His Father's Son: To save the son he loves, a desparate father must confront the ghosts of his past

by Tony Black

  “Oh,” said Paddy, and his tone was changed. “Well, Joey, my man. I’m glad to make your acquaintance, and to show how glad I am …” Paddy unzipped his bag and pulled out a bottle of Jameson whiskey, the seal already cracked, a good drop taken. “I’ll drink yeer health.”

  “Ah, no.”

  “Come on, now a little drop never did a man any harm.” Paddy leaned over to the shelf above the little sink and stuck two fat fingers in as many cups. “There,” he said when the whiskey was poured. “Sláinte!”

  “Sláinte,” said Joey, taking the cup. There was no harm in one, sure enough, and wasn’t this Paddy fella all right. He could have teamed up with worse, so he could, and hadn’t Paddy ignored the bandage on his head, or at least resisted the mention of it so far, and that was something to be grateful for.

  The two men talked away, though Joey was mostly forced to listen to Paddy’s tales. It was a relief to be entertained instead of doing the entertaining, he thought, especially the way he felt, though there was more than a touch of the Blarney in Paddy’s talk. Sure if bullshit was music he would make a grand brass band altogether. He was what they called a redneck back in Ireland, the type of country fella that gets a slap on the neck and told go and find some work in the city. He was rough and ready, sure, but there wasn’t a flitter of badness in him. Paddy had toured the world, always by boat for fear of flying, but had rarely saw more than the latest site of some grand new building, usually carrying a hod full of bricks over his shoulder.

  “Ye know there’s some grand craic to be had on a boat, Joey Driscol,” said Paddy.

  “Is that so?”

  “Tis … you get some characters travelling by boat, so ye do. Tis the romance of the sea.”

  “Ah go away, it’s not Love Boat now.”

  “Ha-ha, ye haven’t seen the nurse will be looking after the bandage there, and don’t they say there’s only two sure things in life – one is death, the other a nurse.”

  “Cop onto yeerself.” Joey felt the reddener flushing over his face and picked up the whiskey bottle.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t be asking how ye managed it,” said Paddy.

  “I look a sight, don’t I?”

  “Not at all … sure yeer like some manner of Sikh gentleman.”

  Joey laughed. There was no craic like the Irish – wasn’t Paddy a gas entirely. Even though Joey’s thoughts were full of Marti he was almost enjoying himself. “Right … shall we go and find a bit of this romance yeer on about, then?”

  Paddy said it was a powerful idea, the travelling by sea. Didn’t you have the relaxation that came with it into the bargain. He said all the great explorers and adventurers travelled by the sea, and though there were some mighty aviators in time of war, and so on and such forth, wasn’t the sea the thing for a fella with a bit of pluck about him? If he had his time again, Paddy said he would love to be setting out on a life at sea and maybe even becoming a salt into the bargain. Your average salt had a constitution blacker than a rat’s guts, said Paddy, and a mind at least twice as dark. A good salt always knew where to find the craic on a ship like this and they only need keep their eyes peeled for the right one.

  The ship was busy and there were lots of people walking about when Paddy suddenly pointed to a salt and said, “Now, Joey, there’s a fella who’s seen a bit of the world. Hang on, I’ll have a word.”

  Paddy and the salt stood talking together for a while and then there were a lot of gestures from the salt, like he was giving directions. When the salt stopped with the gestures, he nodded at Paddy and then the two men shook hands and Paddy flicked back his head to beckon Joey to him.

  “Right, me old segotia, have I a night planned for you.”

  “What is it?” said Joey.

  “What is it? Only the grandest of craic known to man.”

  “What?”

  “Five card brag.”

  “Poker?” said Joey.

  “Shhh … Jaysus, don’t be broadcasting it.”

  “Oh come on, tis only a game of cards.”

  “Tis not matchsticks we’re playing with here, Joey now, tis bigger than that.”

  “Lollypop sticks?”

  “Stop now. It’s big money. We can clean up, sure. Come on, game’s starting in ten minutes. What do you say?”

  “No way.”

