The Gamal

by Ciarán Collins

  Does that make James good? I dunno. I wonder what has goodness got to do with fear.

  Do you know what? Maybe James just wanted to fit in. The odd kick in the face sure or stab in the back was a small price. Dunno. I wonder what has fear got to do with charity? Or what has admiration got to do with envy? Or what has pity got to do with disdain?

  Followed

  I was followed around by people once. People and photographers. People who wrote in newspapers. People who wrote hints. Who had ways of saying things that wasn’t saying it at all. Or sometimes they’d say a lot of things so that you’d be left thinking about what they didn’t say or what they couldn’t say.

  An dubh

  An dubh is on me today. Dubh means black. An means the. Not too bad today but bad enough. I’m not crying like a baba no more these days. Not everyday anyhow. That’s when I started coming out of it first really. When I started crying all the time. Before that I was made of stone for a long time. Think of stuff sometimes though all the time. I mean like sometimes I can think of nothing else. Absolutely nothing else. Not even like eating or drinking or washing or dressing or answering the mother. Makes me feel like I’m dead. And my eyes water a bit still for no reason. And the nightmares. I get nightmares sometimes when I’m awake. Sorrows notice me.

  People

  Some people don’t care about other people.

  Matches

  Today I bought fourteen boxes of matches. They were three euro fifty cents. I counted all the matches. Then I did it again. Then a third time just to make sure. Then I went outside and burned them all. First, one by one. Then I did it box by box. I needed something to keep my brain occupied. ’Twas at me. And I liked watching them burn.

  Sisters

  Sinéad’s skin was darker than her sisters’. She didn’t look one bit like them. She didn’t act like them either. They didn’t have her spark. But sure I suppose no one I ever met did.

  Whispering

  Dinky and Teesh were doing a lot of whispering in her ear once. They knew she was vulnerable isn’t it? But forget about it until we come to that part.

  Ice It

  ’Twas the first and last time anyone ever saw James cry. Except for me. But I seen more than anyone. Anyhow he was in fifth class. The second last year of primary school when you’re about ten or eleven. Master Coughlan picked the teams for lunchtime. As daft a pair of teams that was ever picked by a schoolteacher. All the good players on one team. All the poor useless lads on the other, except for James. James started to protest, ‘Ah but sir?’ ‘What?’ said Coughlan, looking at him as if he was all puzzled and all. ‘Nothing,’ was all James could say cos he realised that he couldn’t say, ‘Why are you putting me in with all the shit fellas?’ And Coughlan knew he would never have it in him to insult the useless fellas like that. Every goose that tried to play football was with James. He told them where to play, and took up the midfield slot himself. I was up on the big oak tree keeping an eye on proceedings like I always did.

  James took them on. All on his own he took on the other team. Racing forward and racing back. Scoring. Stopping scores. Intercepting. Spoiling. Catching. Blocking. Scoring again. He looked like a man among boys. In the middle of the second half though he stormed off the pitch with the tears streaming down his face. The game stopped inevitably, cos no one on his team could even kick a ball out of their own way, let alone get a score. James went straight for the jacks and locked the door. Dinky and Gregory, the Master’s son, and the rest of them followed, waiting at the door asking, ‘What’s wrong James?’ letting on like they were all concerned and all, and puzzled and all, ‘James are you OK?’ they were asking. Master Coughlan stayed out on the pitch and had a smoke for himself for a while. Eventually James came out of the jacks holding his shoulder. He said he thought he might have dislocated it. But that was the greatest bullshit you ever heard. And the lads knew that. And James knew they knew that there was feck-all wrong with his shoulder. And Coughlan knew, even when he held James’ arm aloft and watched James’ fake grimaces. ‘You gave it a good jolt all right James lad. You’ll have to ice it at home. The ligaments got stretched. But you’ll be fine.’

