Long Time, No See

by Dermot Healy

  The First Fall

  We were approaching Ballintra when I saw the bike down at the corner of Cooley Lane.

  Hold it, I said. The Judge stopped the car.

  It’s a neighbour of ours.

  My God.

  I got out. The Blackbird was sitting in the middle of the road with blood pouring from his nostril.

  Gather onto me, said the Blackbird.

  I gently took his shoulders.

  Psyche, he said. What are you at?

  I’m taking you in off the road.

  Will you leave me be.

  You fell.

  What do you mean I fell, I never fucking fell.

  You did.

  I did not!

  You did.

  I did not! he shouted. But if you say I did, then I did.

  He stood uncertainly in my arms. His left arm hung lifeless down his side.

  Don’t move, said the Judge.

  Do I look bad, your honour?

  You’re bleeding. Are you in pain?

  I am not indeed.

  Ma should be back from work, I said, she should be in the house. I rang but her phone was on silent. Would you please go up to the house for Ma, sir.

  Yes, yes, the Judge said. I’ll be back in a few minutes. He drove off.

  Psyche, said the Blackbird.

  You’ll be all right.

  I will.

  He took my hand.

  Upsa daisy, he said.

  Aye.

  He sat into the ditch.

  So I fell, you think.

  You did.

  I’ll have to be careful in future.

  You will.

  Good man Psyche, you were always a decent skin.

  I sat in the ditch with my arm round him.

  Psyche, he called.

  Yes.

  Nothing.

  Then he began to shudder. His legs went straight out. He swung his head to the side.

  Tom, I shouted. Tom!

  The shuddering got worse. I put an arm under his head. He thrashed as if he were fighting someone, then he went still and slowly his eyes opened.

  Ma rushed from the Judge’s car and threw a blanket over the Blackbird.

  Oh God, she said. I called an ambulance. Ah Tom.

  She looked into his eyes.

  Tom.

  Aye.

  This is terrible.

  She leaned down and wiped his face.

  This is all my fault, she said as she teased the blood from his nostrils into a tissue and spread ointment over his face.

  It’s not Ma.

  I was foolish not to have brought you into the hospital last night.

  You are not to blame, said the Judge.

  It’s me is to blame, I said.

  No one is to blame, said the Judge.

  You’re right, you’re right, said the Blackbird, you’re right there, your honour.

  Not long after we heard the siren come across the fields and the ambulance arrived.

  Geraldine, said the driver.

  Johnny.

  Is he all right?

  He hit himself bad.

  What’s your name? the ambulance man asked.

  Tom Feeney.

  Hallo Tom and how are you?

  Grand.

  Where do you live?

  Above in Cooley. He hesitated. With a dog.

  You were lucky to have this lady Nurse Feeney here to mind you.

  I was.

  One two three, the man said, and they lifted him onto a stretcher.

  Aisy, he said, take it nice and cushy.

  Then slowly he went aloft and was wheeled into the back. Ma got in beside him. He sat up again like he had the night before, the eyes looking rigidly ahead, and the hands stiff by his ribs.

  Lie down, Tom, she said.

  He pointed at me with his right hand and tapped the side of his forehead with his index finger.

  Lie down, Tom, she said again.

  He put his head on the pillow. The doors were pulled closed. They reversed up Cooley, came out and turned for town.

  Now what, said the Judge.

  I’ll have to find Da I suppose.

  Well let’s find him together.

  So I rang his mobile but it just rang out, then myself and the Judge drove the few mile out to the Yellow Strand where Da was working but the JCB was sitting empty on the site of the new building, and there was no sign of his Volkswagen.

  Where to next? asked the Judge.

  I don’t know.

  I rang Da again but there was no reply.

  We headed past Joejoe’s.

  Down to Mister John’s.

  I went into the pub. It was empty except for two strangers sitting on a bench together watching a film. We went over to the French house. Then out to Culleens, and as we passed the graveyard I saw Da’s car parked among a few others. Stop, I said. When I got out I heard his mobile ringing in the car. I opened the passenger door and went to take the call, then it rang off. I looked at the number. It was Ma. I got out and ran over to where there was a group of men standing holding shovels to their chests by an open grave. They watched me approach. Da was not among them. Then I spotted him. He was down in the grave digging alongside Mister Awesome. It was their turn while the other men waited. Without looking up he threw a shovelful of fresh clay from the grave skywards. Then he dug deep again.

  Da, I said.

  What?

  He looked up at me.

  Ma’s on the phone.

  What?

  Ma just rang you.

  Hold on. I have a bit to go yet.

  He continued to dig and throw, dig and throw, like a man demented, the sweat running down his dirty forehead, then he stopped as Mister Awesome called a halt; they both put their spades crossways across the grave and pulled themselves up. Another two men jumped in and took their place and started to dig. The father was handed a glass of whiskey. He drank then he turned to me.

  Now, what?

  Ma rang you.

  He rammed the spade into the earth and reached for his jacket.

  Is there something wrong?

  Yes.

  Jesus Christ, he said.

  We started down through the gravestones towards the road. I handed him his mobile, he rang, and as we walked down the path, he cupped it to his ear.

