The Blackwater Lightship

by Colm Toibin

  ‘You said you couldn’t swim,’ Declan said.

  ‘I haven’t been in the sea for years,’ she said.

  For most of the afternoon, then, Helen and her mother, with Declan in between them catching their hands, stood waiting for the waves to crash. A few times, when they went back and sat on the rug, Declan was not content until they returned to the water. As soon as a wave appeared, he would shout that this was the biggest one, and when some of them turned out to be small and mild, this did not put him off. He would point to the next one, and the next one, and the next one, laughing all the time, until, finally, a huge wave came and knocked the three of them over.

  As the afternoon faded, they sat on the rug and ate their sandwiches and drank tea.

  ‘This is the best place,’ Declan said. ‘Can we come here every Sunday?’

  ‘If you like,’ his mother said.

  Helen wanted to ask if her mother had told her grandmother that they would not be coming to Cush, but she knew, as they dressed and got ready to go back to the car, that she had not.

  She wondered, as they drove into Curracloe village, would she turn towards Blackwater and call into Cush, but her mother turned left and took the road to Enniscorthy. Declan sat in the back of the car and talked all the way back home, addressing questions and remarks to his mother. It was the first memory Helen had of what became a constant scene: Declan and his mother in deep conversation, him laughing and his mother smiling and Helen unable to keep up with them, but smiling too, enjoying Declan’s jokes and comments, his good humour and his inexhaustible need for his mother’s attention and approval.

  She drove towards Wexford. She knew that her mother’s offices were on the quays overlooking the old harbour, and she wondered if she would get parking near there. She thought she should phone Hugh – he would surely wait at home this morning until she rang – and then she would face her mother.

  Two years after her father died, her mother went back to teaching, getting a job, with the help of Fianna Fail, in the local vocational school. Soon – Helen was not sure when – she began to give commercial courses in the school in the evening, until the designing of these courses to suit the needs of the students and the finding of jobs for those who took part became an obsession with her.

  Then, with the arrival of computers, her mother began to talk to business groups and others about the need to computerise. She was the first in the county to include computer skills in her commercial course. And this led, eventually, to the setting up of her own computer business, where she taught basic skills and later began to sell machines to businesses and individuals. The previous summer, her grandmother had shown Helen a full-page advertisement in the Wexford People for Wexford Computers, with quotes from clients in Waterford and Kilkenny who said that they came all the way to Wexford because the courses made using computers easy and the sales force made installation and maintenance problemfree. There was a large photograph of Helen’s mother at the top of the page.

  ‘Will you look at Lily!’ her grandmother said.

  When she had parked the car, Helen phoned Hugh and told him where she was and what she was about to do. She realised as she spoke to him that she had put no thought into what she would say to her mother, and that she would make any excuse – phone the school, move the car, have tea in White’s – to postpone her visit to Wexford Computers Limited.

  The boys had been up since early light, Hugh said, and had gone down to the strand with their cousins, wearing their raincoats. Everything was fine, he said, and he would come down whenever she wanted him. She told him that she would call him later in the day.

  ‘Things are never as bad as you think they’re going to be,’ he said.

  She was surprised when she saw the lift in the hallway of the Wexford Computers building, and surprised, too, by the lighting and tiling and paintwork, which were all modem and cool, as though from a magazine, and not like anything she expected to find on the quayfront in Wexford. A sign in the lobby told her that the showrooms were on the first floor and the reception on the second floor. She pressed the button for the second floor.

  She was checking herself in the mirror, expecting to arrive into a hallway or lobby. She wondered if she would be able to find a bathroom up there and put on make-up before she saw her mother. But when the lift doors opened, she stepped into a vast room with windows looking on to both the harbour in front and the street behind, and skylights in the high-beamed ceiling, the attic having been removed. There were twenty or more people seated on chairs in the room; some of them turned to look at her, but most of them continued to face her mother, who was standing.

  Her mother was in mid-sentence when she appeared. Helen found herself helpless, exposed; she could not retreat or try to find a bathroom. She moved forward until she found a chair. She noticed how beautiful and bright the room was, and how expensive-looking. Her mother kept talking, and acknowledged Helen’s presence merely by moving her spectacles from her hair to her nose and peering short-sightedly in Helen’s direction. A few others looked behind as her mother continued to lecture, slowly, almost absent-mindedly putting her glasses back where they had been.

  ‘Now you must all remember’, she was saying, ‘that we are here for you. If your company installs a new system, or if you find that you need to expand your skills, then simply call us, just as you would call a plumber if you had a leak in the house, and we’ll sort you out as quickly as possible, even if it means coming here in the evening or at the weekend. Just call us and we’ll be here for you.’

  Her mother stopped for a moment and put her glasses on again, peering once more at Helen as though to make sure that she had not been mistaken the first time.