  So Master Coughlan and the lads and James himself partook in this great farce about an injury that never happened. Well an injury to the body didn’t happen anyhow. James would go on to have many injuries in his future playing career, but looking back on it, the injury that happened to him that day was the worst of them all. Up on the tree by the sideline I could hear the jibes of the other players as he lorded it over them against all the odds. But most of all I could see their faces. Their eyes. They were all ganging up. Little wolves. Brought together by something they didn’t even understand. They were out for blood. Poor James was confused that day. I wasn’t one bit confused. He’d come face to face with the animal. That made him fear for his young life. Even though that day his life was never remotely in danger. But if there was a sign of things to come that was it.

  He was a quiet boy in class that afternoon. And Coughlan didn’t ask him nothing either. Just let him stare out the window for the whole afternoon without as much as opening a book. Looking out at the sun sending waves of heat spiralling off the soft tarmac. Looking out at the basketball ring with the no net. Looking at the small goals and the square with no grass left. Looking out across the road up at the Catholic church steeple rising high above the Protestant one in the distance. Looking at the faded lines of the basketball court. Looking out at the field where the smallies play football at the front of the school.

  Truth is I don’t know what James saw when he looked out that window that sunny June afternoon. I don’t know cos I’m not him. All I’m saying is that he looked out there. What did he see? What was he thinking? Your guess is as good as blahdeblah. I’d say there’s a good chance he wished he was only a middling kind of a player anyhow. Or maybe he was just wishing Sinéad was in school that day. Sinéad missed a lot of school on account of her helping out at home.

  After school he laughed and joked with the lads, same as usual. And explaining that he got this shock up through his arm that was the sorest thing he’d ever felt in his life. The lads nodded, looked at each other and looked away. Dinky told him he should definitely ice it when he got home.

  Not So Good

  I can’t remember what I was thinking about. I remember now. Hard to explain. It’s like in the nature programmes. And the cameraman watching the poor small animal being killed by the lion or tiger. The deer say or whatever. And he’s waiting the cameraman is. And he knows what’s going to happen. And he doesn’t stop it. Cos it’s nature’s way. And that’s how he’s telling the story. By letting it happen. Showing us. Except in my story it isn’t some stupid deer or whatever like. If it was a deer I wouldn’t give a fuck. I wouldn’t care cos I’d say it’s nature’s way. But if it was nature’s way that the people died that died. Then things aren’t so good. They’re just not so good like isn’t it?

  Sometimes

  Sometimes I think I’m like the cameraman who let it happen. Other times I know I’m not. I didn’t let nothing happen. And I did nothing. I know it. Swear to God.

  Ancient History

  You’d think ancient history is ancient history. It isn’t. Not in Ireland anyhow.

  A Desperate Hammering

  Fella in Four Crosses got a desperate hammering in the pub there one night by a fellow who was beaten up by his father sixteen years before. Fellas have a memory when it comes to blood isn’t it? When it suits them they have anyhow.

  Walking

  I think I might go for a walk. I walk around a lot now. It’s one of my favourite things always. It could have been along a dirty dark street or along The Long Strand. The longest nicest beach in the world. I wouldn’t care either way. I’d like it just the same.

  Secondary school was a bit embarrassing at the start for me. I got a special needs assistant. That’s some grown-up who the government pays to wipe my hole and tie my laces like I wasn�
��t able to look after myself in school. You see they changed the law so now fellas like me had to have a hippy with them in school. And the one I had was the biggest pain in the hole anyone every met. All We fucking this and We that.

  —And if we’re not engaging Charlie we don’t make progress. And if we don’t make progress Charlie we don’t reach our potential. Each child has a right under the law to reach their potential. That’s why I’m here Charlie but we must engage if we’re to succeed.

