“No.”
“Sing at once.”
I cleared my throat before starting. “Her eyes are shining like diamonds, sure you’d think she was queen of—”
“Aye, drawing and singing’s one thing,” said Aunt Peggy. “But this other business needs curtailing. He’ll turn out fey if he plays with dolls.”
“Fey?” said my mother. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Strange,” said Aunt Peggy. There was a little silence. “I mean, it’s not as if he plays a bit of football for balance.”
I saw myself standing in the middle of a swaying seesaw, trying to keep it level.
“It’s high time you played a bit of Gaelic football instead of doing hair, boy,” said Daddy.
“I don’t want to.”
“Mark my words, it’s balance that’s needed,” Aunt Peggy insisted.
“You’ll do as I say,” Daddy said. “Knockburn has a junior team, and you’ll be on it. Every one of your uncles was on the Knockburn football team when they were boys. Luksee, the Harkins were always good footballers. You can be, as well.”
“Brendan wasn’t much of a footballer,” said my mother.
“He can’t be used as an example in this instance,” he said. “Besides Brendan, the rest of us played.”
“Sure, you didn’t even make the official team, Harry,” Mammy said. “Not really . . . at least that’s what your mother told me. She said you were just a substitute. In any event, Gabriel’s not interested in football, so that’s that. Not everyone needs to be chasing after a leather ball.”
“He’s not interested in machinery, either,” said my father.
“He’s got his farmyard set,” my mother said. “There’s your balance, Peggy.”
“He shouldn’t be given a choice, not at his age,” said Aunt Peggy.
“Aye, you’re right about that,” Daddy said. “Now you’re talking sense, Peggy.”
My mother rose off her chair. “Let my bit of a boy alone.” She pursed her lips at my father, then glared at Aunt Peggy. I was sure they were going to argue. Granny was in the kitchen, and I wished she’d come in and stop them. “Listen, Peggy, when you drop that dandy who won’t marry you and meet someone who will and have children of your own, then, and only then, can you start to lecture me on what mine should or shouldn’t play.”
She was talking about Aunt Peggy’s boyfriend, who wore cream-colored trousers in winter and had shoes with thin leather soles that Daddy said came from Italy. My aunt’s lazy eyelid popped wide open so both eyes were now perfectly balanced.
“It’s not my fault he doesn’t want to get married yet! You are all against him because he dresses nicely and takes a bit of a drink now and then.”
She covered her face with her hands and her shoulders heaved. Now I hoped my grandmother would stay in the kitchen until Mammy finished.
“A drink now and then?” said Granny Neeson as she swooped into the room, holding an unwrapped currant cake in one hand and a bread knife in the other. “He reeks of it sometimes. It’s so strong, I could ask him to breathe on my wettest pieces of coal in the fire and they’d burn with no trouble.”
“So Mammy’s right, Aunt Peggy,” I said. “I’m artistic and can do the doll’s hair if I want and you shouldn’t interfere.”
My mother pounced and whacked both my ears. “Don’t you ever talk back to your Auntie Peggy like that, you bad article.” Her words grew loud, then soft, as they bounced against a wall of high-pitched ringing in my head. “When I get you home, I’ll beat the living daylights out of you. Give that damned doll back to Caroline. Now!”
The half-finished plait unwound as I passed the head back to my sister.
“Let him be, Eileen,” Aunt Peggy said. She wiped her eyes with her finger. “He’s only a child and doesn’t know any better. I shouldn’t have spoken.”
They were friends again. I was in a complete muddle. I couldn’t leave, or even speak.
Lightning flashed across the pencil-lead-gray sky, and it thundered and rained heavily on the afternoon Uncle Brendan flew into Belfast airport. Granny Harkin, wearing her new navy blue dress and white cardigan, wound her rosary beads between her fingers, praying as fast as the crazy woman I saw every Sunday at the chapel. She was scared the plane to Belfast would fall from the sky, as she couldn’t understand how such heavy things stayed in the air even in good weather. She interrupted her prayers with a “Jesus Christ, what the hell was that?” after every thunderclap.
