by Dermot Healy
You’re too young, he said bitterly.
Too young for what?
For the whole shebang. You know nothing. And by the time you know it’ll be all over.
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
That’s what I mean!
Stop being cross!
What are you talking about!
Stop shouting!
All right, I’m sorry, he said. I don’t hear myself shouting. He got up and lifted the photo of himself with Grandma, and Grandda, looked at it a while and put it away.
We sat there a while.
Tell me this, he asked.
What.
Do you think the shoes and jacket might have belonged to the one man?
I didn’t think about that.
Ha-ha!
I said nothing.
Are you thinking about it now?
I am.
And what do you say?
No. They were two different men.
You could be right, he said. Two different men. Yes indeed. All right, two different men…but on the same journey.
Maybe, I said.
Aye.
A coat and a pair of shoes.
I can see them still. Someone had worn them, then left them behind, and set out. The next day I was passing where the coat was and it was gone, and then I went and looked for the shoes and they were gone too.
Just a pile of ash there as if someone had burnt them.
That was it. I sat with Joejoe a while, told him the story; and then he suddenly got up and rang the house above.
Hallo, he said, it’s Saturday, why don’t ye go into town? Yes, give yourselves a break! I’ll not budge, I promise ya. Aye, he’s here with me.
And so a few minutes later Da pulled in. It was Cnoic’s first time in a car and he buried his snout into Timmy’s neck in the back seat as they perched each side of me. All the clouds were a wild stormy red as the Volkswagen left Ballintra and the red grew huge above the hills as we took the mountain road. In the distance the whole town looked volcanic. Da drove round the streets slowly, and then pulled in at the usual spot.
Da went up Main Street to step into his usual doorways and watch the passing crowds.
We listened to the radio; then I got out and walked the dogs around the monastery, and along the river. Strips of clouds on fire drifted upstream. Quickly, the new night began to fall. I went and bought Joejoe his packet of Major. The town sounded like a muffled shout as we sat in the car.
Do ye want to go for a walk, asked Ma, round the streets?
No, I said.
Ma switched the radio off. Then, after sitting there for maybe an hour Da came back, and sat in.
Will we go home?
Yes, said Ma.
He turned the key.
It’s not the same, he said.
At Ballintra we found Joejoe standing by the gate of the house in the dark. The dogs jumped out of the car and landed at his feet.
You’re home fierce early, he asked, leaning in the window.
The town was quiet.
Did you not trust me?
I did, Uncle Joejoe, said Da, I did.
Good night, all, he said.
Here you are, I said, and handed him his fags.
Thank you son, and he headed in, turned and said: Do you get the pong of shit? The slurry is something else.
Chapter Forty-Four
The Cure
The next day I went out and dug up the last of the shallots, scullions, potatoes, and onions, then got the wok, put in the oil, pepper and salt, and put her on low. Cut the onions into pieces and left them frying as I went back out to the garden and collected the last of the wild marjoram, oregano, chives, parsley and sage; added them to the onions, and in with the red pepper, the pine nuts, the basil, then the mince; and lastly the tins of tomatoes, and pesto.
Next I took the leavings of the chicken from the fridge, cut it into little pieces and boiled some water in the saucepan; in with the salt and pepper; added the onions, then the chicken and the juice of two oranges; and back out to the garden for wild thyme, more chives, parsley, celery leaves, and picked the final two carrots and one leek, and added all to the chicken, with a touch of turmeric.
The job was done. Dinner was ready.
I went on down with two portions for himself.
He was seated by the fire, his blue head high in the air, and he tearing at himself.
God give me patience, he said, but I’m destroyed. Do you see the other day?
Yes.
Well I could have died. Your Da looked in last night, and there he was first thing this morning, he has me haunted, and there I was – wanting to scratch – and not being able to scratch, if you know what I mean.
I do.
Did you see that?
I did.
I thought I’d die. There was mice darting up and down my trousers, and I couldn’t even go near them, Jesus!
He called me over with his forefinger.
Do you see my hair?
Yes.
My very hair is piercing me, and he nodded vehemently. Meeee, he said.
I’m sorry Joejoe.
Jesus.
Jesus, I said.
I’m destroyed, you hear, destroyed.
Can I not get you something?
There’s nothing for it. Nothing works.
There must be something.
No. And there’s something else I should add.
What’s that?
He pointed at the front door.
What’s that item over there?
It’s the front door…Grandda.
Exactly. I want to be always able to walk out my own front door. You hear?
– I hear you, Joejoe –
– Do you? –
– You’re shouting! –
– And so are you! –
– Please! –
– I do not want to be locked in –
OK.
I want in the…in the middle of the night to get the cool air on my skin. You see what I do each night?
What.
I step out through that there door at two in the morning in my skin and stand there in the rain. That is my comfort and no man is going to take that away from me. You hear?
I hear you.