  “Ah, now. Don’t be dismissing the idea, sure I know a thing or two about the old five card.”

  “Forget it.” Joey turned round and walked away from Paddy and his idea of a bit of craic. Funds were tight. Since Shauna emptied the bank of Marti’s college funds Joey had worried about building them back up. He had never known money, what he had – which wasn’t much after the usual parasites took their bite out of the house sale – he had worked for and now he had no work. Every penny would be needed to find Marti, make him safe and keep him that way.

  “Joey,” said Paddy, walking after him.

  “See ya.”

  In the cabin Joey pulled out the bunk and flattened his pillow. The bunk was hard, rock solid. He wondered how he would manage five weeks of it, and then the door was opened again.

  “Look, haven’t I a system,” said Paddy. “Tis a sure-fire system and all I need is a bit of the folding stuff. See I’m what ye might call embarrassed financially.”

  “Forget it. Anyway, what makes ye think I have a bean?”

  “Well, ye would be flying if ye were counting pennies.”

  “I have hardly a pot to piss in … and anyway, all I have is accounted for. I have a boy needs looking after.”

  Paddy leaned over and placed a sunburned hand on Joey’s shoulder. “What I am about to tell you now I have told no other man, tis my secret but I’m desperate, sure. I’m broke.”

  “Shame,” said Joey.

  “That’s not it. I have a talent.” Paddy went to his bag and took out a deck of cards. “Now watch.” The deck was shuffled faster than Joey thought possible, and then the cards were sprayed into the air and collected one after the other in Paddy’s hands.

  “That’s impressive,” said Joey.

  “Fluff. Watch this.” Paddy dealt out four sets of five from the pack and told Joey to take one. He reached out. “Uh-uh,” said Paddy.

  “You said any one.”

  “Try that one instead.”

  Joey picked up the hand: a flush. He was surprised, curious. He turned the others over: a pair of aces in one, three eights in another and an ace high. “Amazing!” said Joey.

  “It’s all in the deal. Sure a great dealer can deal everyone at the table a hand to die for … and a better one to himself!”

  “Christ, this is dynamite.” Joey’s mind filled with the possibilities. Was this his chance to come out ahead? To turn the little cash he had left from the house sale into a real nest egg? Marti could be taken proper care of – mightn’t the college money be replaced entirely. The whole sorry slate could be wiped clear with a win at the table. Joey saw rows of books bought for Marti, a whole set of encyclopaedia, tutors paid for and the best of exam results. He saw his dream realised. Marti would go to Trinity, sure no Bishop could deny the boy like they had done him.

  “Count me in,” said Joey.

  Paddy smiled. Joey recognised the wild optimism of the gambler in his face, but sure wasn’t this a cert. Paddy was like a firm tip for the horses. It was bet-the-house time entirely.

  “How much are ye in for?” said Paddy

  “Everything.”

  “Grand so, I’ll drink to that.”

  The two glasses were filled once more and Joey drained his in one shot. “Paddy, you could be just the break I needed.”

  “What do ye mean could? Aren’t we invincible. Just one question, how much are you carrying?”

  Joey dipped into his breast pocket. “Tis all I have.”

  Paddy eyed the bundle of notes, then reached out for it.

  “Not so fast. I’m trusting ye with my life here. If ye lose it I lose more than money, Paddy. I lose the chance
of finding my boy.”

  Paddy looked at Joey, “Finding your boy?”

  “My wife’s disappeared with him.”

  “Jaysus, tis like something ye would read in the papers. Your money’s safe with me, my friend,” he said, taking the bundle.

  It was the strangest thing, thought Joey. As soon as the money was given over his hopes evaporated. But sure, it was probably just the fear of losing, was it not? This Paddy fella was a magician with the old cards – he had never seen anything like it, never in all his days. He checked his thinking, told himself it was money in the bank. There would be a win at the table and he would rock back to Kilmora like some manner of flashman, spraying gifts on Marti. There would be a power of cash set aside for the boy’s future and maybe more to tide them over until he found work enough to get them both back to Australia. Jaysus, wasn’t the forecast brightening up entirely.

