The Heart's Invisible Furies

by John Boyne

  “I’m not really,” she said. “I have some sort of relationship with God, I suppose, but I had a bad time with the Church when I was a girl. Why, are you?”

  I shook my head. “Not even slightly.”

  “I don’t even know why I came in here, to be honest. I was just passing, that was all, and it looked quiet. I needed somewhere to sit, that’s all. The Church was never a friend to me. I’ve always felt that the Catholic Church has the same relationship to God as a fish has to a bicycle.”

  I smiled. “I feel the same way,” I said.

  “I don’t even come into churches very often. Except for weddings and christenings and funerals. More than fifty years ago, a priest picked me up by the hair and threw me out of my parish church and I haven’t had much time for it since. But I should have asked you why you’re here,” she added, turning to look at me. “Something must be wrong if you’re in a hospital on Christmas Day.”

  “No, it’s not nothing like that. My son and his wife had a baby boy earlier today. I came in to see him, that’s all.”

  “Oh, well that’s good news at least,” she said, forcing a smile. “Do they have a name for him yet?”

  “They do. Julian.”

  “That’s unusual,” she said, considering it. “You don’t get many Julians these days. It makes me think of Roman emperors. Or the Famous Five. One of them was a Julian, wasn’t he?”

  “I think so,” I said. “It’s been a long time since I read those books.”

  “And how are things in the Dáil?”

  “Oh you don’t want to worry about that, today of all days.”

  “I do,” she said. “Just for a moment; it will take my mind off things.”

  “Well, they’re much the same as ever,” I said. “Your successor is running the tearoom with an iron fist.”

  “Good for her,” she said, smiling. “I trained her well so.”

  “You did.”

  “If you don’t keep those TDs in line, they’ll walk all over you.”

  “Do you miss it?” I asked.

  “I do and I don’t. I miss the routine. I miss getting up every morning and having a place to go and people to talk to. But it’s not as if I ever particularly enjoyed the job itself. It was a living, that was all. Something to put food on the table.”

  “I suppose I feel the same way,” I said. “I don’t need to work but I do it anyway. I don’t look forward to retirement.”

  “That’s a long way off for you yet.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Less than a decade,” I said. “The time will fly. But look, let’s not talk about me. Will you be all right, Mrs. Goggin?” I asked.

  “I will, in time,” she said carefully. “I’ve lost people before. I’ve known violence, I’ve known bigotry, I’ve known shame and I’ve known love. And somehow, I always survive. And I still have Melanie and the girls. We’re all quite close. I’m seventy-two years old, Cyril. If there is a heaven, then I suppose it won’t be long before I see Jonathan again too. But it’s hard to lose a child. It’s an unnatural thing.”

  “It is.”

  “An unnatural thing,” she repeated.

  “And he was your only one?”

  “No. I lost another son a long time ago.”

  “Oh Christ. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

  “It was completely different,” she said, shaking her head. “He didn’t die. I gave him up. I was pregnant, you see. And just a girl. Different times, of course. That’s why the priest threw me out of the church,” she added with a bitter smile.

  “They have no compassion, do they?” I asked. “They talk about Christianity and yet it’s just a concept to them, not a way of life at all.”

  “I heard afterward that he had fathered two children himself by two different women, one in Drimoleague and one in Clonakilty. The old hypocrite.”

  “He wasn’t the one who…?”

  “Oh my Lord, no!” she said. “That was someone else entirely.”

  “And what about the child?” I asked. “Have you never been tempted to find him?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve watched the news,” she said. “I’ve seen the documentaries and films. I daresay he would blame me for whatever went wrong in his life and I haven’t the energy for that. I did what I thought was right at the time and I stand by my decision. No, a little hunchbacked Redemptorist nun took him away from me and I knew that day that I would never see him again and I’ve made my peace with that over the years. I just hope he was happy, that’s all.”

  “All right,” I said, squeezing her hand, and she looked at me and smiled.

  “Our paths seem to cross every so often, don’t they?” she said.

  “Dublin is a small city,” I told her.

  “It is.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked.

  “No. I’ll go back to Melanie’s now. And what about you, Cyril? Where are you going for your Christmas dinner?”

  “To my ex-wife’s house,” I said. “And her new husband. They take in all the waifs and strays.”

  She smiled and nodded. “It’s good that you can all be friends,” she said.

  “I don’t like to leave you here on your own,” I told her. “Would you like me to stay with you a little longer?”

  “Do you know,” she said quietly, “I think I’d prefer to have some time to myself. After a while, I’ll get up and go. I can get a taxi outside. But you were very good, Cyril, to come in and say hello to me.”

  I nodded and stood up. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Goggin,” I said.

  “And I’m glad to hear that you have a new grandchild. It was nice to see you again, Cyril.”

  I reached down and gave her a kiss on the cheek, the first time I had done such an intimate thing with her, and turned back down the aisle, making for the door. As I left, I looked back and saw her sitting upright on the seat, staring at the crucifix, and it struck me that here was a strong woman, a good woman, and what kind of God was it who would allow her to lose one son, let alone two?

