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

by Tony Black

  “I am moving,” said Marti.

  “And I’ll have none of yeer lip,” said Guard O’Dowd. “Oh yes, it was a fair old gas at the time, was it not, a fair old hooley ye had to yourself with the fire.”

  “Ah, you’re hurting me.”

  “That’s the general idea, boy. I bet there’s not a minute, not a second nor a millisecond of thought ye gave to the people you could be hurting with the fire, now was there?”

  “There was nobody there.”

  “Ye had the whole place in a state of fear and panic, so ye did. Old ladies worried in their homes, their poor hands trembling with the thought of the fire approaching, not knowing if they were to be burnt out of house and home.”

  Marti didn’t believe it when he said about the fear and panic and he thought it was all just a holy show to make him scared, but he was scared enough anyway. He had never been taken home by a guard before and Mam was sure to be mad angry and say it was a hot arse he had earned. Hadn’t he only just started at Saint Joseph’s All Boys Catholic School and here he was mitching and stealing, lighting fires and being taken home by a guard already. It would be the hot arse for sure. It might even be worse, thought Marti, but he didn’t know what worse might be because he had never been in so much trouble ever before.

  When they got to Aunt Catrin’s gate Guard O’Dowd took away his big hand and said, “Hold up there a minute, boyo.” He stared at the rabbit traps hanging around the shed where Uncle Ardal kept the pigeons. Guard O’Dowd was in a fury and said he’d told Uncle Ardal about the traps he didn’t know how many times. He pulled away at them and threw them into a big pile on the ground and then he said it’s lucky yeer Uncle Ardal is there’s no cats trapped and calling for dear life, and wasn’t a cat the only companion some old ladies had in the whole world.

  Guard O’Dowd knocked very hard on the door of the house and called out. He started to write something in his little black book and said Uncle Ardal had seen the last of the traps. “By Christ, he has. As sure as there’s a breath in me he’s seen the last of them traps this day.”

  There were lights came on in the house and when the door was opened Aunt Catrin stood on the step and folded her arms. She had the woman’s look for making the milk sour and even when Guard O’Dowd spoke to her about the traps she kept her eyes on Marti.

  “Ye can take it up with Ardal yeerself. Do I look the type to keep pigeons?” said Aunt Catrin, and Guard O’Dowd was quiet in front of her, staring at her eyes. “Now what are ye doing with this boy?”

  “Tis the mother I’m after.”

  “Ye can take it up with me. The mother is unwell.”

  The guard’s voice was different when he spoke to Aunt Catrin. It was like he was frightened, thought Marti. There was a quieter tone about him altogether and the anger was all gone. “He’s after having a bit of a burn up down the old railway … had the whole place in a state of panic, old ladies calling the station so they were …”

  “Is that all?” said Aunt Catrin. “I thought it was the Houses of Parliament he burnt to the ground the way ye were talking.”

  “Ah now, ah now.”

  “Ah now nothing,” said Aunt Catrin. “This boy has a sick mother, I told ye. Now don’t be bothering us with the like of this when we have real problems to deal with under my roof.” Aunt Catrin grabbed Marti by the ear and pulled him into the house, and Guard O’Dowd was left with an open mouth and one foot on the front step.

  “But …”

  “Go way catch some proper criminals. I’ll deal with this one myself,” said Aunt Catrin, and the door was slammed shut. Marti was glad it was all over and that there were no questions asked about the bicycle or about Pat, and then Aunt Catrin looked down at him and he knew he was in big enough trouble without mention of other things.

  “This is a fine display, is it not?” she said. “Brung home by the guards when yeer own mother is lying through there with some manner of illness.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Marti. He felt the shame when Aunt Catrin said Mam was ill, but he knew she was always ill and it was just the sadness Dad called the Black Dog. Marti knew he had been a bold boy and had well and truly earned the hot arse like Mam would say, but he wanted her to say it and not to hear Aunt Catrin giving out at him. He didn’t like to look at her when she was like this because she scared him with the look on her. It wasn’t like when Mam was giving out at all because she seemed like it was all a cod, but Aunt Catrin seemed like it was real.

