Long Time, No See

by Dermot Healy

  Going from right to left, said Joejoe, we have Aaron, Tommy and…

  – Angela –

  And Angela, he said nodding. Thank you for the present sir.

  You like?

  I do.

  And did they fit? the lady asked me.

  I stepped forward in the new shoes.

  Ah good.

  I am Barbara, the woman said, and my husband is Dmitry Beria, but called Dido.

  Psyche, look after our guests.

  We are strangers, said Barbara.

  So are those crowd, he said pointing at the hippies.

  Do you not feel exposed with so many strangers in your house?

  Once the strangers talk I don’t mind.

  Please?

  It’s the ones who don’t speak mean you harm.

  I do not understand.

  Strange, said Angela.

  Dido said something to Barbara. She nodded and translated. Theo was driving back to the henhouse, yes – when Dido saw the pliers…on the back seat, and Theo asked him to return them. Sometime.

  The henhouse? How does a henhouse get into the story?

  It is where we work. With chickens.

  I thought Theo was the Russian ambassador.

  Oh no, she laughed.

  And Dido was his chauffeur.

  She shook her head, No, no, she said, laughing, excuse me, did Theo say that?

  He did.

  She spoke to Dido who grinning bowed his head. He is very honoured, he said, and would like to know that he also came…to say thank you on Theo’s behalf. You see we live off the fish they catch here in your bay.

  You will have a drink?

  No, said Barbara so Angela poured out cups of tea for the pair.

  You are – Barbara asked – Psyche?

  Yes, I am.

  The ambassador told me about you. He said you would make a very good fast bowler.

  Is that so?

  Do we intrude?

  No.

  Are you interested in psychology? You see, I am Polish, she said, and my husband is the enemy. He is Russian.

  Dear God, said Joejoe.

  He knows very little English. If you speak slowly he will know what you are saying perhaps. But never mind, we find you. You help my husband. He is very grateful. You thought the Mercedes was not automatic, no? He enjoyed that day with you. He said it was like being back on stage. He used to be an opera singer but one morning he lost his voice. He was sad. So we come to Ireland, and she made a strict sweet smile. We leave you now.

  You will not, said Joejoe.

  I drive.

  Aye, but let Mister Dido have one drink.

  But we come to bring you a present!

  And now it returns to you, said Tommy and he poured the gentleman a glass of cider.

  How did he lose his voice? I asked.

  It is a problem. She sat a moment. She spoke to her husband. He nodded. I will explain. He lost part of his throat. It is very sad. I meet him in Warsaw. She moved her scarf slightly. Yes, she said. Then she looked with fond isolation off into the middle distance, and for an instant she picked at a fingernail, scrutinised it, picked a tit-bit, then faced us again.

  You like music, and she pointed to the fiddle hanging on the wall. You have a violin.

  And it’s out of tune.

  It is? When did you play it last?

  Twenty-five years ago.

  Oh. She took it down and he handed her the bow that was hanging from a nail on the dresser. She smiled that stern smile, fitted the fiddle under her chin, turned to her husband and drew the bow across the strings with a quick sour flourish. He kept his eyes steadfastly on her, as she turned a key and gave another dart across the strings.

  You play now? she asked Joejoe.

  No, thank you.

  She spoke to her husband and he said something and looked at me. He had a boy’s face with altar boy’s eye, a nose that was young and huge hands.

  He likes you, she said. Please say yes.

  Yes, I said.

  And she went to hand me the fiddle.

  No, I said, I can’t play.

  The fiddle went back on the wall, and the bow to the dresser.

  Tommy arrived to Miss Barbara with another cup of tea and a few carrots soaked in orange. I brought Dido and herself fried slices of potato.

  I would have loved to hear him sing, said Angela.

  Maybe, said Barbara, it is possible.

  Maybe?

  Yes, my husband will sing.

  I thought he lost his voice, said Joejoe.

  Have you a CD player perhaps?

  No, I said.

  We have one in the tent, said Aaron, it works on batteries.

  You don’t mind, sir, she asked.

