by Roddy Doyle
He began to play.
–THU—CUDADUNG CUDADUNG CUDADUNG
THU—CUDADUNG CUDADUNG CUDADUNG
The horns:—DUUH—DU DUHH—
DUUH DU DUHH—DEH—
DU DU DUUH—Outspan and Derek followed that.—DONG CADDA DONG CADDA DONG CADDA DONG—
The horns:—DUUH—DU DUHH—DUUH DU DUHH—DEH—
DU DU DUUH—
–OOH WHEN YEH FEE—IL LIKE YEH CAN’T GOGH ON—
The Commitmentettes:—CAN’T GO OHON—
–JUST COS ALL O’ YOUR HOPE IS—
GOHON
–Ah fuck! Wha’ now?
–Me string’s gone again, said Outspan.
–Fuck you an’ your string.
–Stay cool, said Joey The Lips.
* * *
There was a little saxophone in each corner of the poster.
–Saturday, 24 March, it said across the top.—In The Community Centre, The Hardest Working Band In The World, The Saviours Of Soul, The Commitments. Admission: £2. (Unwaged: £1). Bringing The People’s Music To The People.
* * *
–I hate him, said Billy.
–We all do, for fuck sake, said Jimmy.
–Really, I mean.—I really hate him.
–We all do, I’m tellin’ yeh.—Enough to kill him?
–Maybe not tha’ much.
–I’d fuckin’ kill him. I fuckin’ would.
–Who’d do the singin’ then?
–Good thinkin’.
* * *
–It’s a pity we don’t do anny songs of our own, isn’t it? said Outspan, during a break.
–Yeah.
–A song belongs to no man, said Joey The Lips.—The Lord holds copyright on all songs.
–Me arse, said Outspan.
–We have the Dublin bits, said Derek.
–True.
* * *
–We’ll need a Brother to do the mix, said Joey The Lips.
–We have one, said Jimmy.
–Who?
–Me.
–Good good.
–Wha’ do you know abou’ it? said Outspan.—Fuck all, said Jimmy.—But I got an honour in science in me Inter.
* * *
Deco had bought his suit. He bought the shirt and bow on the Thursday before the gig. The other Commitments managed to get into town to hire their suits.
Joey The Lips got one of his dress suits dry-cleaned. Dean crawled in under his bed and found the one he’d flung under there. He soaked the jacket till the muck was nearly all gone. Then he brought it down to the cleaners.
Black shoes were polished or bought or borrowed.
* * *
Friday was a dress rehearsal.
Joey The Lips was already dressed when The Commitments got there.
–Oh my Jaysis, Joey, wha’! said Outspan.
–Yeh look like Dickie Davis, said Dean.
–I don’t know the dude, said Joey The Lips.—But I accept the compliment. Thank you, Brother.
–Yeh look gorgeous, Joey, said Imelda.
–Joey? said Outspan.—How do yeh get your hankie to go like tha’? I can’t get mine like tha’.
Joey The Lips let the girls into the kitchen to change. The lads changed in the garage. There was a lot of slagging of underpants and so on. None of them played football so it was a good while since they’d dressed in this way. They enjoyed it.
–Jaysis, look at those skid marks.
–Fuck off.
–Come here till I ride yeh, yeh lovely young fella, yeh.
–Fuck off, will yeh.
–Where’s it gone? said Outspan.
–Wha’?
–Me knob.—I could’ve sworn I tucked it into me sock before I came ou’.
James joined in the crack too.
–Do yeh know wha’ the Latin is for tha’ weapon yeh have on yeh there?
The small door to the kitchen was knocked.
–Can we come in? Imelda asked.
The lads cheered, and thumped and kicked each other.
Deco cupped his crotch in both hands (although one could have done) and roared:—I’ve a bugle here yeh can blow on, ’melda.
–Fuck yourself, Natalie roared.
–Jaysis, Cuffe, take it easy. For fuck sake!
–I’ve an arse here yeh can kiss, Imelda shouted back from behind the door.—Can we come in?
–No.
–Enter, Sisters.
–Well, we’re comin’.