He drew the nails of his hand down the lower part of his neck and then looked at his nails.
Jesus, he said. The pain, the pain. And you know what?
What Grandda?
While the earth remaineth…day and night shall not cease. Have you got that?
I have, I said.
He nodded and slowly smiled as if he was recognising someone from the past as I placed the soup and the pasta before him and he ate like the man doing the crossword. You are a good friend Mister Psyche, he said.
I rang Ma who was on night duty at the hospital.
Do you have anything for the itch?
There are certain creams.
Can you get me the best?
And who is it for?
Joejoe.
I thought so. Is he bad?
The worst.
It sounds like psoriasis. You know something – the very dogs he loves could be doing him a disfavour.
Can you get me something?
I will.
But don’t let on I told you.
I won’t, but why?
He thinks the itch is a sign.
A sign of what?
Dying.
I’ve heard that. Lots of the old folk believe that. But…
Yeh?
…Anyway.
Chat ya. It’s great to have a mother who is a nurse.
Ta Philip.
There was a faint knock on my door next morning and Ma came with the tube of cream.
This is the best stuff on the market, she whispered. Now what you do is rub it in, and change his clothes entirely afterwards. Clear the bed of sheets and pillow cases, and bring all them to me and we’ll give them a great wash OK? And here is a whole new set of
sheets and pillow cases. Your Da’s shirt, and underpants and vest and a clean pair of socks.
OK.
I had the breakfast and went down. He was sitting by the unlit fire in the dark kitchen with Timmy in his chair and Cnoic at his feet.
What do you want!
I have the cure.
Oh, is that so.
Yes Joejoe.
I have not slept in days, do you hear me.
Take off your clothes.
Right, he said.
And I’ll light the fire.
He took off his jacket, his shirt, his vest, his trousers, his socks, his underpants. And as he stood there nude I pumped the cream onto my palms. He stood erect and closed his eyes. I began with his scalp. Then his back. Then his neck, his waist, his arse, his knees, the backs of his legs. He turned in the half light. I did his neck, his chest, his stomach, his balls, his mickey, his elbows and lastly his knees again. Then I reached his feet, and was amazed to find that his toes were not old.
They were like a child’s.
He stood by the fire glistening.
He opened his eyes.
Are you still there, he whispered.
I am.
Ah good.
Wait till it dries in.
I will, I will.
And you can’t go back into the same clothes, I said.
Right, son.
I put on the kettle and filled a basin and washed and dried his hair.
He stood naked by the roaring fire as I dressed him in clean underpants, vest, socks and shirt, and a pair of trousers. I brought out his Christmas jacket. When he was dressed in his best, he sat into the chair. I put on the socks. He stepped into his shoes.
Man alive, he said, I never felt better.
I took all the old bedclothes and packed everything in a bag and then I made up a fresh bed with the new sheets and pillow slips.
I took the towel to his scalp again.
He got up and brushed his hair.
Are we going to a party? he asked.
Yes, Joejoe.
That’s better, he said, you have given me great peace son, then he went quiet and patted his forehead and wandered off into prayer.
The meal was lovely, especially the soup, said Ma.
There’s something wrong down in that house, said Da.
He is all right, I said.
No, he’s not all right, the whole thing is getting to him. I’ll go down and take a look.
He stepped off into the night.
Did you do the job, Ma whispered to me.
I did.
She threw Joejoe’s clothes into the washing machine.
Well now, what would ye like to do son?
I’d like a game of pool, I said, with my dear friend.
And so she collected Anna and drove us up to Mister John’s. We had two cans of cider, and Ma had a gin and tonic. When she went to pay for them, Mister John nodded at Frosty who was sitting alone in a chair.
His honour bought them.
Thank you sir.
No problem, Missis.
Anna broke, and knocked in a red, and tipped four more down in quick succession.
Do you like girls with caps, she asked me as I lined up for my shot.
I don’t know.
I was only asking.
I missed my shot on yellow and she won the game and Frosty clapped.
Don’t laugh, I said.
Why? asked Anna.
Never laugh if you can help it.
Never?
Never.
Can I smile, Jeremiah?
Yes, Lala.
You see I want to smile at you.
OK.
And she lined up the next game, as Ma did the Sudoku at the bar. Then Da stepped in.
I walked up.
Everything all right?
Fine, and he threw me a look, then bent his head and breathed out. As a matter of fact I have never seen Joejoe so peaceful. A pint of Smithwicks please, he said to Mister Sweet John.
As we were preparing for bed that night, the phone rang. After three rings, it stopped.
I’ll go down, I said.
I tipped down the lane on a wing and a prayer. The sky was peppered with stars. The half-moon had a rugged edge, and below was a cloud like a hawk rising. Then as the haze of cloud lifted the half-moon turned into the face of an old white bearded man looking up into the heavens. There was a candle fluttering in the bedroom window. I looked in. Joejoe was lying, the hands flat out each side of him, and his eyes glued to the ceiling. I sat down under the sill and watched the peninsula. What I thought of was suddenly sucked out of my head. While the earth remaineth day and night shall not cease.