  Call me Joejoe.

  Joejoe.

  Not at all, said my granduncle, go.

  Aaron went out to the tent, and I put on the kettle in the scullery. I stood looking out at the footballers playing seven aside, when all of a sudden behind me an orchestra struck up. I was in two worlds at once. In came a cheer from the field, while at my back another voice called out to a lover. I went into the parlour. Everyone was sitting quiet. Barbara looked at her husband who stared straight ahead as the disc played; sometimes raising his eyebrows as if questioning something in the sound of his own voice, then relaxed he’d look to the side; now Mister Townsend came in the front door, hand in the air about to speak and explain his absence, and the dog growled, but Joejoe rose a finger to his lips and so Mister Townsend entered the quandary, and sat; and then the question Dido was asking himself would turn his whole face and eyes into a shy attempt to answer as his voice travelled round on horseback; he’d smile over at his wife; then the smile would disappear abruptly; the voice went outdoors again, and grew distant; a cheer went up in the Night Field; Dido signalled the violin and Joejoe listened without once averting his eyes from the CD player and urged the voice back in with a little shuffle of his fingers; there was a single deep cry from someone shouting something that could not be explained; the cry was repeated, and now Joejoe and the singer locked eyes; the hippies seemed to have shrunk into their seats, Townsend’s toes began to move and Barbara petted her knees as her husband’s lips moved silently.

  The door opened and in came Anna in her shorts and runners and coloured jacket. She was carrying the same shopping bag that held the vodka.

  Joejoe rose a finger, Aaron switched off the CD player, got up onto the window sill and Anna sat into his chair.

  Hallo, said Aaron.

  Hallo, said Anna.

  And you are?

  She is my good friend, Anna, I said.

  And, said Miss Barbara, she is very beautiful.

  She is, nodded Joejoe.

  Now Anna I said, listen to this…

  Aaron pressed the button and we went back into the song again where the lovers were quarrelling; the walls grew on every side; the singer was rushing round his prison, the waves came in, then the flute, and as Dido opened his mouth a fraction to form the shape of the next sound, suddenly the singing abruptly stopped.

  Oh, said Angela.

  Oh Christ, said Tommy.

  Shit, said Aaron, do you know what, the battery is gone.

  It has happened again, nodded Dido.

  Who was that singing, asked Anna.

  Him, said Joejoe, that man there sang that song.

  You’re joking.

  Am I joking Psyche?

  You are not.

  That was powerful, said Anna. Are you sure the batteries are gone?

  They are, said Aaron.

  What a pity, and she purred.

  Aaron handed the disc back to Miss Barbara.

  Can I congratulate you, said Mister Townsend.

  Jesus, Mister Beria, I said, and I got up and shook his hand.

  Thank you, he said, and then he said something to his wife.

  He said to thank you again for starting the car, she said, and he wants you to have the disc as a
present, and she placed it on the dresser.

  Tell him it was nothing.

  It was nothing, she said, and she translated it.

  He stood and shook my hand again, and tipped his glass off my cup, it was nothing, he said, repeating my words in the accent exactly as I had spoken them.

  In fact it was a friend of mine up the road, Stefan, who got your car going that day –

  Thank you, Stefan, said Dido.

  A Merc is fallible too, nodded Joejoe.

  You are Polish? asked Mister Townsend.

  Yes, said Barbara.

  Ah Lech Walesa.

  Yes.

  Dido nodded vigorously and took a drink from a pretend cup, up and down to his lips, then looked at his wife and Barbara looked at her husband and nodded as if understanding a complex cry for help, then she lifted an unseen cup to her slim jaw, tasted whatever it was, closed her eyes and suddenly gritted her teeth at the imagined taste.

  Jazus, said Joejoe, that’s a sour cup of tay you just had.

  Oh, she said. I think my husband would like a…

  I think, said Anna, that I have the very thing and she took a bottle of 7Up out of her bag, poured him a thimbleful and he looked on amazed as she put the glass on the table in front of him.

  Please? he asked.

