by Dermot Healy
To begin with, corrected Ma.
Fair enough.
Then you grow into yourself. As you will. It’s the same with friends. Things change. You have a friend and you think you’ll be friends with them all your life. But you lose them.
Yes Ma, I said.
Sorry Philip, and she leaned over and took my hand, I did not mean it that way.
I know that. It’s all right.
I’m really sorry.
It’s OK. Carry on.
How is my apple tart, said Anna, trying to keep the chat from going dark.
It’s great, I said.
Yes. Things change, said Ma. You start out thinking about getting on with people. Other people. You’re thinking of who you get on with, and who you don’t, and all that. And then, when it’s too late, you find that the person you have not been getting on with, a lot of the time, is yourself. This is what I found out about myself, she added, and she looked at me, and she petted the pages again, firmly this time.
But you have to laugh, said Ma.
I’m glad to hear it, Mrs Feeney, said Anna and she opened her mouth and aped a tortured smile.
Anna stop, you’re making me dizzy.
Girls, I said in my schoolmaster’s voice, stop it!
Ma threw her eyes left and right, and up and down, and put a hand, palm out flat against the shape of Anna, then she lifted the book up to her eyes.
You know what the problem is, said Anna, sentiment is the same as cruelty.
True.
I pity the poor Annas of this world, said Anna fondly and a great flirtatious melancholy travelled through her eyes.
So do I, I said sadly.
You think it’s funny my dear friend.
I do.
Did you ever watch the way men go on when they look at women, she asked Ma.
O I do, said Ma and she immediately went all floppy, and made a face all scrunched-up with puffed-out cheeks and said in a bass voice towards the ceiling, well Geraldine, and next with her mouth and eyes thrown to one side Anna whispered how is it going Anna; then she sat perfectly still, glanced down at my shoes and Ma’s eyes travelled from my feet to my head, and finally stopped at my eyes, and then Anna with this big long half-witted flirt look, said hoarsely You’re looking lovely Anna.
You’ve got him to a T, and Ma roared laughing. And now you look kinda…What’s that word we’re not supposed to say in front of this lady…? –
Sexy, I said.
Anna stood with her eyes closed.
Don’t say that word, she whispered. That word is banned.
And Mother pushed back the hair from her forehead, dropped into a starting posture in the chair, and with her arms out in supplication, said: Gone now, sadly, are the days of saying sexy.
It’s a woeful pity to have everything reduced to that unmentionable cacophony of sounds, said Anna flicking her curls with a smile
Oh forgive me, Miss Conan.
Le réalité et toi, vous ne vous entendez pas, n’est-ce pas. It’s disgraceful. Isn’t it disgraceful you?
Yes, I said.
So why are you laughing, you jinnet.
Do I live here I wonder, said Da, and he came in as if he had been there all the time.
He left the front door ajar, peered about him, sat down with his back to us on the step and started to take off his boots. He was drenched in plaster-spit. The cat and kitten ran over to him. Good day, he nodded. Yes, I can recognise an odd cratur about the place. But I don’t see anything funny do you? No, I’m sorry. I don’t know what they are laughing at.
He stood.
No sir, I do not know what they are laughing at. Now who is here oh good evening Anna, he said as she handed him an apple slice.
Good evening sir.
Ye are enjoying yourselves as usual.
We are.
This is beautiful, he said as he chewed.
Before you go any further, will you step into the ring? I said.
OK monsieur.
Who do you see when you look into the mirror?
Oi, tough one, and he went all sad-eyed and French. Oi! Let me see.
He looked at me, darted a sharp glance at my mother who was oh absorbed in reading by the window, looked long and sadly at Anna; then he closed his eyes, slapped his thighs, upped his fists to look at them, bared his teeth, then shut one eye, dropped, jumped, and lifted an outstretched hand and head-down pointed an accusing finger at Ma.
Thank you, said Ma as if he wasn’t there and she handed the cat’s-story book back to Anna.
