by Dermot Healy
I switched off, and knelt down on the rug to see if there were anything else solid down there, but there was nothing. It was spotless. I switched on again to see if the tube was split, then I hoovered on, but again there was an almighty rattle, and the hoover went up into a high whine. Joejoe appeared in the doorway.
What is that? he roared.
I don’t know.
Shut it down, he roared pointing, then pointing again at the socket.
I hit the button. The kitchen went down to quiet.
I think, I said, that a stone shot up.
Stone, my arse, empty it! Empty it!
We went outside. He watched me as I took the bag and emptied the soot, and plaster and hair into a pile on the footpath. He got down on his knees and felt through the dust, and then suddenly paused. He lifted whatever it was into the palm of his hand – a single euro. He got up, leaned down and stirred the dust, then went in. He put the coin on the kitchen table.
I thought it was the fucking bullet, he said.
I didn’t think of that.
Because you don’t believe me!
He lifted the coin and put it on the dresser. Money does not travel far these days, he said, and damp-kneed he headed back toward the scullery, then at the door he stopped, turned, twirled a forefinger, returned and moved the ship and sails to the left of the plates on the dresser, stood the plaster dog on a thin box of plasters in the upper shelf, then shifted the photo of himself and Grandda and Grandma to the centre of second shelf, stepped back and nodded.
What’s needed Mister Psyche?
I don’t know.
Christ’s tears, he said.
Ah, the fuchsia.
Correct.
I’ll go get the flowers when I’ve finished here.
I hoovered on under the table and over to the mat inside the front door. There was a sudden squeal of brakes, and Ma arrived in with lilies and wild daisies. She put a pot in every window, then washed the table down. I hung the mat on the washing line and beat it senseless. The dog turned and looked at me a long time on the doorstep. We lugged in the cups and plates and green doilies. Next thing Anna arrived with two apple and rhubarb tarts and a few dozen sandwiches.
Joejoe came in from the scullery in his tweed jacket and the airman’s shirt.
Ah Miss Conan, he said.
Mister Feeney, said Anna, how wonderful you look.
He dusted his bum, then dusted the seat of his chair and sat down. He pulled up the leg of his trousers and scratched.
There’s fecking perfume in the soap, and he scratched again. I told them not to put it in but they do.
It’s shocking bad taste, she said.
Cruel out, he said, it would not be right on the night of the Stations.
Have you all your sins off, she asked.
Every last one, he said.
Good, I’m off to pick the last of your peas, sir, she said, and went.
Ma cleaned the holy pictures of the Virgin and Child. Re-hung the polished rosary beads on its nail. Took down the mirror and shined it, and hung it back on the wall, righted the fiddle and then looked round her: Where is your rifle?
He hesitated. I put it away for safekeeping, he said.
Oh.
He took up his boots and began polishing them.
Give me your shoes, he said.
I took them off.
He went with his brush from boot to shoe, and shoe to boot, and back again like a man sawing. Then he spat on the tips and drew a rag tight across for the final polish.
There, he said, and I began threading the laces back in.
At seven my father and mother arrived with a trailer-load of chairs from Mister John’s. We stacked the ones with armrests against the walls, then placed two plain rows before the small wormeaten table that Ma took in from the scullery. She draped the white linen cloth over the table. Sweet John arranged three trays of glasses in the visitors’ room where my father was raised as a child, then plonked a bucket of ice in the fridge.
She cut lemons and parsley, and chopped wild celery.
Joejoe sat bolt upright in his armchair, legs crossed, hair up in a tuft, supervising.
Da brought the whiskey and gin into the third room. There was the loud pop of a cork, then another.
Now, said Ma.
Very good.
Is that everything, pray?
Lachrimae Christi, he said.
Excuse me, is that a prayer?
The fuchsia, I said, Christ’s tears. Sorry Joejoe, I forgot.
You forgot the monk’s bush?
Forgive me.
Never let it be said, announced Da, and he went off with a scissors and came back a few minutes later with a handful of early dripping red flowers from a bush up the road, and Joejoe took them, emptied one of the pots of lilies, then carefully arranged the young branch of fuchsia into it instead, watered it, and set the pot of Christ’s Tears on the worktop of the dresser between the alarm clock and the plaster cast of Jesus.
Alert the troops, he said. Da went out the door and Ma went into the scullery to shred lettuce and parsley. Beside her Anna was making pea soup, with hoards of wild mint and coriander. Beside her Ma started to make a second fish soup with mussels and lobsters and mackerel I’d collected that morning. I fed a log onto the fire. Then Joejoe called me in with his forefinger till he had my ear to his mouth, and he whispered, looking straight into my eyes, Tell me this Psyche, do you ever tire of being a servant?
No, I whispered.
Are you lying? he asked, widening his eyes.
Yes sir, I said, with a bow.
I locked Timmy outside in the car just before the parties started arriving. He was to be the alarm signal.
