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

by Tony Black

  Joey paused, thought about what to say. He’d had a lot of time to think about things like this just lately, but he didn’t know where to start – sure wasn’t it all an issue. “Well, for starters … he never accepted me as his son. I was a mighty disappointment to him and he never tired of letting me know.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “He was this grand hurling player and, ye know … a drinker, a hardman. And I was this kid with his nose in a book the whole while. I was no use to him. He wanted another little Emmet Driscol to mould.”

  “All parents try to mould their children … in their own way.”

  Joey resented being lobbed in with the likes of his father. “Rubbish, I would never treat Marti the way he was with me.” He jumped to his feet. “I don’t want to talk about this any more.”

  “Joey.”

  “No. I mean it. Conversation over. Leave me be.”

  Her eyes were wide. Her mouth was frozen in an arrow point. Joey had seen this face before, it was hurt. Hadn’t he managed to bring some more hurt into the world.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “No, tis me. My wife has taken my son from me. She took the boy to hurt me. I don’t know what manner of fiery hoops she’ll make me jump through when I find her and I’m all wound up.”

  Her look suddenly changed, turned glacier cold. “I don’t believe you.”

  “What … It’s true. It’s all true,” said Joey.

  “I don’t mean that … I mean your wife has nothing to do with it. It’s you. Maybe she took the boy to wake you up, not to hurt you, to make you look at yourself.”

  “What … what are you saying?” Joey felt mixed up inside. He had thought he was doing the right thing talking to her – wasn’t that what she wanted? It should have made her feel better to see she wasn’t the only one with problems, surely. No, he was in the right here, and unless he was missing something, really missing something, then she had no right to be going off at him. “I think you should leave now,” he said.

  Helen leaned back from him, then stood up. “You need help.”

  “Help. Is that what I need, is it? And that would be help with what?”

  “That I don’t know. I’m only a nurse. Goodbye, Joey.”

  In the morning when he woke Joey checked his face in the mirror. There was no way he was heading out of the infirmary looking like a knacker. He ran a comb through his hair, smoothed down some stray ends on his crown and smiled. It was on instinct, there was no thought or feeling behind it, and then he realised that he wanted a drink. He stared at the smile on his face for a moment. Then the smile slipped away as he remembered why he was on the boat in the first place, to find Marti, to make sure the boy was safe.

  He felt a sinking inside of him. He was codding himself. He knew what they would say back in Kilmora – Joey Driscol, wasn’t he fond of a few scoops, lick it off a scabby leg, so he would. He couldn’t face the look of himself in the mirror, wouldn’t he find out soon enough what they would say in Kilmora. The boat was getting in tomorrow. He slapped himself on the head. “Eeejit. Get a grip, man.”

  There were parties going off all over the ship. Women in evening dresses smelling like the perfume counter at Clerys, men in dinner suits, rivers of drink running wild. Joey didn’t share their enthusiasm. Tomorrow would be judgement day for him.

  He fought his way through the crowd of dancing bodies to the bar. People were lined up three or four rows deep, calling for drinks. It was like New Year’s Eve. He couldn’t grudge them a celebration on the last day of their voyage, but he didn’t feel like joining them. His mind was full of fears. His head felt like a jar of wasps had been released in it, every now and then a sting landing on some nerve or other.

  It had been ten years since Joey had left Kilmora on that wet May morning in ’68 but it could feel as close as yesterday when he thought of it. He had tried not to think about the day Shauna and himself set sail for Australia, looking for a new life. He remembered the tears in her eyes as she watched the land turn to a speck on the horizon. He had wondered why she was crying after what they had just been through and he still wondered yet. There could be nothing worse than returning to Kilmora, he thought. There could be nothing worse than facing the very people who had poured scorn on the pair of them, people like the mighty Emmet Driscol, who had as good as cast them out himself. But wasn’t that just what he was facing now?