  Paddy stripped to the waist and started to douse himself in water at the little sink. He had a small leather case full of all manner of soaps and talcum powders and lotions which he used to spruce himself up before the big card game. Joey tried not to watch whilst Paddy readied himself but it was hard when he didn’t stop talking all the while.

  “I always get a bit jittery before a game, so I do,” said Paddy.

  “Not too jittery, I hope.”

  “No way, sure tis all superficial – just nerves.” Paddy covered his body in a cloud of talc. “Sorry, don’t I sweat like a rapist.”

  Joey started to cough when the talc floated over his head. “Ye have a lovely way with words.”

  “Sorry, tis the nerves again.”

  “I wish ye would stop talking about your nerves. You’ll have me thinking you’re not up to this … and the game is underway now, you realise!”

  “Sorry.”

  “And stop saying sorry. Are ye ready yet?”

  Paddy buttoned up a sky blue shirt with coconut palms swaying all over it. Joey thought the shirt looked more suited to the beach; he hoped it wouldn’t attract attention to Paddy, but he didn’t want to mention it for fear of rattling his nerves any more.

  “Okay, I’m set,” said Paddy.

  The pair left the cabin, Paddy in front, Joey following behind in the bigger man’s shaky steps. The card game was to be held in one of the luxury cabins at the front of the ship. It was a long walk and before they were even halfway Paddy was taking a seat and gasping for air.

  “Are ye okay?” said Joey. He thought about calling the whole thing off, taking his money and running back to the cabin.

  “I’m fine. Maybe a glass of water.”

  Joey led Paddy into a nearby toilet, filled the sink with cold water and told him to get a grip. It was no good. The second Paddy leaned over the sink, he vomited.

  “Holy Mother of God,” said Joey.

  “Sorry.”

  “Stop that. In fact, I’ll stop it. The money, get it over.”

  “No, Joey I’m fine. Better out than in, like they say, eh.”

  “I swear. If you mess up.”

  Paddy stood and grabbed Joey in a handshake, gripped him tight. “Trust me. It’s just the way it always takes me. I’m fine, sure.”

  Joey looked him in the eye. “Then let’s feckin do this,” he said.

  14

  Marti and Pat took off running over the cobbles and Marti was the fastest and had to slow down for Pat, who had the stitch with the laughing. They ran and ran for a very long way, but when they could see there was no one following and they were tired with the running, they stopped and sat down with their backs to a wall. They were miles from St Joseph’s, said Pat, and wasn’t that the reason Dylan and the boys from Brother Declan’s class had given up.

  “They’re too scared to mitch off the school. Sure Brother Declan’s a mentaller,” said Pat.

  “What’s mitch?” said Marti.

  “It’s going on the hop, sure – missing the school.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh, indeed. Sure it’s mitching we are now,” said Pat. Marti wondered would they be in trouble?

  The brothers would know they were missing for sure, because wasn’t he just a new boy and new boys were always looked out for. Marti knew his mam would say he had earned a hot arse for mitching, but he didn’t care because St Joseph’s was a terrible place. Sure, the hot arse would be better than the rest of the day spent at school with the brothers and the likes of Dylan Gillon, who wanted to kill him.

  “Come on,” said Pat. “Ye can have a grand time on the mitch, aren’t I forever at it?”

  It was wet out on the streets and when Marti stood up he felt his backside was damp, but he didn’t mind because it felt like an adventure he was on. When they started to walk he felt his feet squelching and saw his shoes were sodden after running in the wet streets. When he looked underneath the shoes there was a hole in one and a big crack in the other that had split the sole in two. Marti said he couldn’t be walking anywhere now, but Pat said there were bicycles galore left outside Gleesons Bakery and weren’t they there for the taking. They could borrow one and go for a burl, which would be showing Marti the sights into the bargain.

  “It’s stealing,” said Marti. “We’ll get into trouble.”

  “It’s borrowing only, sure. I’m always at it. We just have to put it back in one piece and nobody’s the wiser.”