  ‘Now,’ she went on, ‘we began only as a provider of courses in computers and word processors, but, as we worked, we found that almost everyone coming here had a horror story about buying or installing a system, or about maintenance. So it is by default that we have the best range and the best sales and technical force in the southeast. And I can tell you that it wasn’t hard to be the best. You can laugh all you like, but you’ll find that our prices are lower, and we have a twenty-four-hour service. Our showrooms are on the floor below, but you’re not here to buy computers, you’re here to use them, and for each of you we have a special programme; we’ve studied your needs, and we’re ready to start now. There’s a machine here for each of you as well with your name on it, and if you could move your chairs to the computers, we’ll start. The staff are the ones with name-tags on.’

  Helen watched her mother moving towards the table beside a window which looked on to the harbour. Her mother spoke to one of the staff, then picked up a sheet of paper and looked at it. Helen resisted an urge to go back down to the street in the lift, drive to Dublin and inform Declan that he could send his friend from the European Commission to tell his mother. She waited as her mother moved about the room, checking names and details, clearly in command. Eventually, her mother moved towards her, but suddenly thought better of it and went back to the table beside the window. Once she had satisfied herself about something there, she crossed the room and approached Helen.

  ‘I thought it was you when you came in, and I wondered had you come all the way down here to learn computers,’ her mother said.

  ‘No, thanks. Your offices are lovely.’

  ‘It’s all new,’ her mother said.

  ‘I need to talk to you. Is there a private office?’

  ‘I don’t have much time,’ her mother said, but as soon as she had said it, she stopped and searched Helen’s face. ‘Has something happened?’ she asked.

  They went into a small private office opposite the lift. Her mother closed the door.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  Helen sighed. ‘It’s Declan.’

  ‘Helen, tell me!’

  ‘He’s in hospital, in Dublin, and he wants to see you.’

  ‘Has he had an accident? Has he hurt himself?’

  ‘No, not t
hat. He’s sick, and he’d like to see you. He’s been there for a while, but he didn’t want to trouble us.’

  ‘Trouble us? What is it you’re talking about?’

  ‘Mammy, Declan is really sick. Maybe it would be better if you talked to the doctors about it.’

  ‘Helen, do you know what’s wrong with him?’

  ‘No, not exactly. But he wants to see you today. I have his car outside and I can drive you to the hospital. He’s in St James’s.’

  Her mother went to a desk and flicked through her diary until she found the right week.

  ‘What day’s today?’ she asked.

  ‘Wednesday.’

  ‘Right. You wait outside and I’ll make two phone calls and then I’ll be with you.’

  ‘Why don’t I see you in White’s?’

  ‘If you wait outside, I won’t be a second.’

  They drove to Dublin as the day brightened. Her mother did not speak until they were beyond Gorey.

  ‘I hate this road,’ she said. ‘I hate every inch of it. I never thought I would have to travel on it again on my way to a hospital.’

  ‘I stayed with Granny last night,’ Helen said.

  ‘You went down to her first? Why didn’t you come to me first?’

  Helen did not reply; she stared straight ahead, concentrated on the road.

  ‘Oh that’s right, don’t answer me now,’ her mother said.

  ‘Hugh and the boys are in Donegal,’ Helen said.

  ‘I don’t know how he puts up with you,’ her mother said.

  They drove in silence until they reached the dual carriageway. Her mother pulled down the sunshade and began to put on lipstick using the small mirror.

  ‘I have to tell you what’s wrong,’ Helen said.

  ‘You’ve left me waiting for an hour and a half,’ her mother said, looking at her watch.

  ‘He has AIDS, he’s had it for a long time, and he has kept it from us.’

  She could feel her mother holding her breath as a dark shadow seemed to pass in front of the car.

  ‘How long have you known?’ her mother asked.

  ‘Since yesterday.’

  ‘Does your granny know?’

  ‘Yes, I told her.’

  Her mother pushed back the sunshade and put the lipstick back into the make-up bag. ‘Is he very sick? How sick is he?’

  ‘He’s very sick, but it’s not clear how sick.’

  ‘And there’s no cure, is there?’

  ‘No, there’s no cure.’

  ‘And how long has he had it?’

  ‘For years.’

  ‘And how long has he been in the hospital?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Why did he keep it from us?’

  Once more, Helen did not reply. Suddenly, it started to rain, and when she switched the wipers on, they began to tear against the windscreen. She turned them off, but the rain was coming too hard and she could not see, so she turned them on again. Her mother remained silent until they reached Bray. Battling with the windscreen wipers distracted Helen from her mother’s sighing and clenching her fists and feeing towards her as though about to say something and then facing away again.

  Eventually, she spoke. ‘Just when I have managed to pick myself up, this happens now.’

  The rain stopped and Helen turned the wipers off.

  ‘Why couldn’t Declan have told me himself?’ her mother asked.

  ‘He was very worried about how you would react,’ Helen said.

  ‘And is that why he sent you to tell me?’

  Helen stared at the road ahead. When she saw a double-decker bus, she thought of asking her mother to make her own way to the hospital, but it was a thought which she did not entertain for long. She softened and tried to imagine what it must be like for her.

  ‘I think he felt that at a time like this we would all forget our differences,’ Helen said.

  ‘Well, I don’t notice any difference in you,’ her mother said.