Deco cheered.
Imelda was first (—Good fuck!), then Natalie (—Fair fuckin’ play to yis, girls), then Bernie.
–I’m scarleh, said Bernie.
The girls were stunning; very tight black skirts to just above the knee with an extension at the back so they could walk, black sleeveless tops, hair held up, except the fringe, as near to the Ronettes as they could manage, black high heels, loads of black eye shadow, very red lipstick.
They were blushing.
Joey The Lips applauded.
Jimmy spoke.—Well, as James says, It don’t mean nothin’ without a woman or a girl.
–I never said tha’, said James.
–James Brown, yeh dick.
The girls admired the suits. There was lots of giggling and redners.
Joey The Lips did their breast pocket hankies for them.
One of Billy’s trouser legs was longer than the other.
–Ah, fuck tha’, he said.
He looked very disappointed.
–You’ll be behind the drums.
–They’ll still see me legs.
–I’ll fix it up for yeh tomorrow, said Natalie.
–Will yeh?—Thanks.
They played better in the suits. They were more careful, and considerate. Deco’s suit seemed to pin him more to one spot. This was good. In his track-suit he hopped around the garage and got in the way and on the nerves. Dean swapped jackets with Jimmy. (—Why have you got a suit? Outspan asked Jimmy.
–Soul is dignity, said Jimmy.
–This is a great fuckin’ group, said Outspan.—I must say. Even the skivvies wear fuckin’ monkey suits.
–I’m no skivvy, said Jimmy.—I’m your fuckin’ manager, pal.
–An’ don’t you forget it, said James.
–Fuckin’ righ’, said Jimmy.) There was more room in Jimmy’s jacket so Dean could still lift the sax up high. Billy didn’t knock over any drums.
Joey The Lips showed Jimmy how to use the mixer.
–So all I have to do is push these lads up or down a bit when the sound’s a bit gammy?
–That’s correct, said Joey The Lips.
–That’s great, said Jimmy.—There’s nothin’ to it. Anny fuckin’ dope could do tha’. I might even pull a few birds this way, wha’. Wha’ d’yeh think? Blind them with science, wha’.
–It works, my man.—It works.
They finished early, got back into their civvies, and went for a drink.
* * *
Kick-off was at half-seven.
The Commitments said they’d meet at the hall at six. Jimmy was there at five, his dress suit hidden by a snorkel jacket he hadn’t worn since he’d left school.
Billy arrived soon after with Dean. Billy had his van from work. They got the gear out but they left Joey The Lips’ mother’s piano in the van until some more arrived to help them.
At half-five the caretaker appeared out of a door beside the stage.
–Wha’ do youse want? the caretaker asked.
He saw the drums.
–That’s not the bingo stuff.
–There’s no bingo tonigh’, pal, said Jimmy.
–It’s Sahurday but, said the caretaker.
He took his Press out of his jacket pocket and looked at the date.
–Yeah.—Sahurday.
Jimmy explained.—Hopa—The fella tha’ calls the numbers is in hospital so Father Molloy said we could have the hall for the nigh’.
–He told me nothin’ abou’ it,
said the caretaker.—So yis can take your bongos off o’ the stage there an’ the rest o’ your tackle with it an’ get ou’. As far as I’m concerned there’s bingo tonigh’. Until I’m officially told otherwise.
–Why don’t yeh go across an’ ask him? said Jimmy.
Father Molloy’s house was right across the road.
–I will not, said the caretaker.—It’s not my job to go across an’ ask him.
–Wha’ is your job? Billy asked.
–I’m the caretaker, said the caretaker.
–You’re not very good at it, are yeh? said Billy.—The state o’ the place.
–Shut up a minute, Billy, said Jimmy.—Look.—If I go across to Father Molloy will tha’ do?
–Yis’ll have to get your gear ou’ first. I want nothin’ in here till I’m officially informed.
Jimmy looked at Billy and Dean.
They started to gather the drums.
–It’s our church collection money goes to pay your wages, Billy told the caretaker.
–I wouldn’t get very far on the money you’d put in the collection, so I wouldn’t, said the caretaker.