  Like most people I ever met in my life, I never spoke one word to her. But of all the people I never spoke to, she replied the most. On and on and on. Only time she’d stop talking and coaching me from her bollicksology textbook was to take a bite of some fucking celery or raw carrot or a drink of water from her glass bottle with the rubbery top. Longest few weeks of my life it was with that one following me around the place in case I’d fucking trip over myself. She had a fucking clipboard with her always in case anyone would find out that she did sweet fuck all. In the end she went to the principal about me not engaging. The principal got her helping other fellas with their reading and sums but I still had to meet her once a week so she could fill in her report and lie about my engagement and progress so she’d get to keep her job and could buy her celery.

  But I was left alone eventually and she was given the road after first year off to some other poor bollicks some place else. No one ever mocked me cos of James being around. I wasn’t in all of James and Sinéad’s classes cos they were doing honours English and Maths and Irish and them subjects were split up into different levels. I hated being without them. Even other girls that weren’t Sinéad made me puke with their sucking up to the boys and trying to be popular with them.

  Only girl I thought was kinda nice was Julie. She liked to dance. Her mother taught ballet and music and cleaned the school in her spare time. Julie was hippyish looking and walked tall. Sinéad hadn’t really met anyone like her and they became good friends in first year. Sinéad started wearing hippyish scarves and didn’t bother with make-up. Racey and the others would be covered in make-up. They’d go to the toilet together to be touching it up. But Julie never bothered with that. Neither did Sinéad. Julie made it easier for Sinéad to be not doing stuff that Racey and them were doing.

  But then before the holidays they moved away and Sinéad never saw her again. And neither did we. Cos they moved to Australia. So then Sinéad just tagged along with Racey and the other girls then instead.

  I remember Dinky long ago when we were in first year and we’d get off the bus in Ballyronan after a day’s school and we’d all go home but Dinky would follow James back to the castle to be hanging around with him. James said to Sinéad that he doesn’t help him doing his jobs, he just sits there watching and talking. The castle was rebuilt by then but James always had lots of jobs to be doing in the garden and stuff.

  When he was finished his jobs then Dinky would follow him in and he’d join the Kents for the dinner. His mother used to joke that they should just adopt him. James’ father would send him up to do his homework then and Dinky would have to go home. James would be glad to be rid of him by then I think. That’s the impression I got anyhow, not that James ever said it. James would ring Sinéad most nights. Until she was old enough to be allowed to call up herself. That didn’t happen until they were about sixteen. She’d call up in the evening time. Sometimes they’d do the homework together and I’d be putting on records for them. In the library in the castle. I might tell you more about it later. Yeah I will. I loved the library more than any place else ever. They had a record player in the library and my mother had tonnes of records that I used to bring up. I used to walk up with Sinéad a lot of the time. We’d just be listening to music mainly and they’d be working on songs too. They made up songs. The tunes of them and the words of them. That kind of bored Dinky so he stopped coming up then. He started hanging around a bit with the older lads. Especially with Teesh and Snoozie. Licking their holes.

  Dr Quinn says I’ve to introduce my secondary characters properly before I say another word about Sinéad and James and the library and their music or anything else cos I’m making a bollicks of the story. He told me who the secondary characters are. They are Dinky, Snoozie, Racey and Teesh. This is a description of each of them and their ages. I wrote out their names ten times so you can read it out loud ten times and get to know the names and know which is which. Plus it’s words for my story. Fifty.

  Dinky = a rotten cunt. Male human. Same age as Sinéad and James. Dinky. Dinky. Dinky. Dinky. Dinky. Dinky. Dinky. Dinky. Dinky. Dinky.

  This is Dinky’s nose.

  I’ll let the secondary characters introduce themselves from the court transcripts. This is Dinky in court.

  Dinky’s Evidence

  —Could you tell the court please, are you Denis Hennebry?

  —Yes.

  That’s Dinky’s real name.

  —And you reside with your parents at 43 Main Street, Ballyronan. Is that correct?

  —Yes.

  —And when did you first get to know Sinéad?

  —I went to school with her. Primary school. And secondary school. I’ve known her through my whole life really.

  —I see. And how about James?

  —The same like. He joined our class in primary school when they moved to Ballyronan.

  —By ‘they’ do you mean the Kents?

  —Yes.

  —James and his mother and father, is it?

  —Yes.

  —Sinéad and James entered into a relationship with each other sometime in their teenage years, is that correct?

  —Ahm. Into a relationship yes. They were always together like. The two of them were always hanging around, even in primary school but they were in secondary school then and they started going out like.

  —Were either of them ever in a relationship with anybody else while in secondary school?

  —In secondary school no. They were only with each other then.

  —I see. And tell me this, Denis, please, if you wouldn’t mind. Were you ever fond of Sinéad during this time?

  —No. Like what do you mean fond? She was sound like. We were friends. Everyone was fond of Sinéad like.

  —Did you ever have stronger feelings for her while she was going out with James?

  —Ahm . . . no like. Not like that, no.

  —Did you ever want to be in a relationship with her at the time?

  —No. I didn’t, no.

  —Your parents are quite friendly with Sinéad’s parents, aren’t they?

  —They are, yeah. Well, my father anyhow. Her father and my father went to school together and they worked together in the precast yard once like. Started on the same day.

  —Did you ever feel that it might have been nice for them if you and Sinéad had been a couple?

  —No, like. It didn’t come up like. Cos she was always with James. As far back as anyone can remember.

  —Isn’t it true that your father used to tell you that Sinéad was the girl for you?

  —Who told you that?

  —Answer the question please, Denis.

  —He might have said it like, and I growing up like, just like half messing like.

  Langer

  They called Dinky Dinky cos he’s supposed to have a small langer like your baby finger. They started calling him Dinky when he got the trials for the divisional side. They were having a joke calling some fella who was hung like a donkey Truncheon when one of the lads points at poor Dinky and calls him Dinky. The name stuck like a fly to cowshit.

  By the way for anyone who’s not from Ireland a langer is a willy. A penis. But it can mean dickhead or idiot or fool or wanker or a generally disliked fella. Can mean drunk too. But always a fella.

  —Ya fucking langer.

  —What a langer.

  —You’re some langer.

  —What kind of a langer are you?

  —Drank fourteen pints last night, I was fucking langers.

  �
��You’re a fucking useless langer.

  —You may as well be at home playing with your langer.

  —You’re an awful langer.

  —The stupid langer forgot his ticket.

  —Bit of a fucking langer, you are, aren’t ya?

  —You’re only a langer, you.

  —Langer.

  Langur

  N. a slender, leaf-eating monkey of Southeast Asia with a long tail, bushy eyebrows, and a chin tuft. Genus: Presbytis. leaf monkey [Early 19th C. Via Hindi langûr from Sanscrit langula ‘having a tail’.]

  Long ago when the Irish were poor as fuck they went off to fight the wars for England for a few quid. But one of them wars was in India and they had a type of monkey called the langur so when the war was over the lads who lived came back to Cork calling each other langers. Nowadays if you’re out of favour in Cork you’re a langer. Anyhow sorry I went off track there. Yeah so James would have been there at the divisional trials as well. James and Dinky were only young lads of seventeen. The other lads were all in their twenties. James was the only one in Ballyronan that never called Dinky Dinky.

  Dinky

  Adj. small and compact; small and compact or neat (informal). N. S African; beverages; a small bottle of wine; usually containing 250ml (informal) [Late 18th C. Formed from Scots dialect dink ‘finely dressed, trim’, of unknown origin. The original sense was ‘neat, dainty’.]

  When he was in primary school Dinky’s head was always looking around. Not out of interest in people but out of fear of them. Dinky thought that if people didn’t like him they’d kill him. He was canvassing always for people to be liking him. Balancing things up always.

  Snoozie = a stupid cunt. Male human. Three years older. Snoozie. Snoozie. Snoozie. Snoozie. Snoozie. Snoozie. Snoozie. Snoozie. Snoozie. Snoozie.

  This is Snoozie’s eyes.

  Snoozie’s Evidence