Unspoken

by Gerard Stembridge

  If everything worked out for Francis today then first, he’d see Ritchie winning his football match, second, he’d find the book he was looking for in the library and third, Gussie would bring him to see The Heroes of Telemark. He’d never be lucky enough to do all three things, though.

  *

  Sitting in bed in the Dublin flat, three pillows propping him up comfortably, Dom read to his Beauty the speech he intended to deliver that night to the National Union of Journalists at their annual dinner. It was the first time he had heard his words spoken aloud and, even though the setting was incongruous and his delivery flat and quiet, it seemed to him that the shock of its content still screamed out. Mother of fuck! Sweet holy divine Christ! Was he really going to say this tonight? In front of that crowd? Announce to a bunch of journalists a radical new policy without first informing anyone in his department or any of his Party colleagues? He had talked to Lemass, of course. But Lemass did not instruct him to make this speech. Lemass hadn’t even read the speech. In fact Lemass, the oldest fox, did not want to know that such a speech existed. And yet if Dom had not had that conversation would it ever have occurred to him to take this action? He couldn’t say for sure.

  He had enjoyed a certain illicit pleasure in composing the speech, but reading it aloud to his favourite audience of one was sobering, a cold, early-morning watersplash. What did she think of it? Afraid to look at her face, he kept his head down and the words flowing in reasonably good order, but with nothing like the pitch and roll, the colour and cadence he would summon up in front of a crowd. The last sentence was spoken without flourish, the manuscript set down and Dom turned to pick up his cup of tea from the bedside locker. Only then did he dare look at her. She was nodding. Agreeably, surely? The smile was encouraging too, as was her hand reaching out to squeeze his. But was she ever going to speak? And would her words give him the sort of confidence he needed to proceed, or leave him guessing, as Lemass had done? Over the last few weeks, since his meeting with An Taoiseach, Dom had parsed and analysed their conversation until he was blue in the face, but all he was left with was an intuition, a whisper on the wind, a brief meeting of eyes that seemed, in the moment it occurred, to be a hint of encouragement, nudging him to determine his own future, whatever that might be. To be his own man.

  Throughout their conversation Dom had felt himself inspired. He had not only explained his scheme cogently, he had begun to feel more confident of its simplicity and – yes, possibly – even greatness. He made himself passionate about its focus on justice and fairness, he was at his most coaxing when he advertised its vote-winning potential, he grew sentimental and, in a most unlikely turn, spiritual when he offered the plan as a worthy tribute in this special year to the dreams and plans of the 1916 martyrs, so many of whom were teachers and poets. What could be more appropriate than to give the children of the Nation free education? Finally, he became slyly and ruthlessly political.

  ‘The Blueshirts are about to publish a policy document on Education they’ve been preparing for the last year. They’ll seize the agenda and we’ll spend all our time answering questions about their proposals. It’ll be “why are we not doing this, why are we not doing that?” You don’t want us on the back foot do you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘This will prevent that.’

  ‘Only if you get to announce your policy first.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I want to do.’

  ‘And that’s why I’m saying don’t bring it to cabinet.’

  ‘So you won’t support me.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter whether I support you or not. Imagine the reaction if you present such a proposal to cabinet. Erskine will want to know why he can’t get that kind of funding for Health and Social Welfare. Charlie will ask why is he having to stand firm against the farmers if there’s cash in the coffers to finance free secondary education.’

  ‘It won’t be as costly as they think it will –’

  ‘I’m telling you what will happen in cabinet once you open this for discussion. The reality of it. And even if you get the support of every other minister, there is no chance in the wide world that Finance will just hand over the money. They will put every obstacle in your way. They’ll say that before such a scheme can be announced officially, as policy, there will need to be an investigating sub-committee, or a feasibility study, or a departmental audit. Memos will fly back and forth and the months will become years. You’ll end up tearing your hair out and wishing you never had the idea in the first place.’

  ‘But you can force the issue. You have the authority.’