–Well, yeh’ll be gettin’ tenpence less from now on.
–Make tha’ twenty, said Dean.
–That’s no problem, said the caretaker.—I put in fifty meself. I’ll oney put in thirty from now on.
They were beginning to like each other. The caretaker carried two mike stands for them.
–It’s a cushy one, I’d say, is it? said Billy.
–Wha’?
–Your job.
–Oh, it is alrigh’, the caretaker admitted.—I do fuck all to be honest with yeh. I watch a few women polishin’ the floor on Tuesdays. An’ I put ou’ the chairs for the bingo. An’ I open the windows to get rid o’ the smell o’ the footballers. That’s abou’ it.—Mind you, the pay’s useless.
–I s’pose so, said Billy.
He took a cigarette from the packet the caretaker held out.
–The soccer fellas are much smellier than the gaelic ones, said the caretaker.—I think it’s because the soccer mammies don’t wash their gear as much.
–The gaelic mas would all be culchies, said Dean.—They’re always washin’ clothes.
–That’s very true, said the caretaker.—Will yis be wantin’ the chairs ou’?
–No, said Billy.—It’s stand-up.
–That’ll be great, said the caretaker.—I’ll sneak home for Jim’ll Fix It. Yis’ll be alrigh’ by yourselves for a while.
Jimmy came back.
–Father Molloy says it’s alrigh’.
–That’s great, said the caretaker.—I’ll give yis a hand to bring your stuff back in.—D’yeh think I could have a go on the drums?
–No problem.
–I’ll show yeh me saxophone, said Dean.
–Oh lovely.
The rest of The Commitments began to arrive.
Joey The Lips and Bemie arrived together, holding hands. Bemie had a crash helmet.
–What’s the fuckin’ story there? Outspan asked.
–Mind your own business, you, said Imelda.
–Tha’ chap’s a little rabbit, said Outspan.
–Wha’ would you know abou’ it? said Natalie.
–I was thinking there, Brother Jimmy, said Joey The Lips.
The girls were in the caretaker’s room, changing. The caretaker had gone off home. The lads were sitting or shuffling around the stage, excited, nervous and uncomfortable.
–We need the hard men, bouncers.
–That’s all organized, said Jimmy.
–How? Derek asked.
–Mickah Wallace is goin’ to do the door for us.
–Oh, good fuck! said Outspan.
He had a small scar on his forehead, courtesy of Mickah Wallace.
–Tha’ cunt! He’ll fuck off with the money.
–He won’t, said Jimmy.—Mickah’s alrigh’.
–He’s a fuckin’ savage, said Derek.
–Who is he? said Deco.
–Wha’ is he, yeh mean, said Outspan.
–He got fucked ou’ o’ our school, righ’, Derek told them,—because he beat the shi’e ou’ o’ the Dean o’ Girls.—Girls! He kicked her up an’ down the yard when she snared him smokin’ an’ she tried to take the pack off o’ him.
–See tha’?
Outspan thought he was pointing to his scar but his finger was on the wrong side.
–He done tha’. Fucked a rock at me durin’ a match. He was the goalie an’ I oney had him to beat, the cunt. An’ he fucked the rock at me.
–Jaysis!
–I still scored though.
–Yeh didn’t, said Derek.
–I fuckin’ did.
–Yeh were offside.
–I fuckin’ wasn’t.
–Fuck up, youse, said Jimmy.—Tha’ was years ago. We were all fuckin’ eejits then.
Outspan wasn’t finished yet.
–He got up on the roof o’ Mountjoy when he was in there cos the other guy in his cell had AIDS an’ he thrun slates down at the screws.
–That’s not true, said Jimmy.
–It is.
–Yeh just said it was him.
Jimmy explained to the rest.
–It was on the News. Some tossers up on the roof. An’ Outspan just said one o’ them was Mickah.
–I recognized him.
–They had their jumpers wrapped round their faces.
–I recognized his jumper.
–Fuck off.—He’s doin’ bouncer an’ that’s it. He’ll be grand.
–Who else? Derek asked.