  Drink, she said.

  7Up, he said shaking his head.

  Yes.

  Not me, he said laughing.

  Please.

  Oh well, he smiled, lifted the glass and downed the liquid in one go, froze and threw out his arms in wonder.

  It is beautiful he shouted, Beautiful! Beautiful!

  Aha, shouted Joejoe.

  Wonderful, shouted Dido.

  What? asked Aaron, amazed.

  Russian vodka, said Anna.

  I don’t believe you.

  And she poured another shot into his glass.

  Thank you, thank you, said Dido.

  Very good Anna, I said, you had us all fooled.

  Are you all right Philip?

  Yes, Anna.

  Oh she cares for you, said Angela.

  And I have just run four mile. Tommy headed off to the kitchen with the dirty delft and began washing. You have a lot of servants in the house today Joejoe, said Anna.

  I have, girl.

  Aaron produced a bottle of their apple cider, and poured out a glass for me as Anna entertained a drop of 7Up for herself.

  Please, said Dido. This is a nice house. I see you every morning sir that we go to fish, and I see you outside with your dog, and he petted Timmy, and you’re – you are – an old man – how do I say it – and he spoke to his wife.

  And you are lonely, she translated.

  And you are an old man and you are lonely, said Dido, I think, yes you look lonely but you see I am wrong, and he opened his hands wide and nodded at all the souls gathered.

  Joejoe got up and clapped Dido’s knee and threw his arms around him.

  You have me, said Joejoe and the two drank then touched their empty glasses.

  I love Smirnoff, said Anna and she said the word again with a long, long f-sound.

  – Hallo there, said Joejoe –

  – Hallo –

  – You say Hallo very often in Ireland, said Dido –

  – We can’t help it –

  – It’s why we have put on so much weight, said Mister Townsend. I think it might rain.

  Slainte, said Anna, downing her vodka and aiming the empty glass at me with a flirty eye. Do you know what Mister Psyche’s real name is, she said.

  What is it? whispered Angela.

  – Doras, whispered Anna –

  – No? –

  – And I’m Fuinneog –

  Doras is door in Gaelic, said the Councillor to Barbara, translating from the Irish, and fuinneog is window.

  I see, said Barbara.

  – And you see the door is closed, said Anna, but the window is open –

  – Yeh? –

  – Psyche, asked Joejoe, are you there? Did you hear that? The girl is saying the window is open –

  – I heard her –

  – And your man said it might rain, he said chuckling –

  – He did, indeed –

  – Are you enjoying yourself? –

  – I am –

  – Good. You see I lie to myself ever so often –

  – The trick is I think if you could break out laughing when making love, said Mister Townsend –

  – Is that it? –

  – I think so.

  – Go on, said Tommy. Have you tried it? –

  – No, said Townsend, I would not dare. I’d be shown the door –

  – Weird –

  – And Doras, continued Anna, is making a special garden for his mother –

  – He is –

  – So that Fuinneog can bring myriads of vegetables and flowers from the garden centre next year –

  – Anna will not step into a supermarket –

  – What, asked Angela –

  – Never, said Anna, you see I work in one –

  Extraordinary!

  Overhead outdoors the save-and-rescue helicopter flew by. Dido looking perplexed, said something to his wife who said Dido would like to share a secret, would you like to hear it? We all nodded. With a long sad face he repeated to her what he had said earlier, and lowered his head in sorrow. She turned to us with furrowed brow and lips puckered. My husband thinks there are too many foreigners in Ireland, she said, and they both broke out laughing, and looked round at us and laughed again.

  I like it, said Tommy.

  Psyche?

  Yes Joejoe.

  You’re very quiet.

  I was nearly going to say I’m cleaning my hooves, but what I’m really doing is timing my moves.

  Tell us what you’re thinking Doras, said Fuinneog.

  – I was thinking of…

  – Don’t make it up…

  – I won’t…

  – Go on…But first can I share a secret, said Anna, can I tell you all something?

  Of course you can daughter, said Joejoe.

  Please do, said Barbara.