By four o’clock, everyone was gathered for Uncle Brendan’s arrival. Our house had been picked because it was larger than Granny’s. The sweet smell of roast beef drifted in from the kitchen.
“Oh, sweet Jesus . . . sweet Jesus and His mother, would you look who’s driving in,” said Auntie Celia from where she stood by the window.
I ran over to see Mr. O’Kane’s eggshell-colored car with the pram-like wheels pass over the cattle grid at our main gate.
“Even worse,” said Auntie Celia, “I’ve just seen Kate the nun’s head gawking out the back window.”
The nun’s name was Kathleen and her religious name was Sister Pious. She was also Mr. O’Kane’s eldest daughter. She lived in a convent in England and had been over visiting her parents and collecting pots of money for charity from everyone only two weeks ago.
“Eileen . . . Eileen, you’ll have to get rid of that nun fast or she’ll find out all about our Brendan’s going away,” said Auntie Celia, and she wrung her hands. “Harry, you know how emotional Mammy gets. She’ll be asking Brendan why the hell he went away so quick and why he didn’t come home for Daddy’s funeral in front of that bloody nun.” Auntie Celia said all of this, even though Granny was in the room with us. “Oh, sweet, sweet Jesus, get rid of them. Somebody get them away from here.”
“I’ll not talk like that, Celia,” Granny said. “Sure, Kate went to school with Brendan. It’s good she’s here.”
“You answer the door, Celia,” said Mammy.
“I can’t send the nun packing. I went to school with her. Harry, tell Eileen to answer the door and get rid of her. Eileen, just keep them standing on the doorstep and they’ll take the hint . . . oh, please, Eileen, please do it—for my sake, if not your own.”
My mother let out a great sigh as she left. I went out to watch. After saying what a pleasant surprise it was to see her again so soon, Mammy said in her fake friendly voice that it was a bit of a bad time to call as Uncle Brendan was arriving after being so long abroad and the family were gathered to greet him.
“I know,” said the nun. “He phoned last week and asked that I be here. That’s why I flew in from Coventry last night. I’m sure you don’t mind.”
Uncle Tommy’s car arrived between heavy rain showers a little time later. Martin and I spilled out the door in front of Daddy, Granny, and Uncle John. Auntie Celia stayed with Kate the nun and her parents. They wouldn’t come out to greet him as Mr. O’Kane said only immediate family should have the honor.
Uncle Brendan climbed out of the car wearing a cream brimmed hat with a narrow brown band. He looked like my father, except he was thinner and his skin was the same healthy brown as the beautiful man I’d seen on the beach. As he smiled, two lines in his forehead opened wider and I saw pure white skin between the cracks.
“I feel like I’m really home with all this rain,” he said, and looked at the sky.
“Oh, son! Son, you’re home,” Granny said.
Silence followed her proclamation, broken only when a passing crow cawed. Granny let out another cry as she limped toward Brendan.
“Ah, Brendan, son, you’ve come back to me,” she said, in a croaky voice I’d never heard before. “Why did you go away so sudden, darlin’?”
Daddy’s mouth was slightly open and he exchanged glances with Uncles John and Tommy. Uncle Brendan put his head over her shoulder as they hugged, eyes closed tighter than a newborn calf’s. After a moment, he stopped patting Granny’s back and pulled his head back to look a
t her. He wiped the corners of her eyes with his finger and kissed her right cheek.
“Mother, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you, but it had to be . . . but now I’m home.”
My eyes watered.
Uncle John and my father walked up to Brendan. They shook hands, Uncle John said, “You’re welcome home,” and Brendan stretched out his arms and pulled them into a huge hug. My father didn’t know what to do, his hand hovering an inch away from Uncle Brendan’s waist for a second or two before he gripped him firmly.
“Where’s our Celia?” Uncle Brendan asked, after they separated.
Granny looked about. “Kate the nun’s here. She must have stayed inside with her.”
“I’m here, Brendan,” Auntie Celia said, in a voice that was as high as Caroline’s. She pushed past Auntie Bernie and me. Her face was sweaty as she started toward him. “You got bad weather for coming home, but you’re looking grand, thank God . . . well, maybe a bit on the thin side and . . . have they . . . have they not been feeding . . . ?”