  ‘Bear with me, I’m making an effort,’ Helen said. She could not keep the dry tone out of her voice.

  By the time they reached the hospital Helen believed that the car would explode if either of them tried to speak. She parked it in the car park Paul had used, and they walked to the wing where Declan was.

  ‘The doctor said that the consultant will see us at any time.’

  ‘Is Declan in a private room?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What does he look like?’

  For one moment Helen felt a great tenderness towards her mother and wanted to say something which would make things easier. She was close to tears.

  ‘No, he looks all right. I think he’s afraid.’

  ‘And the consultant? What’s he like?’

  ‘It’s a she. I didn’t meet her, but they say she’s nice.’

  At reception, they asked for the consultant, and when she could not be located Helen asked for the doctor whom she had met the previous day. They waited in silence. After a while, the consultant and the young doctor arrived together. The consultant was much smaller and younger than Helen had imagined. She was almost girlish. It took her mother a while to realise that this was the consultant. She brought them down a corridor to an office.

  ‘Now, doctor,’ Helen’s mother said as soon as they sat down, ‘could you give us your considered opinion on the case?’

  I’m afraid I’ll have to be very blunt,’ the consultant said.

  ‘There’s no point in mincing words with me,’ Helen’s mother said.

  ‘Declan’s very sick. His T-cell count, which is how we measure the progress of the disease, is almost down to nil. Most people have more than a thousand. He’s open to any number of opportunistic infections. He had a small operation this morning to put a line back into his chest, and that went all right. He could go on for a while, but he could also go very quickly. It depends on each individual. I should say about him that he’s very brave and very resilient but he won’t survive too many more onslaughts.’

  ‘Are there any drugs you can use?’

  ‘There’s one drug, called AZT, but I’m afraid it isn’t a cure, and we are developing better medicine for each infection as it arises.’

  ‘And what are the chances of a cure?’

  ‘There’s nothing in the pipeline, although you never know; but I think that most doctors would agree that Declan’s immune system has been destroyed and it would be hard to envisage a way for that to be restored.’

  ‘Could anything be done for him in America?’

  ‘Our systems here are just as advanced.’

  ‘Is he in pain?’

  ‘No, he was actually sitting up in bed half an hour ago when I saw him. He has a group of friends who make sure that he is well looked after. I’ll take you down to him and we can talk afterwards, if you want.’

  As Helen opened the door, her mother turned to the consultant. ‘Could I speak to you alone for a minute, please?’

  Helen waited outside and then walked down the corridor and stood looking out of the window. She knew what her mother was asking: the question she had refrained from asking Helen in the car. She had always wondered if her mother knew about Declan being gay, and was not sure now whether the consultant would tell her or not. But as she watched her mother walking out of the consultant’s office and coming with her down the corridor, she knew that she had received a reply. Her mother’s shoulders were hunched and she kept her eyes on the ground. It was years since Helen had seen her look defeated like this.

  When they walked into Declan’s room, he was sitting up in bed listening to music on a Walkman. Paul, who was sitting on a chair beside the bed, stood up immediately, nodded at Helen and left the room.

  ‘I’ve brought you a visitor,’ Helen said.

  ‘I knew the last time I saw you that you weren’t looking well,’ their mother said, approaching the bed and smiling at Declan. ‘But you look much better now.’ She held his hand.

  ‘I didn’t think
you’d be up so soon,’ he said.

  ‘This room is a bit dark, isn’t it? Are they treating you properly at all?’ her mother asked.

  ‘Oh, it’s fine, it’s fine,’ he said.

  ‘We’re only here to make everything nice for you, isn’t that right, Helen?’

  ‘Yes, Mammy,’ Helen said.

  ‘Could you find out when I was getting out?’ Declan asked.

  ‘We met the consultant, but she didn’t say anything about it,’ his mother said. ‘But I’ll go down now and ask her if you like.’

  ‘No, wait for a while,’ he said.

  ‘Have you any pain?’ his mother asked.

  ‘I don’t feel great today. I had a local anaesthetic in my chest this morning, and it always leaves you feeling drowsy.’

  A nurse came in with a small plastic cup with pills which Declan took with a glass of water.

  ‘You know,’ his mother said, ‘if you wanted to come down to my house, everything would be set up for you. There’s a great view, as you know, and we could have a nurse call around if there were any problems.’

  ‘I don’t know what I’ll do,’ Declan said.

  ‘Whatever you want now,’ his mother said. She put her hand on his forehead. ‘Well, you don’t have a temperature, anyway.’

  Helen found Paul waiting in the corridor outside the room. Her mother stayed with Declan while they had lunch in a pub close to the hospital. Afterwards she drove across the city to her school. The previous week, letters had gone out to certain applicants for teaching jobs calling them for a second interview. She wanted to check dates and times for the interviews.

  Anne, her secretary, read her a list of phone messages which she had, as instructed, taken verbatim in shorthand. Most of them were routine; one was from John Oakley in the Department of Education. Helen looked through the post. Anne told her that one of the teachers had phoned up to ask why they were doing a second interview since no other school had adopted this practice.