After a while I heard him pull on the front door.
Then I heard my granduncle Joejoe shout.
It was a terrible roar.
Like the roar I heard once of a man going mad in a church. I was going to say something to him, then I stopped myself. I backed away and stood against the gable. The two dogs began barking into the night. Then all of a sudden without a stitch on him Joejoe stood at the gate waving his arms, then went in and closed the door without a sound, and climbed back into bed, and lay there, listening.
Chapter Forty-Five
The Second Fall
Next morning Da came running into the kitchen in the house.
C’mon, he said. I think we are in trouble.
What’s wrong?
He can’t open the door. Something is wrong.
We drove down to Joejoe’s. Da knocked.
Joejoe, he called.
I hear you, said my granduncle and his distant voice was thin and weary.
I came down to see you.
You’re welcome.
My father smiled oddly. And how are you? he asked through the door.
I’m fine.
Well let us in.
In a while, he said.
What are you saying?
In a while I said.
The father looked at me and went to the middle room window. He could see nothing. He tapped on the window.
Joejoe, he called.
Yes.
Will you let us in?
I’m trying son, he called, I’m trying.
Joejoe.
Dear God, I’m trying I said. I really am.
There’s something wrong, my father said. He bounced his shoulder off the front door but there was no give. He went to the window of the bedroom and brushed away the salt from the storm that had lashed the house.
He’s not in bed, he said.
He went to the kitchen at the back of the house and tried the back door. It was locked tight. He came back to the front door.
Uncle Joseph, he said.
Yes, said my granduncle and this time his voice was closer to us.
Where are you?
I’m in bed.
No you’re not.
Yes I am.
You’re not in the bed.
I am, and I’m trying to get up to let you in.
Joejoe, my father said, stay where you are.
All right.
Just stay there.
All right so, and his voice was disappearing.
I fear he’s down, said my father. He went back to the bedroom window and tried the sash. He got a stick and levered it between the jambs and the top of the window opened. He put his head in.
That bed has not been slept in, he said.
He turned to me.
Now, he said, it’s up to you.
I climbed up onto the sill and turned to the side and lifted one leg in; but I could not draw the rest of my body after it. So head first I went into the small window while Da held my two feet up and pushed me on bit-by-bit as I edged forward on the palms of my hands across the sill, making sure I did not slit myself with the window catch, then I reached onto the table, past the shaving gear and plaster cast of Jesus, and slowly I drew one foot in then the other and lay there.
I dropped to the floor and went int
o the middle room. Joejoe was lying on his back in a pool of piss between the doorway to the kitchen and the doorway to the bathroom. He was in his long johns. His brown eyes were wide open and he was staring at the ceiling. He had his hands wide open on the ground each side of him and he was trying to push himself up. I knelt down beside him.
Grandda, I said.
Atta boy, he said.
I let my father in.
Oh God, he said.
Joejoe went to get up.
Steady, Joejoe.
I’m all right son.
He came up into my father’s arms like a child. We settled him on an armchair by the dead fire. My father stood in the scullery with the kettle on as I took off the long johns. I washed his thighs and put on another pair of pants. His breath was like a glass of whiskey. Then I removed the fags and money from the old trousers and when I tried to put the money into the new trousers, he pushed what might have been couple of hundred euros into my hand. Take it, he whispered, and winked, I have no use for it.
As I was pulling down his shirt over an arm that was peppered with spots, Da came in and looked at Joejoe.
Are they sore? he asked.
Are what sore? Joejoe asked from within the shirt.
The bites.
Ah the cursed midges.
Yes.
Not any more, I got the cure, and his voice began racing. I’ve never known such peace in days.
Then his head fell forward and I grabbed him. And steered him back into the armchair. His two eyes were filled with terror.
Joejoe, I said, Joejoe.
My chin! My chin! he shouted. I’m cursed, Psyche.
Da lifted the phone and rang an ambulance.
Ballintra, he said, second last house by the sea, Feeney, Joejoe, then he gave the phone number. He rang Ma and whispered the news.
Slowly a small burst of power returned to Joejoe.
He whistled and clicked his tongue.
Where’s me dogs? he asked me, holding himself.
They must be out.
And how did they get out?
I don’t know.
They musta took them.
Who?
Those boys, and he sat up straight, go out and call.
I went outside and whistled but there was no sign. I looked down the beach but saw no dogs.
I came in the door. My father was building a fire. The kettle was boiling with a loud sound. My granduncle felt his head for his cap then he saw me.
Did you get them?
No.
He shook his head.
You whistled?
I did.
That dog Timmy has never once left my side.