  “Oh, it’s sorry ye are, is it? Well, sorry isn’t good enough when ye have a sick mother lying there in need of the love and comfort of her only son.”

  “It’s only the Black Dog. She always has it,” said Marti.

  “Oh is that what it is only?” said Aunt Catrin. “Well let me tell you there’s people have died of less in this family, yeer mother is very sick and may be going up the hill soon.”

  Marti knew up the hill meant the Cabbage Farm because Pat had told him that was where you went to get your head looked at. He didn’t want Mam to go up the hill and leave him all alone with Aunt Catrin, and the thought made him sadder than he was already.

  “My own brother, yeer Uncle Barry, was the same way, but then I’m sure you’ve never heard of him, have ye?”

  “I haven’t.”

  “No I didn’t think so. Sure yeer mother ran off to Australia and left me to mind him. I’m sure she didn’t tell ye that either.” Aunt Catrin trembled when she spoke about Mam and Marti wanted her to stop the talking, but she just kept on and on about Mam sunning herself in Australia whilst she was left to pick up the pieces of a shattered family, but hadn’t it caught up with her now and no mistake.

  “Ye with a sick mother and acting the maggot … having guards at the door. I will have to be taking a very close look at how you are brung up from now on in, Marti Driscol. Now take those wet things off by the fire and get to yeer bed. There will be no tea for ye this night. You can take an empty belly to bed, will match yeer empty head.”

  When Marti went through to the fire, Mam was lying sleeping on the sofa wearing the baggy jamas with the very long sleeves over her hands. The fire was nearly out and Aunt Catrin put a clod of peat on to burn and keep Mam warm and heat the place in general. There were little sparks when the clod of peat was placed on the fire and there was a hissing sound when the wetness on it started to turn to smoke which smelled nice but stung the eyes.

  When Marti looked at Mam sleeping she had a very peaceful and happy face. It made him sad to look at her lying there because she only ever looked that way when she was sleeping. He felt like there was a very tight little knot inside him when he looked at her and he thought about Aunt Catrin’s words. He knew he didn’t ever want to be bold again if it would mean Mam had to go to the Cabbage Farm because he didn’t want her to go anywhere. Marti knew he had no dad now and when he looked at Mam lying sleeping with the very peaceful and happy face he didn’t want to lose his mam as well.

  He wondered why she couldn’t look that way all the time and he wanted to know but he didn’t know who to ask, or if there was anyone at all in the whole world who would ever be able to tell him. He couldn’t ask Aunt Catrin because she was a bockety-arsed old witch, like Pat said, and he couldn’t ask Pat, even if he was his best friend, because he didn’t want Pat to know Mam might have to go up the hill to the Cabbage Farm.

  He could think of only one person who would know why Mam couldn’t have the face all the time and that was Dad. He thought about the times Dad made Mam laugh when they were in Australia and it seemed like such a very, very long time ago that he wondered if even Dad would still be able to make her laugh. Marti wondered if there ever had been a time when they were all together at all or was it really just a dream, and the very tight little knot inside him got tighter and tighter and he felt the tears coming.

  Marti scrunched his eyes up because he didn’t want to see Mam lying sleeping anymore and when he put his hand up to his face there were salty warm tears rollin
g down his cheek.

  “Oh ye can bubble away,” said Aunt Catrin. “You’ll get no sympathy under my roof. Tis changed days ye are facing, Marti Driscol, changed days entirely.”

  17

  The Captain’s Bar was a sorry affair with all manner of polished brass about the place, ropes tied in knots and a big old bell sparkling for all the world to see. A man with a duster in his hand was rubbing away at the bell so hard that little chimes were heard in time with the jerk of his elbow. The place was empty of customers but that wasn’t going to put him off, thought Joey. The thirst was back with him – wasn’t he pure blue mouldy for a drink.