I know what I’m going to do, Anna said. When I get away from this part of the world I’m going to change my identity.
Can I go with you? I asked.
If your parents don’t mind. She paused. Let me see. You can have the room at the front, Jeremiah.
OK, Lala. That’ll do.
And we’ll visit ye on Sundays, right Ma, said Da.
Whatever you say.
Are youse ready for town tonight, he asked.
Can I take a lift in with you sir, I am going to a girls’ outing.
A hen party? Certainly Miss Conan.
He put on the idiot face and looked into his two fists.
Hold it there, I said.
Yes?
Do you know who you remind me of?
He closed one eye and bared his teeth.
Who?
I slapped my thighs, upped my fists to look at them, bared my teeth, closed one eye and kicked out one foot then the other, then dropped down and lifted an accusing finger.
You got him, said Ma. It’s him. You have captured Mister Feeney.
Da, spluttering, waved a finger in my direction.
That foolery has been noted Mister.
He wrote something into his imaginary notebook. Put a pen that didn’t exist behind his ear and waved the game on.
Do you like sitting in that armchair? he asked gently.
Yes, I said, getting up.
See ya all later, said Anna and she headed off down the road running with the cat book under her arm.
Chapter Thirteen
Saturday Night
We pulled in at Joejoe’s first.
He was seated by the fire, the small accordion deflated on the floor beside him, a patch of ointment on the back of one hand and another on his cheek, and Timmy the dog in the other armchair, curled up with one steady eye.
You’re for the town.
Aye.
Sightseeing.
Yes.
I stroked the dog. He leaped up and landed at my feet.
Can I bring you anything back?
No. Yes. Twenty Woodbine. Here you are – I’ll spell it out into your hand.
OK.
He gave me the money.
Right. Good night Timmy, he said to the dog, have a good time.
It was a broad starry night. The Scottish calves followed us along the ditch. With the steamed-up windows I could not see into the car. I looked back at the cottage, then felt round for the handle of the door.
I opened the door. Timmy jumped in.
Are we right, asked Da.
Yes, I said.
Is he OK?
He is.
Nothing will happen him, Tom; said Ma. Isn’t that right, she said turning to me.
Yes, I said.
So let’s not worry. Off you go!
Anna was standing outside the doorway of her house. She climbed into the back beside Ma. We took off. He drove the back way under the mountain so that we could have the lights of the town below us as we went.
When we hit the outskirts Da shuffled in his seat a little closer to the windscreen, eased the driver’s window down a fraction and turned the radio low; this meant business; my mother looked left, then right, said Go; he drove slowly up various streets, Bridge Street, Cathedral Road, Pearse Street; taking his time at the traffic lights, guiding cars out from side streets with a sudden flash of his dims to full lights and a wave of his arm; we stopped for any pe
destrian in sight to cross the road, sometimes not thanking you; pulled in for a pause along some dark side street where we sat looking round us at the locked door of the Mason’s Hall, and beyond it, the broken-down Scout Den.
Philip? asked Anna, leaning forward.
Yes.
Did I tell you about the hummingbird?
No.
I’m lost, said Ma.
The hummingbird – she can fly backwards and she has to eat her own body weight each day to stay alive.
Oh.
I’m jealous of your knowledge, said Da.
We’ll talk about her again, Anna said, and she sat back.
Then it was down the Hill; and into a short tour of the Market Square, squashing tomatoes and soft earth fallen that afternoon from the trays of Mister Organics’ plants; twice round the roundabout; a long enough stop to read what was on in the Odeon for the following week; the Romanian woman squatting under the awnings of Tesco waved across at us; Go, said my mother; we crept through the huge new blocks of flats, looking up; he turned to full lights so that he could read how far the job had got and then he climbed out and shook a bar of the scaffolding; The Poles, he said, get there quicker than us; a short jaunt through the woods out to the Holy Well: No courting cars now, said he; None needed, said she. No, he agreed; Boom time, said Ma and Anna and myself got out to walk the stations under the trees; then, back into the car, and he began a climb up to the railway station then around the car park of the Great Southern where a band called The Blue Flares were taking their instruments and sound equipments out of a van by torchlight; then he headed in through one set of silver gates to the dark convent grounds and out the other.