Da took up his position at the door.
Anna went out to the gate.
A few minutes later came the first bark, and through the door came the Dunleavys. Joejoe stood and took their hands. Another bark. In came the two Carters in shining black. He rose in welcome. Mister and Mrs Tingle stepped in with a box of daisies; then Frosty arrived and went by Joejoe and took my hand, and said: I was baptised too, you know. In came Mrs Flynn, J. D. Moffit, the coalman Mister Awesome, Barney Buckley, Jim Simpson, Terence MacGowan, with old Mister Bree. And Mick Doyle with Stefan who was dressed in green.
Mister John went out the back door and came in the front with a bottle of Sandemans port. Thady came in a grey suit, with the image of a grey hurley stitched onto his tie, and sat at the back, wiping his knees, and hummed. The widows spent a long time turning their car to face back the way they’d come, then they entered, gravely, nodded at Joejoe, and sat alone smiling in the centre of the front row. Mister and Mrs Conan stepped in with Anna and they immediately asked if there was anything they could do to help. Joe Currid came with fresh-cooked mackerel stuffed with prawn. You won’t take exception, he said, to me bringing a lock of food into the house for afterwards, and he laid it on the side table. Joejoe suddenly took a portion, downed his chin onto his chest, and chewed sharply, lifted his head back and was about to swallow when I said: You will not be able to receive communion.
He spat it into the fire.
Was it any good? asked Joe.
The business, he said.
The Blackbird landed, parked his bike down by the reeds, then came through the door, with his eyes narrowed, looking from side to side.
Oh, he said speaking to no one, and he stepped by Joejoe quick, as if they were strangers, and sat into a chair along the back wall. Joejoe gave him the thumb, then his eyes swung back to the door.
With each bark of the dog, he was on his feet to greet all arrivals. But in between all the small talk, I could see his eyes were trained on the window, and there was a note of warning in them. He was watching for the General. Madam Adams and her husband, the artist, who lived at the Cross arrived with begonias and blue cheddar, and the widows introduced themselves and began explaining to them the meaning of the Stations. It’s a Mass said in a house, said Bridie, who hel
d a hanky to her mouth, and there’s confession beforehand.
There is, agreed May.
And you are –? asked Madam.
We are the widows, said Lilly Mannion.
You lost your husbands? she said astonished.
No, we never married.
Oh.
Claus and Ingabore came with doughnuts and nut bread, then turned to go again, without explanation.
Hallo, shouted Joejoe.
Goodbye, said Claus. We go now.
Hallo, shouted Joejoe, higher this time.
Please, said Claus, we shall return, sometime again, and he gave a quick smile and stepped out with his wife who stiffly waved the fingers of her right hand. And then Mister and Mrs Brady – Mickey’s parents – entered. Mother squeezed my shoulder. They looked round the room, then immediately came over and took my hands. The place went silent.
I’m so glad you came, I said.
Philip, my heart goes out to you, said Mrs Brady and she kissed me on the cheek. We miss Mickey a lot, and I know you do too.
It’s all right son, said Mister Brady. It’s all right.
Ah Sean and Patricia Brady, said Joejoe, come in and sit down. You are very welcome.
I led the Bradys by the hand to two armchairs in the middle of the room, then I returned to Joejoe’s side.
Good man Mister Psyche, he said, and he tapped both of my knees and put his shoulder against mine.
As the people of the townland gathered they sat against the walls or in rows, chatting; no one ate or drank; then, at last, at 7.30 the priest ducked in, shook himself, went over and put his chalice on the small table, breathed out with a shake of his shoulders, who have we here, he said and he wandered off to meet the stranger as the locals came up and shook hands with Joejoe, then Father Grimes sat forninst my granduncle.
I’m sorry to be taking you out, Father, said Joejoe.
Not at all.
You see I’m not able to get to the church these days.
Say nothing.
But if I am able to get to the pub, I should be able to get to the church. And I’m sorely tempted by the pub at times.
Always give in to temptation, said Father Grimes. Isn’t that right sonny?
Yes, I said.
There is one good sign Father, said Joejoe.
Is that so?
Yes, I’ve stopped telling lies to people I know, said Joejoe, but there’s a down side, I’ve begun telling them to myself.
Now.
And that’s worse.
Indeed, Mister Feeney.
Joejoe, Father.
Joejoe.
Have you ever met the owl in the desert Father?
I have.
The sparrow on the house top?
Yes.
And the pelican in the wilderness?
The priest looked at him.
I have Joejoe, but only on paper, he said, with a slight trace of stubbornness, or was it irritation. Then came the smile, and he jerked his shoulder, and worked his arm, then he took off his coat, nodded to the gathering, and said: Who have we here? as he tapped the Adamses on the shoulders.
Father, said the lady.
Your first time at the Stations? he asked.
Yes, said Roberto.
He shook Stefan’s hand.
I see you in the church, he said.