  Silence and a shake of the head. Dom smothered his anger. Who was Lemass trying to fool? If, truly, he wanted this to happen, he could make it happen. He’d been doing this sort of thing patiently and determinedly for forty-five years. If he didn’t like the idea, why couldn’t he be honest and just say so?’

  ‘So I should forget about it?’

  ‘Are you listening to what I’m saying? If you want this to happen, don’t bring it to cabinet.’

  And despite more wheedling from Dom, An Taoiseach merely said the same thing again. And again. Precisely the same sentence.

  ‘If you want this to happen, don’t bring it to cabinet.’

  Dom began to divine that Lemass was sending him a different message, one that could never be spoken, not even closeted alone like this. Something that could never be said to have been said. He had no real idea what that message was until, just as he was leaving, Lemass asked, apparently apropos of nothing, ‘I hear you’re guest speaker at the journalists’ do in a few weeks time. You’d better have some good jokes to keep that crowd happy.’

  ‘Don’t I know.’

  ‘Or at least something interesting for them to chew on.’

  Dom looked closely, but the old man’s grey eyes, resting deep in their soft wrinkled beds, gave nothing more away.

  ‘If you deliver this speech tonight –’

  At last his Beauty was speaking, with a face so serious, so intense, her hand gripping his shoulder.

  ‘– I will be more proud of you than I’ve ever been. And you know that’s saying something.’

  The kiss was spontaneous and passionate. It was going to be all right. He would go ahead. Fuck them, he’d do it. She pulled back from his lips only to hold his gaze.

  ‘You know, don’t you, love, that what you’re going to say tonight and what you’re going to do should have been said and done in this country a long time ago. But it never was. So now you’ll be the one to make it happen.’

  *

  Francis gazed at his library book as he walked along the railway line to Cals Park. Francis and Clare: Saints of Assisi by Helen Walker Homan. His first library book. He had never even heard of a public library until Marian brought him there last week and he didn’t believe her when she told him he could borrow all these books for free. There seemed to be thousands of them. When he picked this book the woman in the library stamped a date on it and gave it to him. Marian told him he had to bring it back by that date or he would be in big trouble: 17th September. So he was bringing the book back five days early. Francis hoped that would show the woman in the library what a good reader he was and then she would let him take another book out. The reason he had read the story so fast was because it made him feel really good. Francis of Assisi was one the best-loved saints in the whole world, gentle and humorous, always singing. He loved birds and animals and he devoted his life to the poor. The picture on the front cover of a very kind man in a brown robe with a big bald patch on his head was just like a statue Francis had seen before in the Franciscan Church, but there was another picture at the start of the first chapter that surprised Francis. Every time he opened the book he looked first at this picture. Now as he walked along the railway line he was looking at it one more time. In the picture, Francis of Assisi is only seven and he is in the street of the town, laughing, as birds fly around him. He looks like a very rich little boy with long dark hair and a clo
ak and a kind of skirt and strange-looking pointy shoes. A beautiful lady in a long dress is sitting nearby. She is his servant and she is minding him. When Francis looked at this picture he thought of Ian Barry.