Hold it there, something is coming. All right on the left, Ma said; he spun down Main Street for the first time, and slowed nearly to a stop as he looked closely at the people passing; Look at the bottle, said Anna, someone had placed it carefully on the pillar of the bridge; we got in the wrong lane at the lights and went round the town again; Blast it, he said, Why do I keep feeling that I’m doing something wrong; we dropped down the steep hill by the antique shop and the pound shop; There’s the barber Quigley; There’s Sheila Masterson, said Ma, I can’t stand her on the phone – Could I speak to Doctor James Masterson now! I said now! Tell him this is Mrs Masterson! Have you got that – Mrs Masterson! at the sound of the raised voice Timmy began whining; a small turn right in second, then with a jerk Da stopped at The Magic Glasses for tay, left the car running while Anna went in, came back; he drove down the docks with his bag of chips in his lap: we putputted to a stop and ate the takeaway with the headlights trained on the harbour, and there – with timber stacked sky-high at the pier – was the same boat that came in across the sea behind our house every month from Norway; That timber is some of the most expensive in the world, said Da; and next to the boat was a great pile of busted cars, engines of all sorts, wrapped round each other as if there had been some terrible crash – all bound for a scrapyard somewhere in Spain; It’s hard to believe, said Da; It is, I said; I wonder how Joejoe is, said Da: on the radio we were in the deep South of America listening to Mrs someone sing Hum and Mister someone-else milking cows; this is not a salad burger, Da complained, this is a lettuce burger; Ma got out and threw the bags into a rubbish bin, sat in; gulls wheeled; Da adjusted the driver’s mirror, patted the steering wheel, looked behind him and reversed; we went through the huge silent industrial estate, not a soul, then over the bridge and drew out into traffic again, turned down along the river; lads were leaning over the wall flinging popcorn to the swans; lots of folk yelling; the girls in tall boots and sailors hats and brown shawls walking arm-in-arm with each other or else barging ahead head down.
The cats grew short legs, said Anna.
They did, I nodded savagely.
I like it, she said.
Fellows stopped on the streets looking back behind them for someone they thought they’d lost; the east went west with cans in bags; fellows in black suits, bareheaded, shaven-headed, sauntered; Greed is in a hurry, said Anna; the cider drinkers were under the elm tree on their hunkers with a radio on a bench beyond playing Country and Western; On the next bench three men were keeping time; I could hear myself singing You were some bird when you left Raspberry Hill, you were, you were; I know every one of those people, said Ma, by their first name, those people sitting there on the bench, they’re all patients of mine; music pumped from The Leitrim Bar; three Spanish-looking girls in blue coats were sitting on a step inside the bank door beside the cash dispenser with their bags at their feet; the Chinese man at Chino’s was staring out the window of his café as he fed himself biscuits; Go, she said; I wonder how things are in casualty tonight, said Ma; Anna in the back seat beside me fumbled, turned aside and took a look into her hand-mirror, snapped it shut and lifted her bag, ready for off.
So what will I call you? I asked Anna.
Hm? she asked
When you move change your identity.
Oh.
Anna thought long and hard.
I will continue to be Lala, I think.
Da slowed, flicked his indicator and pulled outside the disco at The Fork Lightning and looked back.
There you go girl.
Will you come with me, Jeremiah?
No, Lala.
You could go after me and the girls. Please.
Some other night.
She stepped out quick.
Ma pulled down her window.
Hi?
What?
You’re looking lovely, Miss Conan, said Ma.
Oh thank you Geraldine.
Anna crossed the street to join the crowd of girls that had gathered outside. A cheer went up and the hugging began.