  He remembered things had worsened in the days before they left. The whole village knew they were going and had decided it was the time to speak their minds. Wherever they went people stopped in the street, staring and shaking their heads; it was Joey’s way to face them down but Shauna wanted none of it. His blood was curdling with them but Shauna was the strong one. Even when there were cigarette butts thrown down before them, or names called out that were so harsh people spat to cleanse their mouths after, she would grab him back and say, “Leave it. Just leave it. Will be over soon.”

  Those last days were long ones. Joey had wondered would he make it through without hitting back, doing some serious harm. There was always some cruel act, some senseless jibe, but Shauna contended with them all. He still admired the way she held her head up, floated above them all. Only one thing – the sight of young children pulled to their mothers – got to her, and later it brought her to tears when they were alone together. The older ones calling out names she could handle, even let Joey deliver a fong to the arse of any cur that was old enough to know better. But when they were both staying with her brother Barry and someone scrawled the word DAMNED on his doorstep, it sent her over.

  “Tis too much, Joey. Tis all too much,” she said when she saw the word.

  Joey knew it was only chalked there by some child who had heard the grown-ups talking. “It’s only kids messing,” he said.

  “No, it’s what they think of us now. We’re nothing … we don’t exist.” She was on her knees in the street for all to see. It was what they had wanted. She rubbed and rubbed at the step with her coat sleeve.

  “Stop, Shauna. Come away in.” There was a crowd formed to watch. Her tears were falling on the step and being smeared into the jagged letters. “Tis a holy show you’re making of us,” said Joey.

  “Is that what ye think I am now?” she said.

  “No, Shauna.” She was better than them all; she had borne the taunts with dignity until now. It was all a heartscald to see her brought to her knees before them. What had they done to her? She was once so full of life, more full of it than anyone. It struck Joey deep to see her this way. He could never think less of her for it though, only more. Wasn’t she worth more than he deserved entirely?

  “You are ashamed of me as well, are ye?” she said.

  “No. No … now stop. This is what they want, to see you broken.”

  “Well let them look.” Shauna kept at the rubbing. Her coat was wearing to a hole, her palm was bleeding on the step as she forced it back and forth, back and forth. “Let them see me, it’s broken I am now, are they happy? Are they happy now?”

  Joey put his arms under her and lifted her back indoors. She screamed out, “No. No.”

  “Yes, Shauna, will be over soon like ye say.”

  “No. Joey, no … It will never be over,” she said. There were tears rolling over her face, and then she buried her head in her bloodied and blackened hands. Her sobbing was silent, like all the noise was inside her, wrapped up inside the pain, unable to get out. When she removed her hands and tipped back her head, Joey looked at her face, smeared in blood and dirt, and wondered what to do. Her mouth was open. She was trying to wail but was unable, her screams stayed trapped in her. She was hollow, there was nothing left but the deepest misery inside her, and he knew it.

  A hand was planted on Joey’s shoulder. “Jaysus, tis a face like a constipated greyhound ye have,” said a voice, and when he turned around Paddy Tiernan was standing there with a smile for all the world to see.

  “What do you want?” said Joey.

/>   “That’s a fine welcomer is it not. I was about to buy ye a drink.”

  “Tis a free bar.”

  “Ah true, but the thought was there.”

  Joey fought an urge to tell Paddy a brain was needed for any manner of thought, and then he was glad when the urge passed and he kept it to himself.

  “I hear ye were whisked away by the pretty little nurse, you low dog ye.”

  “It’s not what you think, Paddy.”

  “Oh sure no, sure no … but keep in, Joey, keep in.” Paddy laughed loudly and people turned round to see the source of the noise. It quietened Paddy down and then he started sticking his tongue out at the staring faces. Joey saw his chance and disappeared into a gap at the bar.

  “Ah, Joey man,” shouted Paddy. “I haven’t forgotten and I won’t forget sure … I still owe ye.”

  Joey nodded, pressed on to the bar. There were people starting to swallow up the gap between himself and Paddy, who got up on his toes and shouted, “And my offer is still there. Two heads are better than one, remember!”