  The shouts of football supporters made him look up. He realised that he was after walking past Cals Park because, staring at the picture, he’d forgotten everything else. He closed the book, walked back, left the railway line, and climbed over the wall. There were five football pitches in Cals Park and this morning there were matches on in all of them. Francis saw Ritchie’s team, Krups, straight away because he knew they wore all white. The team they were playing, Mattersons Meats, was in yellow and blue. It was a dead easy game for Ritchie. He was in defence and Krups were attacking most of the time. Soon they were three goals up. Francis noticed a baldy man near him holding a fat boy’s hand. They both looked very fed up so he guessed that they were cheering for Mattersons Meats. Even though he wanted Ritchie’s team to win, he felt a bit sorry for them. When Krups scored a fourth goal, Francis looked over again and he saw the man let go the fat boy’s hand and take something out of his pocket. He bowed his head and started muttering. Francis realised he was holding a rosary beads. The man tapped the fat boy’s arm. The fat boy turned away but the man grabbed his arm and pulled at it. Then, acting like he didn’t want to, the boy took a little purse from his pocket, opened it and pulled out a rosary beads. He bowed his head too. Francis looked around to see if anyone else had noticed the two of them praying. It seemed very funny to him, but then he thought about Francis of Assisi. Even though the library book said he loved jokes, Francis was sure the saint wouldn’t be laughing at the father and son standing on the sidelines with their heads bowed. And what if Mattersons suddenly scored a goal because of their prayers? How would Francis feel then if he was laughing at them? The father kept nudging his son to give the response to the prayer. The fat boy’s face had gone all red and he kept looking up to see if anyone was staring at him. But the people all around them were only interested in the match. Even though he seemed bigger because he was fatter, Francis began to realise that they were both about the same age and that made him feel sorrier for the boy. He was glad the baldy man wasn’t his father because he seemed to be a bit mad. Suddenly the crowd went Oh! and then Ooooh! as one of the forwards for Krups beat the last defender and his shot flew past the goalkeeper. The fat boy’s father stopped praying for a couple of seconds and he squeezed his son’s shoulder. Then, when the ball struck the crossbar and went wide, he let go, blessed himself, and started praying again. Francis knew that if he didn’t stop staring at them he’d start laughing again, but as soon as he turned away he saw La-la Donoghue staring at him. La-la waved his good hand, and came limping fast towards him. As he came near, Francis put the library book inside his coat. He wasn’t afraid that La-la would grab the book but he might ask him questions about it and Francis knew they’d be stupid questions, or else he might want to hold the book and then he’d probably drop it in the mud or damage it in some way and Francis didn’t want to get into trouble with his first library book.

  ‘You aw Whitchie’s bodda, awnt you?’

  Francis nodded.

  ‘Whitchie is a good whutballa.’

  ‘He’s very good.’

  ‘I thee all hith mathses. Nominick tSavio and Khwups and all.’

  Francis had met La-la three times since the first time Ritchie had introduced him and noticed that he said the same things every time.

  ‘Have you theen all hith mathses?’

  ‘No, not all.’

  ‘I theen all a them. He’th a very good whutballa.’

  Francis thought that St Francis of Assisi wouldn’t mind if La-la said the same thing all the time. He’d be very patient and call him Brother Laurence and invite him to join his mission. But thinking about what St Francis would do didn’t stop Francis wanting La-la to go away and when, after another fifteen minutes and two more goals for Krups, La-la was still standing very close to him and saying that his brother was a great footballer and he had seen all his matches, Francis decided he wouldn’t stay any longer. Anyway, if he went to the library straight away that would give him more time to find the book that Ian Barry had shown him and still get home in time for Gussie to bring him to see The Heroes of Telemark. To make sure that La-la wouldn’t trail after him he just said, very quickly, ‘I have to go. ’Bye,’ and ran. It was only when he got out of Cals Park and looked back to make sure that La-la wasn’t limping along behind that he remembered the baldy man and the fat son. Were they still praying, even though the score was now six–nil?

  Francis walked through People’s Park, getting more nervous the closer he got to the big old grey library. When he finally reached the entrance he stopped and looked at the dark inside, sure now that something would go wrong. Someone would tell him it was all a big mistake and he shouldn’t have been allowed take the book about St Francis in the first place and he certainly couldn’t take away any other book. Books for free? Who did he think he was? Now he wished he hadn’t begged his mam to let him come here on his own. He wanted to turn around and go home but he had to give back Francis and Clare: Saints of Assisi. before the 17th, so he might as well do it now. At least they’d know he was a good boy for bringing it back early. If they were nice then he might ask if they had the book that Ian Barry showed him and could he take it out? Francis took one step inside. The door to the adults’ library was straight in front of him. He could see people through the glass wall walking around, taking books from the shelves and looking at them. The door to the children’s library was around the corner past the big stairs. Francis stepped forward far enough to take a look.

