The Pornographer

by John McGahern

  “That hospital is one place to avoid at all cost. Two of my pals went in there. They’re both dead,” the driver showed us he’d been listening.

  “I suppose all hospitals are places to stay out of,” I said to break the uneasy silence.

  “If you’re well,” he said. “But you’re more than glad of them once you’re sick enough.”

  The taxi turned in the hospital gates, went past her window, the moonlight pale on the concrete framing the dark squares of glass. The wheel had many sections. She had reached that turn where she’d to lie beneath the window, stupefied by brandy and pain, dulling the sounds of the whole wheel of her life staggering to a stop. I was going past that same window in a taxi, a young woman by my side, my hand on her warm breast. I shivered as I thought how one day my wheel would turn into her section, and I would lie beneath that window while a man and woman as we were now went past into the young excitement of a life that might seem without end in this light of the moon.

  An old sweet scent rushed through the taxi window as soon as we passed beyond the hospital, so familiar that I started, and yet I could not place or find its name, it so surrounded the summers of my life, lay everywhere round my feet; not woodbine, not mint, not wild rose.…

  “They were cutting it today. I was on night duty last night and was trying to get to sleep but couldn’t with the mower rattling past the window,” she gave the name. Of course, it was hay.

  “It’d remind you of the country,” the driver added as he turned in a half circle in front of a big building set in trees, and stopped.

  It was new-cut meadow turning to hay, and when we got out on the tarmac, long fallen rows stretched and turned palely everywhere between the white hospital and home.

  “Don’t be so quiet,” she tousled my hair as we went in.

  I followed her through a hall and down a corridor. The first room she went into sounded empty but as soon as she pressed the light switch a dishevelled couple sat bolt upright on a sofa to face our eyes. I could feel her low chuckle as she said, “Sorry,” and put the room again into darkness. The same thing happened at the second door she tried. The third room was empty, a large room with coffee tables strewn with newspapers and magazines, several armchairs and sofas and a big television set.

  “We’ll leave the light on,” she said. “That way we run less risk of being bothered.”

  We sat on a tasselled grey sofa facing the blank TV set, our backs partly turned to the door. When we started to kiss and play she put no restraint on my hands, and when I put fingers beneath the elastic she raised her back for me to draw it down, moved her knees sideways, and her feet were already out of her shoes. There was a rug on the arm of the sofa that she reached for and spread over us.

  We heard doors of other rooms being tried from time to time, the sound of the light switch go on and off. The same footsteps would pause outside our door but did not come in. Only once was the door opened a foot or so and as quickly closed.

  “Have you brothers and sisters?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Would you like to be married?” her directness took me by surprise.

  “I suppose I would but I don’t know. Would you?” I was surprised and unsure what she meant.

  “Of course I would. To have my own husband and child and house and garden and saucepans and pets. All that.”

  “Why are you so sure?”

  “It’s far more fun, isn’t it?”

  “What if you found yourself married to a boring man?”

  “I wouldn’t marry a boring man. And I don’t find all that many men are boring. Usually the very attractive ones are married, but that’s a different thing. It’s women I find who are mostly boring and small and spiteful.”

  “What would you do if you found yourself pregnant?” I asked tensely.

  “You mean if I weren’t married?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d want to get married.”

  “And if the man was already married or wouldn’t marry you for some reason.”

  “I’d throw myself in the Liffey,” she drew herself up in unfeigned alarm. “What are you laughing at?”

  “You wouldn’t. You’re too young and healthy. And beautifully normal. Anyhow the man would be sure to marry you. I’d want to marry you.”

  Suddenly she pinned my shoulders to the sofa and we started to roll. She was unusually swift and strong, “I give up,” I laughed, and then she loosed herself again to my hands. Afterwards she said suddenly, “Would you like to see your aunt?”

  “Why?”

  “The nurse on night duty on the ward is a friend. It might be fun to walk across the meadow to see her.”

  “But what would my aunt say if she saw me there?”

  “She’ll not see you. The lights’ll all be off. You’ve come often enough in to see her in the day but I’m sure you never thought you’d be in to see her in the middle of the night with a wild nurse,” she drew me by the hand.

  A heavy summer’s dew lay on the fallen swards and our shoes left bright tracks across the meadow. The grey of day was beginning to be mixed with the moonlight, but the sweet fragrance of the new hay was everywhere. She searched among a bunch of keys after we’d crossed the meadow and opened a door down concrete steps between bare tubular steel railings, “It’s the back way,” she whispered, “where the laundry and that comes out.”

  We climbed bare concrete stairs and went through swing doors. Suddenly we were in a long hall with beds on either side. I asked her if it was the ward and she nodded. I hadn’t recognized it, always having come to it from the other side. The ward was in darkness, except for the lines of moonlight, and the blue light beside the night nurse sitting behind the glass at the other end. My heart was beating as I counted the beds from the other end to discover where my aunt was lying. As I drew near to that bed I stopped and caught her.

  “She may see us.”

  “No. Even if she were awake she’d think it was a change of nurses.”

  “I’m not going any further.” I could feel my heart pounding. “You go on to your friend. I’ll just stay here.”