Auntie didn’t finish the sentence. She started shaking and her hands flew to her face. Uncle Brendan rushed up and wrapped his arms around her, which made my grandmother cry again.
“It’s all right, Celia,” he said. “It’s been too long.” Gently, he took her hands away from her face. She looked up at him like Caroline sometimes looked at me when she wanted something.
“I’m making a fool of myself in front of Kate the nun. She’ll be gawking out the window and wondering why the hell I’m behaving so silly.”
“The black sheep’s home, Celia.”
“Brendan, she doesn’t know anything . . . I hope?”
My grandmother stopped a loud nose blow halfway through. “Gabriel, come over here,” she said.
After I was over beside her, I gathered my shoulders small, placed one foot on top of the other, and dropped my eyes to the ground.
“Say hello to Brendan,” she said, and pushed me forward.
“Hello, Uncle-Father Brendan,” I said. I peeked up at him.
He held out his brown hand, the palm white as frost. His fingers were thick like Daddy’s and my hand disappeared as the brown fingers closed around it. I’d wanted to shake his hand like a grown-up, but as my hand was lost inside his, all I could feel was his lovely warmth.
“You can just call me Uncle Brendan.” He winked at Daddy. “I don’t stand on formality here. Besides, it’s far too long to say it the other way.”
“Okay.”
“Isn’t he a handsome fellow, Brendan?” my grandmother said. “And look at Caroline, too.” She called my sister over. “They look just like you did at that age. They’ve also got Harry’s and your brains.”
My father laughed and said it was Brendan who had the brains. James came up carrying Nuala, who looked too heavy for him to hold, but Granny didn’t introduce them until Uncle Brendan asked who they were, as he picked Nuala up and grinned at her.
“Oh, Brendan, I wish you’d have come home and made up with your father on his deathbed,” Granny said. “Why couldn’t you just have come?”
“These children are so pretty,” Uncle Brendan said, ignoring her. He looked into my eyes. “Did you know Grandmother says I was one of the best-looking men in Knockburn? Why, I was so handsome, she had to stop the girls from wanting to kiss me.”
“And what about me?” said Uncle Tommy.
Everyone laughed. I was dead surprised Uncle Brendan would talk about kissing girls. He was a priest and priests weren’t supposed to think about women that way. As soon as my mother approached, he set Nuala down and shook Mammy’s hand and then, gripping both of her forearms, he looked into her eyes for a long moment before kissing her cheek. She blushed dead high. Mammy hated kissing.
“Gabriel’s good at his books,” Granny said.
“You like school?” Uncle Brendan asked.
I couldn’t stop my eyes from falling to my feet again. “It’s okay, except for Henry Lynch.”
“Who’s he?”
His voice was so deep and musical, not sharp or rough like the Knockburn men’s voices. His laughter rose from the pit of his belly like Daddy’s.
“He tries to fight me all the time.”
“Look at your uncle Brendan when he speaks to you,” said Mammy. “Henry’s one of those hooligan Lynch’s from the other side of Knockburn. But I’m sure my Gabriel’s no angel, either. He’s also a bit shy, so Henry takes advantage.”
“Are you shy?” Uncle Brendan asked.
“Damn the ‘bit shy,’” said Auntie Celia. “He and my Martin are not shy when they want to go out and poison trout like we used to do, Brendan.” She beckoned Martin and Connor over.
“I was shy, too,” Uncle Brendan said. “Your father fought my battles. He always had to protect me.” His eyes swept away to watch Martin and Connor walking toward us.
“Oh, many’s a scrape I got into on account of you, Brendan,” Daddy said.
As Auntie Celia introduced Martin and Connor, she ran her hand through Martin’s bangs so the hair stood up crisp.
“Take those Scots eyes off the ground and look at your uncle when you meet him for the first time, Connor,” Auntie Celia said. “You and Gabriel, the pair of you are so alike.”
I was nothing like Connor. He never looked at you when talking, ever.
I saw Kate the nun glide over the gravel toward my uncle, the tip of her wooden crucifix bouncing against her beige habit. She took Uncle Brendan’s hands in her marble-white hands, but he didn’t remove them as fast as possible.