  Behind the high counter just inside the children’s library was a woman with a ponytail and glasses. It wasn’t the same woman as before. Francis couldn’t tell if this woman was nice or not. There was no expression on her face. A girl who looked about nine or ten came to the counter with a book. The woman with the ponytail smiled at her, opened the book and stamped it just like the other woman had stamped his. Then the girl just walked out with it, and went past Francis into the adults’ library. He looked through the glass and saw her go to a woman and show her the book. The woman smiled and squeezed her hand. Francis decided to give it a try.

  He went into the children’s library, put his book on the high counter and waited to see what would happen. The woman opened the book and looked at the date stamped on it, then she started going through a big box of cards. She picked one out. The card had a pocket with another little card inside. She took out the little card and put it into Francis and Clare: Saints of Assisi, closed it and added it to the pile of books behind her. Then she said, ‘Is your mammy with you? Is she in the adult section? Or your daddy?’ Francis didn’t know what to say. His mam and dad had never been in the library, as far as he knew. The woman looked at the card with the pocket and said, ‘What’s your name, little boy?’ Francis’ voice was only a whisper. ‘Francis Strong.’ What trouble was he in now? The woman said, ‘OK. So are you here on your own, Francis?’ He nodded. ‘That’s grand. And are you taking out another book today?’ Francis whispered, ‘Can I?’ Suddenly the woman smiled. ‘Of course you can, love. Sure isn’t that what we’re here for? There’s your card. Mind, don’t lose that now.’ The card had his name and address on it in Marian’s writing. So what she’d told him really was true. As long as he had this card he could borrow books whenever he wanted. Francis thought of the book Ian Barry had shown him. ‘Do you have The Mystery of the Pantomime Cat by Enid Blyton? A Five Find-outers mystery.’

  ‘Well, there’s any amount of Enid Blytons. So we might. Let’s have a look.’

  Francis followed the nice woman. He prayed she would find The Mystery of the Pantomime Cat because yesterday Ian Barry had came up to him in the schoolyard and said, ‘Have you read this?’ On the cover of the book Francis saw a drawing of a fat policeman scratching his head looking at a man in a cat costume. The Mystery of the Pantomime Cat by Enid B
lyton. Francis was completely surprised that Ian Barry had talked to him because he had wanted to talk Ian Barry ever since he first saw him in the yard on the morning they started in CBS when he didn’t even know his name. He had been really happy to find out they were in the same class, 2A, but was sorry he wasn’t put sitting next to him. He looked at Ian Barry a lot in class and listened to his voice when he answered the teacher’s questions. He seemed to be very clever, but everyone in 2A was clever. That’s why it was 2A. After only a couple of days Francis knew he wasn’t the best boy in the class like he used to be in the convent school. He still hadn’t talked to Ian Barry but he had heard other boys saying things about him in the yard. They all called him Fancy Pants. One boy who knew him from before said he was an only child and his mother made all his clothes for him, that’s why they looked so mad. The next day, Mr Finucane, their teacher, was asking if anyone in the class had ever won competitions or prizes. Joseph Quinn said he had medals for running and Tommy Madigan said he had come first in grade two piano and Ian Barry said he was a champion Irish dancer. Some of the boys laughed at that but Mr Finucane said, ‘Cúinas!’ very angrily, and then told Ian Barry that was a great achievement and he hoped he would keep it up. The next day when Francis was leaving school he saw Ian Barry walking ahead of him. He didn’t exactly follow him because they were both going towards the big gate anyway, but he did slow down a bit so he could stay behind him and watch. There was a woman waiting at the gate who hugged him and held his hand as they walked away together. Francis thought she looked much younger than his mam. He started walking down the street behind them even though it wasn’t his way home, but then he stopped because suddenly he felt afraid that Ian Barry might look around and see him and for some reason he didn’t want that to happen.