Will you look at the cut of the dolly birds, said Ma.
And they’re all gardeners, said Da.
Then Anna turned to look at us, and mouthed something I couldn’t read. I pulled down the window.
What? I shouted.
Come on Philip!
No.
And then came one obscene middle finger straight up in the air.
Hark at the environmentalist, said Da.
Chapter Fourteen
Sightseeing
OK? he asked, OK, said Ma, go, and Da budged out carefully behind Gyrums Transport – trading from Plymouth, and Edinburgh – who were picnicking on the pier and an empty Roadstone lorry, that was parked facing Gyrums; and we headed back into the centre of town. He turned round by the monastery into a small car park along the river, cut the lights, got out and put a cap on his head.
See ya later, he said.
He pulled his jacket tight, walked up the lane that led to High Street and crossed the road to the jewellers opposite where Mister Mayo stood, in a coat that reached his boots, selling The Final Issue. He put a few coins in his tin, they had a few words and the man on crutches shook with laughter, then Da disappeared into the shadows under the clock that always said 9.
Soon I saw a match strike, he came out, turned left and went from sight down the street. He was followed by a line of girls in vests to their knees. They looked like parcelled apples. We pulled down both front windows a fraction to listen to a bell ring ten times. A man came down the archway and had a piss with one hand on his cock and his other hand holding a mobile to his ear. There was a sudden whoosh of crows down from the monastery walls. I began studying the stone work. I counted the stone layered from the window above to the ground below; the curve; the weight and the lift. A young lad in pumps and tweeds went by with a pup on a lead and Timmy rose on the back seat and followed him carefully with his eyes.
Coriander, evening primroses, and one Corsican mint, order a shelf for the glasshouse, what’s all that about? said Ma, studying her shopping list. Oh that’s from last summer. She turned a page. Sage, matches, she looked up, then back, and said: There’s a good crowd.
Students.
Aye.
Onions, she said.
She checked the mirror to see who
was coming behind us, and fixed it so the world behind could stroll directly into her line of vision. There were plenty of them tumbling into the reflection. All the night people used the car park to go from one street to another. Along came an African lady with a two-tiered pram; a white-haired business man hopping a tennis ball, and four tall middle-aged ladies, in woollen hats, nibbling scones, with big haversacks on their back, speaking what sounded like German. Ma put her shopping list away. Under a small street light a few East Europeans stood silently in their leather jackets and caps looking over the gate into the monastery. They took the odd mouthful from a small vodka bottle, while we ate peppermints. Gangs would pass, mostly ladies, in slim white boots, sipping cans. A policewoman, with her elbows pinned to her hips, stood a while on her own under the archway, then lifting her mobile she walked away, looking back. Ma put on the radio and sat into the driver’s seat, and I climbed into the passenger seat.
The exit is at the entrance, I said.
I see. Yes indeed. Is it too warm in here, asked Ma.
No.
Well I think it’s too warm.
It’s not.
If you say so.
She let the two front windows down slightly and spun the dials of the radio.
I was thinking of having my hair dyed, and waved, she said, and she flew past blasts of rap and Mister Beethoven looking for the station that played on Saturday night the music she loved to listen to on a Sunday morning. Yes, that’s what I’d like to hear, she said. By this time Da would be on Main Street in the doorway of Molloy’s the drapers, and Anna would have trotted out onto the dance floor to go tunnelling into the circle. Yes, sir. We sat there for maybe half an hour watching folk that didn’t know we were there watching them. We were invisible till a girl in a yellow vest and white jockey’s cap fell against the bonnet of the car, and righting herself she came to the driver’s window and stared in at Ma as if there was no one there. It was like she was looking through a spider’s web, then she suddenly darted back in mock surprise, lifted her hands to her cheek and waved her fingers in at us. She had a huge pair of eyes.
Hallo, said Ma, letting down the window a fraction more.
Hallo, she said softly.
Are you all right?
Excellent, the girl said. Absolutely.