  “No thanks,” said Joey. He was delighted to see Paddy cut adrift in the crowd. He collected his glass and slid away from the bar and Paddy. There was serious drinking to be done, alone.

  20

  “It’s a fine pair ye make indeed. Well, we’ll see how fine ye are when it’s a cane ye feel flying across yeer bony arses, will we not,” said Brother Aloysius. “I’ll have the Devil lashed out of ye this day, so I will, for this behaviour is becoming a habit to ye both.”

  Brother Aloysius led Marti and Pat into Brother Michael’s office where they would see the cane fly this day for sure and for certain. When they arrived there was no sign of Brother Michael, only Brother Declan, who sat in his chair with the gym shoes like the tennis players wear up on the big old desk.

  “Where’s Brother Michael?” said Brother Aloysius. “I have two here ready for the caning of their lives.”

  “Ah, tis a hospital visit – the old legs – won’t he be back later on,” he said. “I’m minding the place in his absence. What’s the story with this pair, now?”

  “This pair of curs, Brother Declan, are only after whipping up the entire school into a state of insurrection, beating young Gillon to a pulp and sending him fleeing for dear life, the arse hanging out the back of him, and a power of boys laughing like it was an episode of the Benny Hill Show.”

  Brother Declan swung his feet down from the big old desk and stood up. “Driscol, is it a report ye are after this day?” he said. A report was very bad; Marti knew only the worst boys went on a report. There were always brothers saying when a boy goes on a report tis the end of them in this school entirely, because won’t their names forever be on the lips of the brothers in the tea room. Marti didn’t want to go on a report because he didn’t want to be one of the very worst boys, and he told Brother Declan he was sorry and he felt the water in his eye for the trouble he was in.

  “Shouldn’t ye have thought about that before ye ran amok with this one.” Brother Declan looked at Pat, and then he let fly with his hand across Pat’s face and there was a wail from the pain of it. When Marti looked over, Pat had blood coming from his nose and Brother Declan was shaking his head. “Tis the Devil ye Kellys have in you. I beat it out of your brothers and I’ll beat it out of you, so I will.”

  Brother Aloysius looked at Pat, who had the blood coming out his nose, and the brother’s mouth was open very wide but there were no words said at all for a long time until his thin little lips started to quiver. “I-I-I think I can leave this pair in your capable hands now,” he said.

  “Grand so,” said Brother Declan, and then he said these maggots would be returned later, in a better state than he found them.

  The brother took out the longest cane in the rack and bent it between both his hands to show the give in it. The cane was very thick, thought Marti, and when the brother told the boys to bend over he felt like a big gap had appeared in his chest and his heart had been removed entirely. Marti’s head felt very light, like it was filled with feathers, but there was room enough for one thought inside it: what would Brother Declan do with the big cane in his hands? When the cane cracked down on their arses, it sounded like a fire roaring, and then there were screams and tears from the pain of it. Pat’s nose dripped blood onto the carpet whilst the cane came down and when the brother stopped the thrashing there was a dark stain left where the blood was.

  “Right the pair of ye, move,” said Brother Declan. “Tis just the start of it for yees. You will learn proper behaviour this day sure as eggs is eggs.” Marti could hardly walk with the soreness which felt as hot as any hearth. He wondered if the pain would ever stop, and when he looked at Pat he saw him walking very slowly, with his legs sticking out to the sides like some manner of crab. Brother Declan led them to the main hall where his own boys were waiting to go in for the games. The boys looked at Marti and Pat like they were wondering why they were there and then Brother Declan said, “God bless us and save us, is it mocking me yees are – get in!”

  The boys ran inside to change for the games and Brother Declan blew his whistle hard and said the timer was on them. Marti and Pat stood staring at the brother and Marti wanted to know what would happen next. Pat’s nose had stopped the bleeding but he still looked very sore and Marti wondered if there might be a sore nose for him to come. Marti had to know why they were at the main hall when it wasn’t their day for the games and when they had no games kit either and he decided he should tell the brother. “Tuesday is our day for the games, Brother,” he said. “We have no kit.”