“My, but it’s good to see you in the flesh at last,” she said. “It’s blessing enough from the good Lord to receive your letters, but there’s nothing like meeting our brothers on the old sod.” She looked at Auntie Celia and her lips turned up a little, exactly like the Blessed Virgin’s weak smile in any picture of the Holy Family. “Sure there’s nothing better than having all your family together, is there, Celia? It’s just such a terrific blessing.”
“A blessing indeed, Sister Pious,” said Auntie Celia. “The Lord is most gracious.”
Later, when we went into the sitting room, Mr. O’Kane, who now had a glass of whiskey, told yarns about the Harkin boys when they were young. Kate the nun kept looking at me. Every time I looked at her, she was staring. I shifted in my seat and looked to Uncle Brendan. The more I studied his face, the more I knew Granny was wrong. Caroline and I didn’t look anything like him. He was brown; his nose was bigger and straighter than mine. I put it down to the fact she might have forgotten what he looked like, because he’d been away for so long.
Kate the nun finally stopped staring and looked over at Uncle Brendan when he began a story about bringing frogs’ spawn into my primary school when he and she were young. This led to the grown-ups talking about children and education.
“I teach little black boys and girls arithmetic and English in a bush school with a tin roof,” said Uncle Brendan. He’d looked only at me when he said that. “It’s much poorer than your school.”
I didn’t know if I was supposed to feel sorry about his bad school, so kept quiet.
“What stage are you at in English?” he asked me. “Are you doing joined-up writing yet?”
“Yes.”
“Martin’s cursive penmanship is gorgeous,” said Auntie Celia. “Absolutely gorgeous.”
She asked Martin to fetch a pen and paper and write a long sentence with large words to show Brendan. Immediately, my mother also made me write a sentence. Even though I tried my best, my writing was definitely bigger and less pretty than Martin’s.
It was even more fun visiting Granny now that Uncle Brendan was staying with her. Visitors dropped in to see him. I enjoyed listening to the stories about the old days, and there were apple tarts and delicious currant cakes for tea. He and my grandmother also visited neighbors’ houses. One evening, he asked my mother if I could come along and she agreed.
“Uncle Brendan, when will you be going away again?” I said i
n the car.
He was sitting shotgun with Uncle John. We were on our way to visit an old woman with cancer whose daughter had asked Uncle Brendan to give her mother a blessing before she died.
“He’s only just arrived, so we don’t talk about that,” Granny said, so sharply my cheeks burned. It must have shocked Uncle Brendan, as well, because he turned around to look at her.
“I’m here for a while yet,” he said to me, “and then I’ll stay in London for a week or so before I fly back to Kenya.”
“Why are you going to London?” she asked. “Fit you better if you went to see our bishop before you leave and see if he can get you into a parish or a school in Ireland.”
Granny had ordered me not to talk about his leaving, but here she was, breaking her own rule.
“It’s as little as the church could do for all the money I throw into its plate on Sunday,” she continued.
Uncle John laughed.
“Can I go back with you?” I said. “I could teach the boys over there how to do joined-up writing.”
“I don’t think your teacher would let you,” Uncle Brendan said.
“He should come home where he belongs, shouldn’t he, John?” Granny said. “The Lord knows you shouldn’t have gone away in the first place. You should have gone to the seminary in Maynooth, instead of running off to Rome . . . nor did you need to run to the missions in the arse of beyond, either.”
“Why did you not come home when Granda was dying?” I asked my uncle. “And why won’t Auntie Celia hang your ordination photograph on her wall?”
“Who said she doesn’t hang it up?” Granny asked.
“Martin.”
“Your cousin’s telling tall stories,” she said. “He’ll get a good ear boxing the next time I see him . . . I’ll straighten that out with Celia the next time I see her, Brendan.”
Things went quiet until Uncle Brendan began humming. “Listen, Mother,” he said at last. “You’ll say nothing to her.” He started humming again.
“Why did you not come home to see Granda?” I asked.
“Your grandfather and I were pigheaded and disagreed about something that happened a long time ago. It’s something that only concerns grown-ups and is forgotten now.”
A Son Called Gabriel Page 7