  Is it one of your dreams? I asked.

  Yes.

  Ah.

  OK, explain to me this – and this will always be with me – Last night I dreamed I gave birth…to an ass. OK, that’s normal you say. That’s funny, you might think. But here’s the strange bit – the calf was dead.

  Jesus, said Aaron.

  Dead? said Tommy and he looked at Anna a long time as Barbara in a hushed tone translated for her husband.

  That is sad, said Barbara.

  And your granduncle, said Angela, what’s weird is that Philip’s granduncle Joejoe slept with a Swedish girl who thought the ass at the window was a man.

  What?

  It’s getting fairly intense this conversation, said Mister Townsend.

  Oh tut tut, said Anna, I’m all for the ordinary. But if it’s not in my head what can I say. You see I think dirty. I may not talk dirty, but I think dirty. The truth is I feed our donkey every morning. I know him. Did you ever look into a donkey’s eyes?

  No, said Tommy.

  Do. If you do you travel far back in time. Yes. And I woke, and felt an awful sadness for the poor dead ass.

  That’s hard, said Aaron.

  You’re brave, said Tommy.

  So I say to myself, say it, whatever it is.

  Nice one, said Angela.

  Here’s to Fuinneog, said Tommy, raising an empty fist.

  To Fuinneog, we all said raising our glasses, and then Joejoe clapped and Dido broke out into sombre applause as if he was away at the back of an audience alone.

  Extraordinary, said Barbara.

  – Fuinneog –

  – Yes Doras –

  – When I was young I was told I lost my mickey in a bicycle accident so I would often inspect the place where my mickey used to be and it brought me great pleasure –

  – Dear J
esus, said Townsend. What next? –

  – Now Mister Psyche, said Joejoe laughing…

  What is mickey please? asked Barbara.

  The dowser, said Joejoe and he pointed at his loins.

  The divining rod, nodded Tommy.

  That’s her, said Joejoe.

  I think it’s time to go, said Mister Townsend, thank you for the company, and just then Dido beat his knee and roared laughing as he heard the meaning of mickey, then everyone stepped through the door and followed the Councillor over to his car and we waved and waved, while Timmy flattened out on the ground ears up, then the Councillor got back out again and said he was only joking, he was not leaving, and we all walked over to the Night Field where the soccer game was ending. All of the cars had been turned to face the field and their headlights were blazing. Dido and Barbara spoke to some of the people watching. Angela went down the beach by herself. Joejoe stood to the edge of the goals that were made of two bales of hay. He stood with his two hands gripping his walking stick. A local single tractor stood on the road. The ladies along the edge in large coats were sipping beer.

  You know what I would like to have done today, said Joejoe, I’d like to have seen the Bird referee this match.

  A man put his finger to his lips and whistled. The players took off their boots. The tractor went off. The Japanese fisherman shot by on his motorbike with a wave. Soon the cars turned, and took off with the beams heading inland.

  Who won, asked Joejoe, I wonder.

  Poland, said Dido, Poland was playing Lithuania and Latvia.

  The Night Field grew dark as we headed back into the cottage.

  We go now, said Barbara.

  I have one last request, said Dido.

  Fire away, said Joejoe. Everyone had sat down, including Dido, then he scooped a shot, rose to his feet and opened his arms. Please, he said and we all went quiet. I sing. Now please someone else sing!

  Sing you, said Aaron.

  I will, said Angela. She stood and sang what sounded like a prayer, and with each line she looked into a face, then the next face, and in between she looked at the floor, then suddenly finished leaving more words we did not understand hanging in the air with a swoop of her hand and a swish of her hair.

  Aaron beamed and nodded. Angela made a perfect child face and sat as we clapped.

  But what was that? asked Joejoe.

  A hymn, said Aaron.

  Barbara scrutinised a nail.

  Now it’s your turn, said Joejoe and the three hippies sang ‘Help!’ as Tommy hopped a spoon and banged the table with his elbow, his fingers, his knuckles, and ended with a riff on the side of the turf bucket.