  I was out in the corridor again before a sentence that she had spoken came back to me, bursting through my brain like a shot of electricity. A little hunchbacked Redemptorist nun took him away from me and I knew that day that I would never see him again. I stopped still and reached out to the wall for support, leaning heavily on my crutch with the other arm. Swallowing hard, I turned around and looked back at the doors of the chapel.

  “Mrs. Goggin,” I said, walking through them again and calling out to her. She spun around in surprise and stared at me.

  “What is it, Cyril?” she asked.

  “Do you remember the date?”

  “What date?”

  “The date your son was born.”

  “Of course I do,” she said, frowning. “It was in June 1964. The seventeenth. It was a—”

  “No,” I said, interrupting her. “Not Jonathan. I mean your first son. The one you gave up.”

  She said nothing for a moment, simply stared at me, perhaps wondering why on earth I was asking her such a question. But then she told me. She remembered it quite clearly, of course.

  * * *

  * Hymns at Heaven’s Gate: A Life of Maude Avery by Alice Woodbead, pp. 102–4 (Faber & Faber, 1986).

  2008 The Silver Surfer

  Aquabatics with Alejandro

  Arriving at Heuston Station, I glanced up toward the Departures board but had to squint to make out the platform from which our train was scheduled to leave. For weeks, I had been feeling both excited and apprehensive about the trip ahead, a journey that I’d never imagined either of us taking, and now that the day was finally here I was nervous about the emotions that it might stir up in us both. Looking around, I saw my seventy-nine-year-old mother marching through the front doors, apparently full of energy as she wheeled a suitcase behind her, and I made my way over to take it from her, reaching down to give her a kiss.

  “Get away,” she said, dismissing my offer o
f help. “I’m not giving my bag to a man with a crutch.”

  “You are indeed,” I said, wrestling it off her.

  She gave in and when she looked up at the Departures board I could tell that her eyesight was better than mine. “On time, I see,” she said. “What’s seldom is wonderful.”

  It was a constant source of amazement to me that she was so sprightly. She didn’t even have a regular doctor, insisting that she didn’t need one because she never got sick.

  “Will we board?” I asked. “And try to get a good seat?”

  “Lead the way,” she said, following me down the platform, and I walked toward the most distant carriage, the one that had the least chance of being crowded. There were groups of young people and parents with small children climbing into the nearer ones and I wanted to be as far from them and their noise as possible.

  “You’re like an old man, Cyril,” said my mother when I made this observation to her.

  “I am an old man,” I said. “I’m sixty-three.”

  “Yes, but you don’t have to act like one. I’m seventy-nine and I went to a disco last night.”

  “You did not!”

  “I did so. Well, a dinner-dance anyway. With some friends.”

  When I finally found a carriage that suited me, we climbed on board and sat down at a table facing each other, windows next to both of us for the view.

  “It’s good to get off my feet,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve been up since six.”

  “Why so early?” I asked.

  “I went to the gym first thing.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I went to the gym,” she repeated.

  I blinked, uncertain whether I was understanding her right. “You go to a gym?” I asked.

  “I do, of course,” she said. “Why, don’t you?”

  “No.”

  “No,” she said, glancing at my stomach. “Well, you should try it, Cyril. Losing a few pounds wouldn’t kill you.”

  “Since when have you been going to the gym?” I asked, ignoring this.

  “Oh, for about four years now,” she said. “Did I never tell you about it?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Melanie signed me up for my birthday when I turned seventy-five. I go three times a week now. One for a spin class, one for cardio, and one for aquabatics with Alejandro.”

  “What on earth is aquabatics?” I asked.

  “It’s a bunch of old ladies in the pool shaking their booties to pop music.”

  “What’s a booty? And who’s Alejandro?”

  “He’s a twenty-four-year-old Brazilian trainer. Oh, Cyril, he’s lovely! When we all behave ourselves, he gives us a treat and takes his shirt off. It’s a good job we’re all in the pool, as we’d need to cool off.”

  “Jesus,” I said, shaking my head in a mixture of bewilderment and amusement.

  “There’s life in the old dog yet,” she said, winking at me.

  “I don’t think I want to know.”

  “Actually, I think Alejandro might be a gay too,” she said. “Like you,” she added, as if I’d forgotten that I was one. “I could introduce you if you like.”

  “That would be great,” I said. “I’m sure he’d like nothing more than to be introduced to a man old enough to be his grandfather.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. He probably has a fella anyway. Well, you could always just come along to aquabatics and perv over him like the rest of us do. It’s open to anyone over sixty.”

  “Please don’t use that word, Mum,” I said. “It sounds really creepy coming out of your mouth.”

  She smiled and looked out the window as the train began to move. We had a couple of hours’ journey ahead of us to Cork City, followed by a bus to Bantry, and then I planned on hiring a taxi for Goleen from there.

  “So anyway,” she said. “Have you any news for me at all?”

  “Not much. I bought a new vase for the front room.”

  “And you’re only telling me now?”

  I smiled. “It’s a nice one,” I said.

  “And did you go on that date?”