  Nothing, he said.

  I heard it ringing.

  What’s the Judge doing here?

  He was leaving me home and we saw your car.

  What’s wrong…there’s something wrong lad.

  Da, Tom Feeney fell.

  No. Is he bad?

  He was shook.

  At the gate the Judge was standing.

  And you were drawn into all of this, said my father, you poor man.

  Is there anything I can do?

  No thank you, Judge King. You’ve done enough.

  Who is it that’s passed away?

  A neighbour that died in London. He’s arriving into Knock airport this evening.

  I wish ye the best of luck, said the Judge, and then he paid me what he owed me for the labour and the lobsters.

  Thank you.

  He drove off and we sat into the car.

  Now what? said Da.

  Then his mobile rang again and he lifted it up and nodded, then he said: Right, right, Geraldine, we’ll go there right now.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  There’ll be Another Day

  We drove straight to Joejoe’s.

  At the crossroads two strangers were hitching back the way we’d come.

  Da stopped.

  Killy-na-begs? said the thin man.

  Sorry, said Da, we are going in a different direction. You’ll have to make it back out to the main road.

  OK, he said. It is all right.

  We drove off.

  Who are those boys?

  I saw them in Mister John’s, I said.

  They’re on a binge, he said.

  The Bird’s bike was lyi
ng against the ditch at Cooley. The door to Joejoe’s was wide open. The wind blowing straight in. The empty bottle of Bush was on the table beside an empty bottle of Jameson. The fire out. Papers scattered. The chair empty. The place a shambles. Da walked towards the bedroom.

  Joejoe, he called. Hallo Joejoe.

  He knocked.

  Joejoe.

  Who’s that? came a faraway voice from within.

  It’s me.

  Well you’re very welcome, sit down and I’ll join ya.

  Christ, said Da.

  He shook his head and breathed out.

  Jesus, he said, I didn’t know what to think.

  I closed the front door. We sat by the table. Minutes passed. Well I suppose we should be doing something, said Da. I got up and relit the fire. Da put the jet kettle on and began to wash the dishes left over from the night before. We tidied up. Then again we sat there watched by the dripping eyes and ears of the branches of fuchsia. There was no sound. In the distance the lorrying sea. Nothing else. Da looked at me then nodded to the room.

  Joejoe, I called.

  There was no answer.

  Grandda, I called again.

  Yes, came this small voice.

  Are you coming out to us?

  I am I suppose.

  We waited.

  It was a ghost house.

  He’s fucked, whispered Da. I’ll have to go in.

  Then suddenly the door to the bedroom opened and first the dog jumped out then Joejoe appeared. He had his cap on. He was carrying his boots. He was like a scarecrow in a field of geese.

  Good men, he said.

  He sat down and started to put on the boots.

  And how are ye all?

  We’re fine.

  It was a grand class of a day.

  It was.

  Any news?

  Uncle Joejoe, said Da, I have something to tell you – there’s been an accident.

  Yes.

  Tom took a fall.

  He did not.

  Off the bike.

  God.

  Joejoe perched uneasily with a boot in his lap.

  Where?

  At the turn for Cooley.

  How is he?

  He’s in hospital.

  He put on the boot and slowly laced it up.

  He lit a fag. Then Da’s mobile rang.

  Yes, yes, he said, while we both watched him. I’m with Joejoe. He’s fine. He’s sitting here in front of me. How is Tom? Oh. The poor Blackbird. Right! Right! I’ll see if I can get in. He put the phone away.

  Well? asked Grandda.

  He’s in casualty. With herself. I have to go. You can stay, Da said to me.

  You go too Mister Psyche, said Joejoe, and tell the Bird I was asking for him.

  I will, I said.

  Says you – there’ll be another day.

  He turned to the fire. Da took some lilies from a vase.

  Right?

  Right.

  Do you have a key to the Blackbird’s house?

  I don’t rightly know, here, try these, and he handed Da a number of keys he had in a box on the mantelpiece.

  Are you sure you’ll be all right by yourself, asked Da.

  I will.

  Well lock the door after us; there’s a pair of go-boys knocking about. They’re on the raz.

  Joejoe waved us away out of sight as Da lifted the lilies to his chest. We drove up towards the Bird’s. I got out and rode the fallen bike to the house. The bulb was lit in the kitchen. The dog barking. We tried each key in the front door but none fitted. We tried again and again. We tried the back door but there was no key hole, it was padlocked from the inside.

  The barking rose to a peak.

  We drove off.

  That dog will have to be fed, I said.

  We’ll get something in town, he said.

  At the crossroads the two men were lying back in the ditch. They did not raise a finger. Da drove by without stopping.

  The waiting room was full of people sitting in silence. Inside the door to casualty we found Ma seated by Tom who was lain out on a trolley.

  Ahem, said the Blackbird.

  Well Tom, how are you, asked Da.

  I’m all right. I broke my left arm to start with.

  Da put the lilies on the bottom of the bed.

  You bought me flowers?

  I did.

  Well now, thank you Mister Feeney.

  I’m sorry.

  For what happened to me or what you blamed me for.