  There were people heading off for breakfast all over the ship, happy people on their holidays. The sight of them put the heart crossways in Joey. If he heard one more “Grand day” or “Fine morning” he was liable to kick someone’s arse into their neck. A drink was needed and all he wanted was a quiet spot to get down to business alone.

  “Howya?” he said.

  The man with the duster turned round. He looked at Joey like he was something else that needed cleaning in the place. “Hello,” he said, and his eyes went up to the bandage.

  “I was wondering, could ye pour me a little one?”

  “Certainly.” The man was what they call a hard neck in Ireland. He had no respect in him but sure wasn’t it a free bar, open all hours, and he would serve drink now whether he liked it or not.

  “On second thoughts, make it a large one,” said Joey. He dumped his bag and sat down at the bar, gently placing the Superman picture in front of him. “Wouldn’t it be grand to have superpowers like yeer man,” he said, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

  The hard neck served the whiskey and rolled his eyes, left to right. “Yes, I’m sure it would.”

  “Would be mighty, would it not, to have the old superpowers?” Joey threw back the whiskey. “Same again, fella.”

  The glass was taken and a refill brought back to the bar.

  “What would you go for, if ye could have any of yeer man’s powers?” The hard neck narrowed his eyes and glowered. “Jaysus, I am only making conversation,” said Joey. Hadn’t this one the old laserbeam eyes on him already.

  From the mirror in front Joey saw the hard neck go back to the bell with his duster. He could see him taking glances at his bandage from time to time. He’d almost forgotten it was there. It was dirty now, ragged bits of it fraying all over. It would have to come off. He had noticed people were staring more than ever but he thought nothing of it, sure wasn’t it the look of a waster they were after checking, that’s what he thought. It was how he felt, anyway.

  “Hey there, laserbeams …” Joey felt a bit drunk. He was drinking doubles on an empty stomach. “Can I have another?” The hard neck said nothing, walked behind the bar and poured out another double whiskey.

  Joey quaffed the drink and slammed it on the bar. “Another.” The glass was quickly filled and handed back to him. “Another.” It was becoming a rigmarole, but was repeated until the third request when the hard neck shook his head.

  “What, yeer refusing me?” said Joey.

  “You’ve had enough,” he said, and then he leant forward over the Superman picture and added, “I don’t want to see you flying like your friend there.”

  “I have things to do anyway,” said Joey, and got up to leave. A route of narrow, winding corridors was followed to the ship’s infirmary. There were passengers along the way who stared at him and he tried to avoid their eyes. He felt the shame of what their thoughts might be. The world seemed different with the money gone and Joey thought his place in it was a fragile thing. How could he keep an eye out for Marti now when he was returning to the life of a knacker himself?

  At the infirmary door he pressed the buzzer for the nurse and stepped back. He wanted to lower his head, point, say nothing – the shame of it all was too much – and then a face appeared, smiling wildly in the doorway. For a second he wondered was he seeing things? With the long black hair and the impatient look in her eyes she could have been Shauna’s double, but then she laughed and the vision was shattered.

  “You look like you’ve been in the wars,” she said.

  “Oh, tis my head.”

  “Well I didn’t think it was your arse.” The nurse laughed again, putting up her hand to hide the giggles. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t tease you.”

  “Ah go way, don’t they say laughter’s the best medicine.”

  “Well we’ve plenty of that here. Come in.”

  The nurse sat him down on a stool and walked away to the other end of the room. He watched her movements as she hunted for the proper scissors, cursing all the while. She had no cares in the world, thought Joey. She threw herself about the place, laughing and joking, every once in a while flicking her long black hair back and looking to see if her patient was watching.

  “These will have to do,” she said, picking up a very long pair of scissors with a bend in the end of them.

  “Say what you mean,” said Joey.

  “I always do. The truth is a beautiful thing, that’s what my father told me – that there’s no point gilding the lily.”

  “Sounds a grand fella, your father.”

  “He was. He’s dead now … but don’t worry, I didn’t nurse him,” she laughed again when she spoke and then she placed a hand on his face. “I’m going to have to tilt you a bit, sir.”

