-faced players all dressed in white sailor suits. Stalls selling food, souvenirs and cans of drink lined both sides of Castle Street. Long banners and Irish flags had been draped from the upstairs windows of the shops. An ice-cream van tinkled the melody of ‘Frère Jacques’. A collection of beauty queens in florid bathing suits sat smiling on a float made up like a medieval castle while a man in a tinselly pantomime dress serenaded them through a bull-horn. On the corner by the police station, children in Republic of Ireland football shirts were watching a puppet show and eating plump globes of candyfloss. A Tedd
y boy strode past me in drainpipes the colour of tangerines. I watched a young woman guard amble out of the station in her shirtsleeves, look up and down the street, wave and make a thumbs-up to someone I could not see before strolling desultorily back in. The puppets barked and whinnied. The children screamed with laughter.

  I must have stood in front of the station for twenty minutes just thinking about what he had said to me – how he would kill me if I went to the police. Then I thought of what he had said would happen to you. The image of his face when he said it. She’ll get paid one visit that won’t be forgot in a hurry.

  In the end, I could not go in. I turned around and limped all the way back up the hill to the house. The gates were open when I got there. He was sitting on the back steps and playing with a chessboard, an opened can of lager by his small, naked feet. He did not even look up at me.

  ‘Good auld stroll, Homer?’

  I said nothing.

  ‘Yeah, it’s nice to have a dander around in this nice weather, all right.’ He slid a piece across the board and scowled. ‘But I hope yer after bringin’ me back a present, Homer.’

  ‘I want to talk to you,’ I said.

  ‘Mutual, Homer.’

  ‘Look, you’ll really have to go. I can’t allow this. This is my home. We’ll have to work something out, I can’t have you here like this.’

  ‘What’s that shack down there?’ he said, nodding at the stable block.

  ‘It’s a stable.’

  ‘Oh, right. And d’y’ve a horse, Homer?’

  ‘No, I don’t. Look, I was saying …’

  ‘So why d’y’ve a stable?’

  ‘The people who lived here before had horses. If it’s any of your business.’

  ‘I’d an auld horse once,’ he said. ‘Bought him in Smithfield market. Big stupid-lookin’ black and white thing, he was. Awful lookin’ ibex. Thick as a brick. Kept him in a dump down on the docks.’

  ‘Listen, we were talking about you going,’

  ‘D’y’like ridin’, Homer? I’d say y’do. I’d say y’do, all right. I’d say y’ve a horn on yeh like a rhino, Homer, do yeh? When y’wake up in the mornings? I’d say yer a great ride altogether.’