  “Are ye being facetious?” said Brother Declan. Marti didn’t know what being facetious meant, but he thought it must have been something bad because the brother looked mad angry when he said it. Marti thought there would be a sore nose coming for sure if he said another word. Marti and Pat looked at each other and said nothing and then the brother spoke again. “You are a pair of dopes, do you know that? The clothes, boys, the clothes will come off.”

  Brother Declan said they would do the games in their underwear and bare feet and they could undress where they were. When they took off their clothes and folded them in piles on the floor, they stood and shivered in the cold of the main hall. Brother Declan blew his whistle again for the other boys to come in and when they passed Marti and Pat they all looked up and down and had a laugh to themselves. Marti felt very unhappy because of the shame, then Brother Declan blew his whistle very close to his ear and said, “Move,” and he ran with Pat and the class of boys with the whistle ringing inside his head.

  When the running was stopped none of the class of boys wanted to sit near Marti or Pat and there was laughing and jeering, even from the knackers, who had bare feet just like them. There would be a short game of hurling, but only a short game, so there would be no messing with the picking of the teams if you wanted any sort of a game at all, said Brother Declan, and then he said Finneran and O’Leary were to pick the teams.

  Finneran and O’Leary ran to the front of the main hall and shouted out names very quickly one after the other, and the boys whose names were shouted out ran behind and started to point at other boys who they wanted to be picked for their team. The teams started to get big with rows of boys lined up and then the names started to be called out very slowly.

  Marti and Pat still weren’t picked and nobody wanted the knackers or the fat boy who was called Beany on their team either. Brother Declan said, “C’mon, c’mon,” and started to clap his hands and then some of the knackers were picked and had big smiles on their faces when they ran to their teams and knew they weren’t going to be the last one left. Pat was picked next and then there was only Marti and the fat boy who was called Beany. The two teams behind Finneran and O’Leary looked at them with scrunched up faces and didn’t want either of them.

  “Whose go is it?” said Brother Declan.

  “Tis mine, Brother,” said O’Leary.

  “Well take yeer pick or I’ll take it
for ye,” said Brother Declan, and there was some pointing at Marti from the team behind O’Leary and then there was some pointing at Beany and it looked like no one could decide until O’Leary said, “Beany.”

  When Marti walked over to Finneran’s team none of the boys looked at him, and when he tried to get into the big group of boys he was pushed and told, “Feck off, knacker.” Marti had never been called a knacker before and he wanted to say I’m not a knacker. He had never been picked last either and he hated being the one who was picked last, because it meant he was the worst boy in the whole class to have on your team, even worse than the fat boy who was called Beany.

  There was lots of jostling and shouting about who would get the best hurling sticks and then Brother Declan said, “Stop that, ye shower of savages, or there will be no games played this day at all.” There were too few helmets to go around and Brother Declan said if you have a soft head put up your hand now and there were no hands put up. Then he said he would use the method, which was hitting boys on the head with his knuckles to see if they had a soft head.

  The first few boys in the line had good hard heads, said Brother Declan, and Marti heard the brother’s knuckles on their good hard heads and then the boys started the rubbing where Brother Declan had hit them. When another boy was hit on the head he said, “Ahh, it hurts,” and the brother said, “Ah, tis very soft indeed. Here, have a bonnet,” and there was laughter from the class of boys.

  “Can I give ye one?” said Brother Declan to one of the knackers with bare feet. “I won’t risk touching yeer scabby head, though I’m sure it’s very soft, I have no doubt about that.”

  A very tall boy with powdery blue eyes and big long lashes shouted out, “But it will get the fleas on it, Brother.”

  “It will, it will,” said Brother Declan. “I thank you for your foresight, Collins. It must be a mighty brain ye have tucked away in that skull of yours. Here, have a bonnet to protect it.” There was laughter when Brother Declan handed over the helmet, and then the method was started again and the laughter stopped.