  In the dim light, I stood and listened to the far roar of the night traffic through the city. I thought I heard a moan or few words of prayer in the night but could not be certain because of my pounding heart. All were women in this ward and they all had cancer. It was like being in the middle of a maternity ward in the night, and all those women were waiting to give birth, to their own death. I counted the beds again to the right of the door. Her bed must be the bed two beds away. I searched for the heap of bed clothes. I thought I saw them move. People have a second sense? What if she sensed me there? The two girls were smiling in the blue light behind the glass and beckoning me forward. They were like what, like roses, I did not know, among pain, ignorant of all pain, like girls, like blue roses. They sank into chairs, laughing as I shook my head. When they started to call me again, still laughing, I turned away, and did not turn back till I heard them come towards me. I felt like kissing the other girl instead of shaking her hand, kissing them both, laughing and crying. Almost not knowing what I was doing, I followed her out into the night, and there was the sharp sound of the lock turning.

  “Bridie was delighted to see us. It broke up the night for ner. Often you’d long for an emergency at night though it’d mean more work. The night goes quicker then. You should have come into the office. The office is soundproof and Bridie wanted to meet you.”

  “I was afraid.”

  “You never thought you’d be coming in to see your aunt in the middle of the night, did you?” she laughed roguishly and I seized her in a long kiss, her body almost completely naked beneath the dress. When I released her she picked up two big fistfuls of hay and putting them up to her face pretended to be advancing slowly on me from behind a barrier of hay. When she was very close, with a sudden movement, she piled the hay all over my hair and face, and started to run. I clawed the hay free and as soon as I caught her we
both went down into the wet grass. I could single out stale sweat now and perfume and ammonia smells mixed with scent of the new hay. When we rolled over and lay still on the ground it was amazing to see the moon so large and still, becalmed above the trees and out in the depths of the sky. We rose without a word and went in.

  She went straight ahead after going through the door of the home, this time down a narrow straight corridor. She opened a door very quietly, and we were more in a cell than a room, white walls, a radiator, a narrow bed, a dressing table and wardrobe, and on the wall above the head of the bed a plain black crucifix.

  “This is my room,” she whispered and put her fingers to her lips. “The walls are paper thin.”

  There were photos of football teams on the dressing table and she lifted them, pointing out several players, “My brothers.” More than half the players in one of the photos seemed to be her brothers. I lifted another photo, that of a handsome grey-haired man and herself, both in evening dress.

  “He’s very handsome. Is he your father?”

  “No,” she laughed. “He’s the married man.”

  “Let me stay a half-hour. Let me hold you in my arms.”

  “The walls are worse than paper.”

  “I’ll be quieter than if you were here on your own.”

  “But it’s practically morning.”

  “I don’t care. I promise to go in half an hour,” and with a smile and almost resignedly she turned off the light.

  The curtain wasn’t drawn and I held her when she’d slipped out of her clothes to caress and worship her body in the soft yellow light. She was soft and amazingly beautiful, yet rugged as a young animal. I followed her as quietly as I’d promised into the narrow bed, and hardly daring to breathe held her in my arms.

  This body was the shelter of the self. Like all walls and shelters it would age and break and let the enemy in. But holding it now was like holding glory, and having held it once was to hold it—no matter how broken and conquered—in glory still, and with the more terrible tenderness.

  “We met on a poor night,” I whispered.

  “Why?”

  “I have to go to London in the morning,” and when she looked at me as if I was lying, “I know it sounds like an excuse but it’s true. You can even ask my aunt if you don’t believe me.”

  “How long will you be?”

  “A week or so. I can’t be certain. I’ll ring you when I get back.”

  She took my mouth in a long kiss, sealing her whole body to mine.

  “I suppose it’s not safe?” I said.

  “It’s never safe.”

  “There’s no use risking spoiling it, then.”

  “The next time I’ll have precautions,” and she went below the sheets, the peace that flooded out a perfect calm, the even moonlight only a thin tattered shadow.

  “You don’t resent I’m not a virgin?” she whispered as we kissed after phoning a taxi.

  “I’m too old for that. Why should I? Why should you be idle while waiting for my white horse that might never gallop even close.”

  “I’m glad,” she kissed me again. “You’d be surprised how many resent it.”

  “Their box of tools are the only ones fitted for the job, is that it?” and she caught me beneath the arm with her nails as she laughed.

  As soon as the taxi arrived, men suddenly appeared from all directions, wanting to know if they could share my taxi into town. I told them they’d have to ask the taxi man.

  “This is more like a brothel than a nurses’ home,” I said as I bade her goodbye.

  “I know,” she held my face a moment in her hands. “Don’t say it too loud. There have been complaints.”

  Three men shared the taxi into town. One was very extrovert and sat in the front seat beside the driver.

  “You’re new,” he said. “Welcome to the club.”

  “Thanks.”

  He picked up no hint of sarcasm as he went on to give his name, offered his hand as if he wore a bishop’s ring, and said he was the sauce chef in the Shelbourne.

  “What’s your name and what do you do?” he asked as if I were lagging with my information.

  I told him my name and that I was working in the advertising business.

  “Doing what?”