  “I did,” I said.

  “What was his name again?”

  “Brian.”

  “And how did it go?”

  “Not well.”

  “Why not?”

  I shrugged. I’d spent the previous Thursday evening in the Front Lounge with a man in his fifties who had only come out of the closet after thirty-four years of marriage a few weeks earlier. None of his children were talking to him and he’d spent the entire evening bemoaning this fact before I found an excuse to leave. I hadn’t the energy for any of that.

  “You need to get out more,” said my mother. “Go on more dates.”

  “I do occasionally,” I said.

  “Once a year.”

  “Once a year is enough for me. Anyway, I’m happy as I am.”

  “Do you go into the chat rooms at all?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The chat rooms,” she repeated.

  “What chat rooms?”

  “The ones where gay men meet other gay men. You send pictures to each other and say the age and type of man you’re looking for and if you’re lucky—”

  “Is this a joke?” I asked.

  “No, it’s very popular among the gays,” she said. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it.”

  I shook my head. “I think I’ll stick to the old-fashioned way,” I said. “How do you know so much about this stuff anyway?”

  “I’m a Silver Surfer,” she said.

  “A what?”

  “A Silver Surfer,” she repeated. “Oh, I’m very with-it, you know. I take computer classes in the ILAC Center every Wednesday afternoon with Christopher.”

  “Does he take his shirt off for you too?”

  “Oh no,” said my mother, shaking her head and grimacing. “And I wouldn’t want him to either. He’s a bit of a minger.”

  “You’ve been hanging out with your grandchildren too much,” I said.

  “Now that you mention them, did I tell you that Julia has a boyfriend now?” she asked, referring to her eldest granddaughter.

  “Does she indeed?”

  “She does. I caught them shifting each other in the living room last weekend. I said nothing to her mother but I sat her down later and told her to be very careful and keep a hold of her ha’penny. One fallen woman in the family is enough.”

  “What’s shifting?” I asked.

  “Oh come on,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Are you alive at all, Cyril? Are you living in the twenty-first century?”

  “I am,” I protested. “I imagine it’s some form of…” I hesitated with the words. “Some form of sexual activity, is it?”

  “No, it’s just kissing,” she said. “But I suppose it can lead places. Young people can lose the run of themselves and she’s only fifteen. Although he seems like a nice lad, from what I can tell. Very polite. He looks like he could be one of those Westlife fellas. If I was only sixty years younger, I’d have a go myself!” she added with a laugh. “Anyway. How’s work? Am I missing much in the Dáil?”

  “Not much, no. It’s fairly quiet. I’ll be ready for my retirement when it comes.”

  “You can’t retire,” she said, shaking her head. “I won’t allow it. I’m not old enough to have a retired son.”

  “I’ve only got two more years,” I said. “And then that’s it.”

  “Do you know what you’ll do then?” she asked me.

  I shrugged. “I might do a little bit of traveling,” I said. “If I have the energy. I’d quite like to see Australia, but I don’t know if I’d be up for the journey at my age.”

  “A friend of mine from the Silver Surfers went to Australia last year,” she said. “He has a daughter in Perth.”

  “Did he have a good time?”

  “No, he had a heart attack on the plane and had to be shipped back from Dubai in a coffin.”

  “Great story,” I sa
id. “Encouraging.”

  “Ah well, he should never have gone. He’d had four heart attacks already. He was an accident waiting to happen. He was very good with spreadsheets, though. And email. I think you should go. And take me with you.”

  “Really?” I said. “You’d be interested in seeing Australia?”

  “I would if you’re paying,” she said with a wink.

  “It’s an awful long way to go.”

  “They say First Class is very comfortable.”

  I smiled. “I’ll think about it,” I said.

  “We could see the Opera House.”

  “We could.”

  “And climb the Sydney Harbor Bridge.”

  “You can. I don’t like heights. And they wouldn’t let me up with a crutch anyway.”

  “You’re old before your time, Cyril, did anyone ever tell you that?”

  The train pulled into Limerick Station and a young couple got on and sat in the two seats across the aisle from us. They looked as if they were in the middle of an argument and were sitting on it for the time being so as not to be overheard by an audience. She was clearly fuming and he was sitting with his eyes closed, his hands clenched into fists. An inspector walked past, checked their tickets, and when he moved on to the next car the man, who was about thirty, reached into his backpack and pulled out a can of Carlsberg. Holding the can with thumb and third finger he popped the ring-pull and a spit of foam flecked up onto his girlfriend’s face.

  “Do you have to?” she asked.

  “Why shouldn’t I?” he said, picking up the can and taking a long slug from it.

  “Because it would be nice if, just for once, you weren’t drunk by six o’clock.”

  “You’d be drunk every day too,” he said, “if you had to put up with you.”

  I looked away and caught my mother’s eye, who was biting her lip and trying not to laugh.

  “And you can’t smoke on here,” said the woman, glaring at him when he took a pouch of tobacco from his bag and a packet of Rizlas. “It’s a train.”

  “Is it?” he asked. “I thought it was a plane and I wondered why we were still on the ground.”