  Both. I’m sorry.

  Here.

  The Blackbird put out his good hand and my father took it.

  He never once complained, said Ma, did ya?

  I couldn’t say, said the Bird. I never hear myself talk.

  Ma pulled across two chairs and put the flowers in a plastic vase. We sat round him. The Blackbird was lying up in his vest against a pillow, with his right hand flat on the quilt. There were plasters running across his forehead. His left arm was in a sling. He was a thin man. There was no flesh on his shoulders, just bone. I did not know him rightly. The soul had flown up into the eyes and the soul was amazed. He watched all the comings-and-goings with his lips slightly open. The lips were on the point of a low whistle that never came. As the nurses and doctors passed his dark-brown eyes followed them with a kind of rare squint, his sharp chin went out, then the thin lips pursed.

  He patted the quilt.

  Right, he said.

  And nodded.

  Then he studied his broken arm. He touched the fingers of his left hand. Opened and closed his fingers of the right hand like he was trying to bewitch himself.

  I cannot move the fingers of my left hand.

  Are you feeling sore? asked Da.

  No.

  Is there anything I can get you Tom?

  No.

  He needs pyjamas, said Ma. We might soon head downtown.

  All right.

  But first I’ll take you to chat the doctor, said Ma.

  OK, said Da.

  We’ll leave you two boys together, she said. You just call the nurse if anything happens.

  They got up and went off.

  The Bird watched them go till they went out of a sight.

  Were you ever in a bed that moved? he asked me.

  No.

  Well I’m in one. You could take off at any minute. You could bring me for a spin. Right. See that yoke below, that’s it, now let it off. No you won’t I suppose. This is where your mother works, said the Blackbird. Did you know that?

  I did.

  Very good.

  He was like a tourist in some foreign part of the planet. He looked at a nurse going the other way. Then he looked at the man in the next trolley, the boy in the wheelchair beyond, the doctors that swept along past reception breezily with their white coats akimbo. He listened to the announcements. Nodded. Stay clear of the doors said a faraway voice. He studied his broken arm intently, nearly as if it belonged to some other.

  Nodded.

  Then for a long time he looked at me, looked away, patted the quilt, mumbled something, then looked at me again with his head back as if was trying to recognise me. The eyebrows tightened. He went rigid. I thought he was going to have another attack. Then he suddenly called me in with his finger. The smell of whiskey and perfume hit me.

  Psyche, he whispered into my ear.

  Yes.

  I knew that things looked bad the other day, he said. For you see the other day I had a shite. And when I looked into the bowl there was nothing there. No. Not a thing. I hate when that happens. It’s a lot of work all for nothing. You understand.

  I do.

  Good. He nodded. See that woman there, in the next bed.

  I do.

  Don’t look at her.

  I won’t.

  Don’t. She did a fair bit of damage to herself.

  Oh.

  And she has a sharp tongue in her head. She turned on me only a while ago. For nothing.

  A
nurse came over.

  Are you all right – she looked at his chart – Tom?

  I am.

  Would you like some more tea?

  The Bird nodded like a wound-up toy as she beat his pillow.

  I believe you are related to Nurse Feeney.

  I am that.

  And you?

  I’m her son.

  Well now.

  She smiled and went.

  Were you talking to the boss? asked the Bird.

  I was, I said.

  And what had he to say for himself.

  He said there’ll be another day.

  Aye, and he nodded, and then began looking around him again – to the left, to the right, and then up at the ceiling.

  What are youse whispering about? asked Da.

  Do you remember that song called ‘Hallo Dolly’?

  I do.

  Well I was teaching him the words.

  That’s right, I said.

  Ma and Da sat. She took the Bird’s blood pressure.

  You’re still high.

  I am, he said.

  By the way you have two ribs broken, Tom. And that will put pressure on your lungs.

  I see.

  There was a sudden screech from behind a curtained bed down at the front. The Blackbird darted up. This was followed by another screech and another. A man pouring blood from his cheek was pushed past. There was a flurry of movement. Ma dressed the Bird’s chest with bandages, then she lay the pyjama top, one arm in, one arm out. For you see the man is coming, she said, and we have to have you good and nice. Then as Da held the bed sheets up she pulled on the bottoms.

  You’re the bird with a broken wing, said Ma.

  Aye.

  The jugglers are coming, said the woman in the next trolley along, watch yourself.

  Ma drew the curtain. This doctor came in and looked into the Blackbird’s eyes.

  You’ve done yourself some damage, he said.

  What happened me?

  You’ve had a minor stroke. I’m afraid you may be with us for some time.

  Grand.

  I can’t get him a bed in one of the wards. Not as yet. Maybe tomorrow. You know yourself, sister.

  Thank you, doctor.

  She drew back the curtain.

  The woman in the next trolley again called out.

  Hi you.

  Yes, said Da.

  When is dinner coming?

  Oh soon.

  Well try and keep the men in white at bay. You hear me?

  I do.

  The Blackbird winked at me. The woman rose herself up on her elbows and looked at the Tom in his new regalia.

  Why has he got a nurse all to himself? she asked, and I haven’t.

  We are related, said Ma.