  “Writing ads.”

  That appeared to satisfy him and he introduced me to the other two men. One was a plumber. The other worked as a clerk in the Customs House.

  “Do you know the name of the nurse you were with?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so, and by the way you’re leaving out somebody,” I said.

  “Who?” he bridled.

  “The driver. You never introduced me to the driver.”

  “O that doesn’t matter,” the driver said, the car going very fast through the empty early morning streets. “My name is Paddy Murphy. I’m a Knight of the Realm,” he said. “And you, you’re going to Cabra West?” he said to the sauce chef as if he knew him from a previous run.

  It was too late to go to bed by the time I got back to the flat. I washed, had several cups of coffee, packed and got the train to the boat.

  I’d get into London between five and six. I hadn’t to see her till lunch of the next day though I was supposed to ring if I got in earlier. I’d have the whole evening to rest and walk round streets.

  I stood at the rail, feeling the warm wind on my face as the boat chugged out of the bay. Passing Howth in the distance, and wondering by this time whether or not to go to the bar, I felt a silken cloth in my pocket. When I pulled it out and saw what it was I hid it quickly in my fist. I looked around. No one was close or watching. It was as white as any of the gulls following the boat. The whole tender strange night was gathered round the softness of the texture. Keeping it would be like trying to hoard the night.

  I opened my hand and the breeze took it. Two gulls dived towards it as it flew past the stern, where a fresh breeze lifted it again, and suddenly it was swallowed up in the raucous crowd of gulls following the boat.

  As she was on the Northern Line we arranged to meet outside the ticket gate of Leicester Square Station. She saw me while she was still on the escalator, and started to wave. The wave seemed less certain of itself than when she used to come towards me down the cherry and almond avenue. Instead of waving to that drumming inner music—I’m walking and everything is beautiful—it seemed to hesitate: It’s all a bit confusing but boy I sure am keeping on trying. She was dressed in a tweed costume and she wore a pale blouse.

  “You sure are one sight for sore eyes,” she kissed and kissed me again, her eyes brimming, a blast of dead air driven up from below by an incoming train.

  “Would you like to have a drink? Or would you like to go and have lunch now?”

  “Wait. Wait a minute. I need to get used to you. You don’t know how much I’ve missed you. I need to drink you in for some several quiet minutes.”

  “We have all day. We can go round the corner to a pub.”

  “I’d rather go and eat,” she said. “I’m sorry. I felt hungry all of a sudden coming in on the tube. There’s the two of us now. I’m sorry,” she said again as she took my arm. “You can’t imagine how much I’ve been looking forward to seeing you.”

  “You look very well,” I said though I thought she looked nervous and tired.

  “I don’t know. I find it hard to sleep. Last night I couldn’t sleep but that was the excitement.”

  “Does the place you work at close on a Saturday?” I asked as we walked into Soho.

  “The yard is open till twelve, but the office is shut. Wild horses wouldn’t drag me to work while you’re in town anyhow, and I’ve arranged to take as many days off next week as I need. Will you be able to stay the whole week?”

  “No. I may even have to go back tomorrow morning. I’m expecting a message. My aunt is dying. I was going to put off coming but I didn’t want to change it.”

  “Thank God you didn’t change it. But you may be able to stay the
week?”

  “It’s unlikely. If there’s no message for me, I’ll have to ring them. It’s unlikely I’ll be able to stay longer than a day or two.”

  “Where are you expecting the message?”

  “At the hotel.”

  “You should have given my place.”

  “I didn’t like to. Anyhow it’s done now.”

  After pausing at the placards outside of a few expensive restaurants we picked a modestly priced Italian place in Old Compton Street. It had glass-topped tables, and a black and white blowup of the Bay of Naples along the whole length of one wall.

  “I got spoiled with Jonathan,” she said as she looked through the menu. “We went out to all those expensive restaurants. And never looked at the price of anything. I’ll have minestrone.”

  “You certainly can have anything you want on this menu. I wouldn’t worry about prices today.”

  “I want minestrone, and after that I’ll have the veal and spinach. You don’t know what a pleasure it is to be sitting opposite you.”

  “What happened between Jonathan and yourself?”

  “O boy,” she said. “O boy, that’s a story.”

  The waiter brought the minestrone and a carafe of red wine. I finished a glass of red wine while she ate the minestrone. I wasn’t hungry enough to begin with anything. I blamed it on the travelling. I asked the waiter to suggest something light, and he advised lamb cooked with rosemary. I drank a second glass of wine while waiting for the lamb to come while she told me about the magazine and Jonathan’s friends.

  “It was a real eye-opener. Just because I was close to Jonathan I could influence what happened to movies and books and plays, give space to actors. I sure didn’t think the world was run that way.”

  “What other way did you expect?” I was finding it difficult to curb my irritability in the face of the stream of words. “Who runs anything but people? Since God gave the Ten Commandments he’s stayed out of it.”

  “I soon learned that. I thought things were run on lines of good and bad, according to some vague law or other. Virtue was rewarded, vice was punished. My eyes were certainly opened. I sure had some catching up to do,” and she went on to tell me incidents which I found hard to follow not knowing the people involved.