I go, yes.
And I see you singing.
But I do not know the words.
Ah, and he clapped him on the shoulder. Then he spoke into Mrs Brady’s ear and shook her hand and then her husband’s hand. And then, having greeted a few other souls, from other religions, Father Grimes sat down in a chair by himself for a while to study his missal, looked round, got up, put the missal on the table, and sat down again; looked at his hands and then at his watch and closed his eyes; and went at last in and sat in the bedroom, head-down, with only the light of a candle on the window sill fluttering behind him.
Joejoe jumped to his feet.
Right, he said, I won’t be long.
He left the door open behind him and went in and dropped to his knees on the cushion facing the priest, and immediately began to speak out loud like a man on a street talking into a mobile. I cursed, I swore, I –. Just a minute, said Father Grimes, please can someone…One of the widows got up and closed the door. It is very interesting, said Mister Adams, in the silent kitchen. Very interesting. No one spoke as through the thin wood panels Joejoe kept up a loud litany of sins: what was left to him was not right, it was not right, and then the voice went low and seemed to rev into all kinds of obscurity, someone killed the pups that wished his enemies harm, they tried to shoot me! There is not a soul there now; then he recited the Act of Contrition in a loud marvelling voice.
There was a huge wallop of sea down the shore.
Extraordinary, said Mister Adams; then a few minutes later Joejoe reappeared, got into his armchair, and clapped his hands.
I’m done, he said. It’s your turn now.
And in stepped J. D. Moffit, with his cap in hands. People moved along a line of chairs that had been placed next to the bedroom door, and as they stepped in to confess, talk in the room started up to cover the sound of confession. As the door opened it stopped. Then when the next person entered the talk was of animals and houses and timber, the Celtic Tiger and building then buildings, then silence. During the next confession it was Volkswagens and rust and growth and Where is Declan, then baling; then silence as a widow came out and a bachelor entered; and schooling and what’s-his-name-married-to-Yvonne and dying and Where is Declan, those houses and more houses going up in the village, can it last, and so many bachelors and spinsters living by the sea, drinking and driving, and the fast cars and silence, and I looked at the Bradys who smiled back and Mrs Brady put a finger to her lips; then the talk went to empty bars and huge salaries and the price of old slates, and blocks, and cement and I prayed to myself.
I prayed long and hard.
Anna went in to tell her sins with a smile in my direction, then a few more people arrived, were greeted and still Joejoe looked beyond them, out there, past the candles, for the enemy he was seeking.
The Bird stepped into the confession bedroom, and pulled the door gently behind him.
There was not a sound from within, or in the kitchen. For once as a confession was being made the conversations stopped momentarily. It was like everyone was listening to find out what went on his head – this local man that everyone saw and met and passed on the road or the beach but no one really knew, because he was a loner who really spoke to no one, except Joejoe; but all we heard was silence before the talking started all over.
Then it was my turn. I was the last penitent. I went in and closed the door behind me and went to my knees forninst the priest. I blessed myself and whispered. He reached over and his hand came down on my shoulder.
Is everything going all right tonight? he asked.
I hope so Father.
How are they out there?
Fine. Possession is ended.
What did you say?
Excuse me, I made a mistake, I meant to say that confession is ended. I am the last. Everyone has been heard Father.
Except for myself, he said.
Oh.
Now will you listen to me?
I will.
Things are not good with us now, unfortunately. The church is adding to our lot I am sorry to say. I am ashamed of what is going on out there in the world, with the priests. Do you hear me?
I do.
It’s difficult.
I understand, Father.
Good. Tell me this, are things all right with you?
Not so bad.
And the pelican in the wilderness. Pray tell me how does that man Joejoe come to know the Bible?
I read him the Psalms, sometimes.
Indeed. Well now. I’m glad you have someone to talk to. By the way will you come up to cut the hedge soon?
I will.
Good man.
In the silence this mad fit of barking started, Joejoe rose a finger and Da went back and stood guard by the door, then eased it open.
The General dressed in an immaculate blue suit and shiny hair suddenly entered, clapped his hands, and sat down immediately inside the front door, and stared at the floor.
You’re late, whispered Joejoe.
The General looked up.
Sorry, he said.
I believe you were over in Luton for a while?
For a couple of days.
Aye.
And I saw people over there that we both knew.
Joejoe started stepping towards the General like a child without getting out of his chair. His feet worked crazily on the flags as he stared at the General’s white bristling face. Up came the arm, the finger out pointing.
And did you enjoy yourself?
I was at a funeral.
God forgive me, said Joejoe retreating, I did not know.
What’s wrong Joejoe, asked the General.
I’m sorry, he replied. I am deeply sorry.
What is wrong, asked Mrs Adams.
Ma and myself placed our hands on Joejoe’s shoulders.
The General rose and looked round the room. The people looked at each other. I could feel the convulsions in Joejoe’s body travelling up my arm.