  At Gleesons Bakery there were lots of big old heavy black bicycles lined up in rows. Some of the bicycles had bars on the front and some of them had a basket. Marti watched Pat creep in and grab a bicycle with a basket on the front and then he wheeled it away with the squeak-squeak noise following him. When Pat got beyond Gleesons Bakery he jumped on the bicycle and told Marti to get on the back. Pat’s legs were too small to reach the pedals properly, so he had to sit on the bar and slide sideways about. The bicycle was very shaky until Pat got the hang of it, and then it was going like the clappers they were.

  They rolled down Quay Street on the bicycle, with the basket on the front sometimes catching the wind and nearly knocking them off balance. At the end of Quay Street there was a street of cobbles and there was bumping and rattling and Marti and Pat were nearly off the bicycle entirely until the course was straightened miraculously, and then they were in flitters with the laughing.

  The two boys had turns about with the bicycle and when they both had the hang of it, racing around the village like skylarks, Pat said it was time to go down the old railway. He said that down by the old railway was the best of places to go on the mitch and they would have themselves a grand old burn up with the papers that were dumped by the boys who were too lazy to do the deliveries. It was very quiet with no one to be seen. The tracks and the bridges of the old railway were silent, only the long grass and the bare trees made a noise when the wind passed them. Pat had a little yellow can with a white swan on it hidden under a rock at his favourite spot to go on the mitch. He said the can had lighter fuel in it, which was needed for the burn up.

  The papers that were everywhere were collected up and the top ones and the bottom ones that were wet were thrown away, and then Pat splashed on the lighter fuel and took a box of matches from his pocket. It would be a grand old burn up in no time, said Pat, but wasn’t it a shame they had none of the marshmallows like they have on the films. Pat said if it was Huck Finn he was there’d be marshmallows galore for roasting on the fire, and wasn’t it a mystery where he always got them when they were as scarce as hobby-horse manure about these parts.

  “Where did ye learn to make a fire like that?” said Marti.

  “My dad showed me,” said Pat. “Well, I saw him, really, when he was at the rubbish burning in the summer.”

  When Pat said about his dad Marti felt the lump in the throat coming because he hadn’t seen his dad in a long time and things were very different now. He kept thinking about his dad and missing him. Mam had said the second he stopped the thinking then the sadness would stop too, but Marti didn’t want to stop the thinking. Sometimes Marti would think a
s hard as he could and hope that Dad would catch the thought like it was a special message and come and get him, but he never did. When Mam had taken him past the fountain where the coins were thrown, he had made a wish for Dad to appear but the wish hadn’t come true, and Marti wondered if wishes ever came true.

  “Your old fella must have shown ye some tricks in the bush now?” said Pat.

  “We were never in the bush. We had a proper house on a proper street,” said Marti. His voice was weak and cracking with the lump in his throat. He didn’t want to talk about his dad. He had got used to just the thinking about him because Mam didn’t like to hear him talking about Dad and would start with the moodiness whenever he did.

  “Ye sound homesick, are you?” said Pat.

  “Maybe,” said Marti, and he started to poke at the fire with a long stick.

  “What do ye miss the most?”

  “My dad.”

  “Your dad … didn’t he come with ye?”

  “No, was just my mam. He’s still there.”

  “Is he coming?”

  “I don’t think so. He says Australia is God’s country and he would never leave. He says he would never come to Ireland for the days soaked through and digging the ditches.”

  “Oh,” said Pat.

  Marti could tell Pat was confused. He had the eyes rolled back in his head like he was trying to think what to say next but had no idea entirely.

  “My mam says it’s just us for now … and Aunt Catrin, I think, because we live with her.”

  “Is that Old Kiss the Statues?”

  “Who?”

  “That’s what they call her, Old Kiss the Statues. Sure that woman’s a bockety-arsed old witch. They say she’s mad entirely … couldn’t she just be going through the old change of life business though, like all the women do,” said Pat.

  The old change of life business was new to Marti. Pat had surprised him. This was something strange altogether and Marti wondered what it could mean. It sounded very dramatic and he wondered why he had never heard of it before. “What’s the old change of life business?” he said.