  “It’s Joey’s my name.” He pulled his face away from her. The cold touch of her hand made him fearful, nervous somehow, he couldn’t explain it. “Call me Joey,” he said.

  “Okay, Joey. Pleased to meet you.” She stretched out her hand for him to shake and when he took it the fear was suddenly gone. It was like the threat of touching her was all he was scared of. “Is that drink I can smell on you?” she said.

  It was still early in the day and he felt embarrassed. “Eh … it is, yeah. But, I’m Irish, I can be excused.”

  “I hope I won’t be offered whiskey for breakfast when I get there.”

  “Ah no, tis an acquired habit, whiskey at this hour … and ye don’t look the type to acquire it.”

  The nurse smiled and let out a little laugh. There was something about the way she laughed reminded Joey of his youth. She didn’t laugh like Shauna. Her laugh was louder. It seemed more forced by comparison. But then hadn’t it been so long since he heard Shauna laugh, he might be wrong, he thought.

  “So you’re headed for Ireland?”

  “Aren’t we both … It’s where the ship goes.”

  “Ha,” Joey laughed himself. “I mean, are ye going to stay there for a time, in Ireland?”

  “My dad always said travel was important, real travel and travel of the mind. When he died I thought I should follow his advice.”

  “He died recently, then?”

  “Last year. He left me some money – he was never big on possessions. I thought it would be better to spend it on something he approved of.”

  “Something ye would have forever.”

  “Exactly.” She cut through the bandages and let them fall to the ground, then tried to ruffle Joey’s hair where it had been flattened beneath. “There, you’re done.”

  “No stitches?”

  “I’ve taken them out, silly!”

  “God, ye were gentle. I never noticed.”

  The nurse laughed and Joey stood up to leave. “Thanks a million, I think I owe ye.”

  “It’s okay,” she said.

  “Well, maybe I can buy ye a drink in Ireland – a whiskey for breakfast, perhaps.”

  She lowered her eyes. “Eh, no thanks.”

  “Oh Jaysus, what have I said … sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” Joey felt his face start to burn and when he backed out of the infirmary in a fluster he heard the nurse’s laughter again.

  He carried his bag down the hall – he felt like an itinerant – wandering and wandering with nowhere to rest, then he found himself back at the Captain’s Bar. He peered through the
glass in the door. The hard neck was still inside, the bell abandoned, his attention turned to a tabletop now. There were other bars on the ship but to get to them meant walking past the cabin. He didn’t want to bump into Paddy Tiernan again but he thought it was a risk he would have to take. On the way there he passed the cabin fine, and then he thought he saw Paddy heading towards him, and ducked into a gents toilet.

  When he looked in the mirror Joey saw his hair was all over the place. He looked filthy, a thick growth of stubble adding to the look of a desperate bogger that there was about him. He soaked his hair in water and slicked it back with his fingers but the effect was minimal. His eyes were blood red, little vessels running into the corners. One was worse than the other, but they both had a yellow tinge to them. They looked like they’d been dipped in mustard, he thought. It was the drink, sure it was; he knew it. But now wasn’t the time to get off it. You don’t kick the crutches off a man with two broken legs.

  He stuck his head out of the toilet to check the passage was clear and caught sight of Paddy ambling down the way. “Jaysus, he’d be a good messenger to send for death,” said Joey quietly to himself and closed the door, putting his weight on it until Paddy’s heavy footsteps were heard going past.

  When he made it to the Flamingo Lounge there were one or two tables left in the lunchtime rush. He sat himself behind a large cocktail list and hoped Paddy would stay clear of the place. It didn’t look like his type of bar anyway. It was full of old ladies drinking from tall glasses with lumps of fruit and little umbrellas in them. He ordered up a pair of double whiskies and pretended he was waiting on company. He kept up the pretence until all the old ladies had left and the bar was just about empty. He was starting to slouch and he could feel something beginning to dig into the side of him. He touched it – it was Shauna’s diary. He figured he felt so bad about himself now that he couldn’t feel any worse, so he read on: