—But the Rovers have always had a simple game plan. That’s how we all know what the next man on the team is thinking.
—Trouble is the opposition know as well. Maybe we need to vary things a bit. Keep them guessing. Maybe that’s why we haven’t won anything in fifteen years.
That was the bold James who spoke last. Silenced them for a while it did. Don’t think no young fella had ever spoken to these parish godeens like that before. The two senior players he said it to were Teesh and Snoozie. Anyhow Snoozie and Teesh sat quietly for a little while after what James said about tactics. I just sat there looking at them and I let a bit of spit fall out of my mouth and I looked where it landed on my lap and I gave it a good hard rub and then I jerked my head back up and looked at them again for a bit of notice. Teesh noticed.
—What do you think Gamal?
—Ha? About what?
—Well said Gamal! About what indeed!
—Come here to me Gamal, are you washing them water bottles at all or what?
—I am yeah, why?
—There’s a shitty oul’ taste off the water.
—Don’t mind him Gamal, in the name of God.
—I washes them with hot sudsy water after training every day.
—And do you wash the suds out of them?
—I do. I washes them with no sudsy water before I fill them with the cold water.
—Ha! By Christ Gamal, you’re a beaut’ if ever there was one. I washes them with no sudsy water! Ha!
—You wouldn’t find it in a comic!
—Good lad Gamal, you’re a good lad, and don’t let anyone ever tell ya any differ. I washes them with no sudsy water, ha?
They were in tears laughing. I likes to keep the opposition guessing too.
Then Snoozie disappeared into the house behind the bar for a bit. Anyhow he came out to the bar then again after a bit. Sent out by the father to make sure they didn’t get the hump and go drinking up the road.
—How. Are. Ye. Now?
—Nice shit Snoozie?
—Not. Too. Bad.
—Did you wash your hands with no sudsy water?
—No. Sudsy. Water! Ha? Doubt ya Gamal, boy!
— What do you think of what Prince William was saying about changing the way we play?
—Each. Man. To. His. Own. Ha?
—To his own, yeah!
—Dinky did all right in training didn’t he?
—He. Did. In. Fairness. Yeah.
—Good for us old farts as well. Keeps us on our toes.
—That’s. Right. It’s vital sure.
—Vital, yeah.
It’s Halloween. The 31st of October. No it isn’t. It’s the day after now. 00:44. But it was Halloween all day and this evening I could hear my mother telling children how scary they were and they calling to the door. My mother loves children. My father does too but he pretends not to cos he’s a man so he stayed in the sitting room reading the paper but every once in a while he’d pretend he was going into the kitchen to get something so he’d pass the hall so he could see the little children who called to the door being ghosts and monsters and witches.
—Lord God aren’t ye scary, he’d say.
—They’re very scary, my mother would say and she filling their bags with sweets.
The children never said anything. I think they were scared. This would be a good time to tell of a Halloween from when Sinéad and James and me were younger. Not that young though. About sixteen.
The older kids were always out trying to scare the life out of the trick-or-treaters. Usually it was twelve-year-olds scaring littler ones but Dinky and Racey and Teesh and Snoozie were still doing it well into their teens and me and Sinéad and James weren’t sure if we liked that so we came up with a plan. Music was one thing we had in common. Another thing we had in common was that we weren’t afraid of graveyards. Dinky and Racey and Teesh and Snoozie were planning a big fright for all the kids and had a hose set up from behind the school to drench them too. They wanted us to come but Sinéad and James said no. We were sixteen and Teesh and Snoozie were nineteen. Anyhow, I’m not sure how to make this dramatic cos it wasn’t really that dramatic at all. All we did was practised for a few nights in the castle. James took off the big brass cone-shaped speaker thing off the old gramophone in the library and Sinéad made this sound into it. James hammered the low keys on a xylophone really fast while Sinéad made the noise. It was a noise the like of you’d never really hear. In Ireland there’s a spirit called the Banshee. She was heard only by an unfortunate few at night-time and if you heard it, it meant that one of your relatives was going to die that night. If you saw it that was very unfortunate for you cos that meant the person going to die was you. The sound Sinéad made was a screeching howling mournful wail and you’d never think someone so pretty could make such a sound. You’d think only the Banshee could make that sound. James’ hammering on the low keys of the xylophone only made it all the stranger. It sounded like the most awful deathly sound and it made Dinky and Racey and Teesh and Snoozie run past the graveyard faster than they’d ever ran before or since. Snoozie’s father lost a good hose that night too cos they never went back to get it and never spoke a word of what happened since. We asked them if they went scaring the trick-or-treaters and they said no.
It’s the only sound Sinéad and James ever made that I don’t wish you could have heard. Myself and James were crying laughing straight away when we saw them scampering but Sinéad was committed to the performance and kept the howling screech going for about twenty seconds. Sinéad could hold her breath under water for nearly two minutes. She could outlast the fella who sang lovely day lovely day lovely day lovely daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay so the wail didn’t even test her.
Probably the only test ever for Sinéad was singing along with the Luke Kelly record of ‘Rocky Road to Dublin’. If you listen to Luke Kelly singing it it’s hard to think of where he might have stopped for breath but the people who were in the pub that it was recorded in swear blind that he drank a pint of Guinness and smoked a cigarette while he was singing it too. The performance of it was a lot of things and one of the things it was, was athletic. It tested Sinéad physically more than I ever seen any song do. I seen fellas trying to sing that song nowadays on the telly. Bunch of four of them it took to get through it. They had to take turns same as a fucking relay race.
10
Anyhow Racey was in a state and Sinéad wanted to go after her to calm her down but James stopped her saying think of all the children we’re saving from getting soaked to the skin. We watched them all passing up and down the road. The clueless little witches and ghouls. Some were ushered on by their older brothers or sisters whose mammies made them take out the little ones and look after them. Bored and embarrassed they were.
—It’s weird, isn’t it? Sinéad said.
—What is?
—Just like, the way . . . that like one time all the people who are buried here dressed up in little costumes and went trick-or-treating too. And all their grannies and granddads and all the other big people that saw them pretended to be spooked by them. Just for fun like. To make them happy and excited in their cute little ridiculous outfits. And they’re all dead now, the whole lot of them.
—It’s sad yeah.
—It’s kind of awesome too though isn’t it? Like . . . the honour of it. I hope they can hear us talking about them. I’m sure they can, Sinéad said. Her eyes filled up a small bit.
—Yeah I think so too, James said.
—What do you think Charlie?
—Dunno. I suppose they don’t mind either way.
It was getting late now and all the trick-or-treaters were in bed with bellies full of sweets.
James messed around quietly on the xylophone and Sinéad hummed softly. James had his old duffel coat around her.
—I think we should write a song for all those who lie here, Sinéad goes.
—OK, said James. Like an ode to life maybe or something.
—I suppose about things they wished they could’ve seen when they were alive.
—Yeah, like. Be cool to see how we look to dead people. The living like.
Went silent for a bit then. Could hear the odd car in the distance on the main road. Sinéad spoke then again.
—That was so funny, the kid complaining about the apples.
Earlier on we heard a little lad complaining to his companions and we’d a laugh.
—How many fucking apples have ye in yer bags? That old bitch gave me another two apples. Sure we’ve loads of fucking apples at home.
Anyhow Sinéad went on.
—People count everything, don’t they?
—I suppose, said James, and he still tapping quietly on the xylophone keys.
Sinéad sang quietly around James’ notes. She was guiding them. Coaxing them into her melody.
Count the hours that you sleep
Count the light years
—That’s nice, said James.
—What rhymes with sleep?
—Peep! Keep. Weep . . . deep.
—Keep playing that little tune a second.
Count the hours that you sleep
Count the light years there to here
—Cool.
—Maybe you could go up a bit at the end.
Sinéad hummed what she meant and James found it on the xylophone for her.
—Exactly that, said Sinéad.
There was the bones of a new song by the time we went away that night, whatever use it was to them or anyone else. It was one of the fairly shit ones.
I could get pages right now where she wrote down the words of that song. I have them. No good in them being in her room and the gardaí and her family going through them like any of it was their business. Detective Crowley found some of them in my room once. He goes,
—How did you get your hands on these?
—She gave them to me.
—I don’t think she did, he goes. Did you go to her house and take them out of her room?
—No, I said.
—Someone got into her room and took stuff when there was no one at the house.
One thing I didn’t like about Detective Crowley was the way he’d stare at you. He was fierce ignorant.
I’ve lots of bits now in my room in hiding places. Found an old newspaper with a picture of me in it. I was standing on the river bank looking out at the river. There was big writing on the page saying something not very nice about me but not saying I was a killer. And then under was the article. Bullshit isn’t it?
‘I think he was kind of obsessed with her,’ one local added. ‘He used to follow her around the place always. And when she was working in the pub he was the whole time there. It was unhealthy now to be honest, if you ask me like. I don’t know whether or which but it was unhealthy, that’s all I’m saying.’
Heard my mother that time telling my father that she thought it was Beatrice Coyle was after saying that cos she was a known backstabber and Norma Kelleher seen her talking to a stranger that looked like a journalist.
11
Saucis
Was weird the way music was to me then. When I think of it now I must have missed an awful lot of television for nothing except stupid songs. Programme on there today about all the different ways that animals see and smell and hear. Wondered if there was a better way of seeing than us humans have. Or do some people have a better way of seeing than other people? Some people are colour blind. Got on fine I suppose ’til they invented paint. When I taste an orange I wonder is it the exact same taste you get when you have one.
And saw a documentary about tribes. This old fella, the chief of the tribe told us all about the Saucis which is a kind of evil spirit that comes when people are asleep and sucks out their brain and their insides and replaces them with grass. Makes people evil and they cause other people around them to become sick or they can cause them to have no luck hunting for food. And the worst thing is they don’t even know the Saucis has come and sucked out their brain so they’re acting away all normal. It’s only certain gifted people in the tribe who can see that they’ve been paid a visit by the Saucis and they inform the others so they can kill them and eat them. He said that human flesh tastes just like something but I can’t remember what it was. I’d never heard of it anyhow.
But this chief said that he had the gift. He could tell. He’d got the tribe to kill and eat eleven people over the years. Some of them were from neighbouring tribes. Some from his own tribe.
Then they spoke to a fella of about thirty whose brother was visited by the Saucis and had to be killed. His girlfriend from a neighbouring tribe became sick and died and the leader of that tribe came and said that her boyfriend had been visited by the Saucis and would have to be killed and eaten. They had no option only to hand him over. There was tears in his brother’s eyes when he was describing his brother being taken away. Nice carry-on isn’t it?
The shit we know is unbelievable so it just shows you that half the bullshit we know is only so that we can feel right about living the way we do and truth don’t have much to do with it or about just as much as the Saucis sucking people’s insides out has to do with truth. I hope that sentence wasn’t too long and confusing for you. Sentences are a pain in the hole and that’s half the problem. Every word we ever invented and the ways we have to make them mean stuff is only there cos it made us live and feel right about the way we live. And all our clever words are really just the same as a dog barking when it comes to the truth. I seen Teesh in the pub yesterday cos I went in after a match with my father. Teesh was there like the whole parish just plain forgot what a cunt he is and he in the pub with other fellas having the craic and all I can see is monkeys grooming each other cos David Attenborough said once the stronger the alliances the longer they spend grooming and it’s the same with lads in the pub.
I first knew for sure there was evil in this world when I woke up in Snoozie’s house – I think Racey might have been there too or maybe she was above in the cot with Dinky or maybe she was with some other lad that night, they were always blowing hot and cold those two. Anyhow the rest of us were asleep in the living room of the house. I woke up anyhow and it was early. Probably about ten. The rest of them were still asleep. There was this documentary on and this woman was talking to the man. He was asking her about long ago when her little girl went missing. She was only ten years of age. And how the papers all thought her mother’s second husband had killed her or something. Later on then they caught Myra Hindley and whatever her man’s name was and this woman had to identify her child by the tape recording Myra Hindley and your man made when they were taunting her and torturing her and raping her and teasing her and she crying mad and calling out for her mammy the whole time. She had to listen to the tape that went on for sixteen minutes. The woman looked sixty about. Maybe older. Said all she wanted was to die. That’s all she’s ever wanted since she heard the tape and knew her little girl was dead and how she died. She just wanted to be dead and to be with her and she prayed every day for God to take her. Seemed unreal to me. I knew that no matter what happened in my life I’d never feel pain like that woman had. You’d wonder what has suffering got to do with pain. And how has the pain of one person got anything to do with the pleasure of another person. And can you feel other people’s pain?
Sadism
N. 1. psychol.; hurting others for sexual pleasure; the gaining of sexual gratification by causing physical or mental pain to other people, or the acts that produce such gratification 2. being cruel for fun; the gaining of pleasure from causing physical or mental pain to people or animals 3 cruelty; great physical or mental cruelty [Late 19thC. From French sadisme, named after the Marquis de Sade.]
Amazing some of the things people needed to invent words for.
Is there a part of everyone that likes to se
e people suffering? Like people who buy newspapers. I remember my cousin when I was small hitting me with a golf club and just looking at me when I was crying, like ’twas entertaining or something. Kids like to see other kids get in trouble in school. Makes small little smirks appear that they have to smother with the muscles of their cheeks. I seen it a million times. A pretty little girl had her face beaten with stilettos in some place in Europe by other girls so she would stop being pretty.
Anyhow I suppose after watching that programme that morning and the suffering of the girl’s mother and the evil of Hindley and your man, it changed the way I thought. Became watchful. Vigilant. Noticed more.
And maybe that’s when I started to realise that all the music stuff with Sinéad and James was only silly in the face of real life.
Sinéad and James and me we spoke about music. It wasn’t just listening to it or making it. Talking shit talk instead of getting on with our lives.
—Do you enjoy singing such a sad song and feeling so sad like? James goes one time in the library.
—Dunno. Kind of.
—Weird, isn’t it though?
—I suppose yeah. Don’t lose any sleep over it pet!
—Maybe it’s like a problem shared kind of thing maybe. Even when you’re on your own listening to it. It always comes from another, goes James.
—What about singing or playing a tune on your own?
—Oh yeah, said James.
There was silence for a bit while we were thinking, then Sinéad goes,
—Maybe there’s always a chance that someone will hear.
Sinéad went to the record player then and puts on a Sam Cooke record and she grabbed James and went dancing. ‘Twisting The Night Away’ was the song. One of her shoes fell off when they were spinning around the place. It was weird to see the sole of it worn just like an ordinary person’s shoes. At the end of the song they fell on the couch laughing and panting and the rhythm of their breathing was nice to listen to. Getting slower the whole time and the giggles coming and going until it was silence again except for the quiet crackle of the needle on the spinning record. I took the needle off the record then and then James goes,
The Gamal Page 15