–We won’t need annyone else, said Jimmy.—Nobody’s goin’ to act the prick with Mickah here.
James spoke.—Mickah’s okay.
–How would you know?
–I meet him a lot.—He lent me a few books.
–Yeh still read Ladybird books, do yeh? said Outspan.
–Don’t let Mickah hear yeh sayin’ tha’, said Jimmy.
–Let us tune up, Brothers, said Joey The Lips.
The girls came out.
–Yis rides, yis, said Deco.
He stuck his tongue out at them and jiggled it.
–Fuck yourself, said Natalie.
The male Commitments changed.
It was seven o’clock. The caretaker came back.
–Suits, he said.
–Yeah, said Jimmy.
–Monkey suits.
–D’you approve?
–Oh, very nice. It’s a long, long time since I seen a band all dressed the same.
He went over to the girls.
–I know your daddy, he said to Imelda.
–So? said Imelda.
She raised her eyes to heaven.
–You’re just like him, said the caretaker.—A cheeky little fucker.
Mickah Wallace arrived.
–How’s it goin’, Mickah, said Outspan.
–Alrigh’, said Mickah.—An’ yourself?
–Alrigh’.
–Guitar, wha’.
–Yeah.
–Are yis anny good?
–Alrigh’.
–The best, said Jimmy.
The ones not from Barrytown studied Mickah. He wasn’t what they’d expected; some huge animal, a skinhead or a muttonhead, possibly both. This Mickah was small and wiry, very mobile. Even when he was standing still he was moving.
–I haven’t a bad little voice meself, yeh know, Mickah told Jimmy.—Give us tha’, please, pal.
He took Deco’s mike. Deco stood back.
–Don’t worry, said Mickah.—Your job’s safe.
He bashed the mike into his forehead.
–That’s a good strong mike, tha’. Quality’s very rare these days.
He tapped the mike.
–Testin’ one two, testin’. Time now, ladies an’ gentlemen, plea—ese.
He tapped again.
–An’ it’s Ben Nevis comin’ in on the stand side, Lester’s ou’ o’
the saddle. Come on, Ben Nevis, come on, come on.—Shi’e! He’s fallen over an’ croaked.
They were afraid to laugh.
–Now I’ll sing for yis.
He coughed.
–RED RED—
WIY—
YUN—
STAY CLOSE TO—
ME—
EE YEAH—
Wha’ comes after tha’?
He gave the mike back to Deco.
–Howyeh, James, he said.—Did yeh read tha’ one I gave yeh?
–I’m halfway through it.
–It’s better than Catch 22, isn’t it?
–I don’t think so, Mickah.
–Fuckin’ sure it is, said Mickah.—How much in, Jimmy?
–Two lids.
–Tha’ all? Yis mustn’t be anny good.
–Time will tell, Brother, said Joey The Lips.
–It told on you annyway, pal, said Mickah.
He was noticing Joey The Lips for the first time.
–The fuckin’ state of yeh.
Imelda laughed.
Bernie stared her out of it.
–Can we come in?
A small boy stood at the door.
–No, Mickah shouted down to him.
–When?
–When I say so. Now shut the fuckin’ door.
Mickah jumped off the stage. He landed in front of the caretaker, back in a clean shirt.
–I need a table, son, said Mickah.
Mickah and the caretaker took the table to the door. They sat behind it. Jimmy drew the stage curtain, a manky red thing. The Commitments took turns at peeking through it into the hall. The caretaker got an empty tin for the money.
–Righ’, said Mickah.
He slipped down in his chair and stretched so he could swing the door open with his foot.
–Get in here, he shouted.
There were about twelve of them outside, all kids, brothers and sisters of The Commitments, and their friends.
The caretaker took the money. Mickah laid down the rules as each of them passed the table into the hall.
–Anny messin’ an’ I’ll kill yeh, righ’.
–I’ve oney a pound, said one boy.
The caretaker looked to Mickah.
–Let him in, said Mickah.
Jimmy was standing behind them.
–How long are yis on for? Mickah asked him.
–Abou’ an hour.
–I’ll throw him ou’ after half, said Mickah.