The Gamal

by Ciarán Collins

  —Who’s the Little Rascal?

  —Oh. He’s a travelling musician. Used to come around to all the pubs. Singing like. Young fella like. From Four Crosses. Worked in a building site in Ballyronan too.

  —And he lived in Four Crosses, did he?

  —Yeah. Sinéad liked him like.

  —When you say she’d been with him, do you mean she had sexual intercourse with him?

  —Yes.

  —How do you know she did?

  —Everyone knows it.

  —Yes but how?

  —It came out one night in Roundy’s. That’s the pub.

  —Yes.

  —It just came out. Little Rascal said it.

  —Said what?

  —That like, he’d had sex with her in the toilets.

  —And was Sinéad there when he said this?

  —Yes.

  —And did she admit it?

  —No. She pretended she didn’t know what he was on about. Then he made reference to her birthmark.

  —What birthmark? I know this is difficult. But it’s important that we get the facts.

  —The Little Rascal said he could prove it. That he’d seen her birthmark. Said it was in the shape of a V. A line of dots in the shape of a V on the inside of one of her thighs.

  —And what did Sinéad say?

  —Well she started crying. James was there and he heard the whole thing. She denied it. She started calling the Little Rascal a liar. Then she said he raped her.

  —I see. Do you think people believed her?

  —No. Sounded made up like . . . to save face in front of her boyfriend, and everyone else I suppose.

  —I see. What happened then?

  —Well, Teesh and a few of the lads said she’d want to be careful about making accusations of rape. That that wasn’t right.

  —Yes.

  —She was hysterical. Someone dragged Rascal away and James escorted Sinéad out of the pub. By the next day he’d broken it off with her.

  —Broken it off?

  —Ended their relationship. James went back to Dublin then. He was in college in Dublin.

  —Yes. I see.

  Didn’t happen just like that. James gave her an ultimatum to either go to the gardaí about the rape or else it was over. She said there was no way of proving it and the Rascal was gone to Spain so there was no point. She just wanted to forget about it. James said he was going to kill him and Sinéad said not to and he couldn’t understand why Sinéad just didn’t want him dead. But Sinéad just didn’t want James getting in trouble with the gardaí. And she didn’t want anyone knowing. She asked James what his father would think. He didn’t understand why that was important to her. James asked me if I’d ever heard Sinéad use the word slapper before. I said no. He said it was weird hearing Sinéad use that word. She said to him that everyone would think she was a slapper if she went to the gardaí about it.

  Was sad that night anyhow, what I seen.

  —Sinéad. Sinéad, James said.

  She didn’t answer him.

  —Sinéad. Babe. Sinéad. Sinéad.

  It was like he was trying to revive a dying woman. A dying spirit.

  —Sinéad. Sinéad. Can you hear me babe? Sinéad.

  I had to turn around cos the tears started streaming down my face. I didn’t understand what was happening. But I knew it was bad. It was too fucking horrible to be a witness of.

  He just left that Sunday night and it was all over. But then he arrived back down the following day. Got a train from Dublin at half five in the morning. Said he couldn’t sleep so went to the train station and waited for the first train back. He asked her to come with him back to Dublin and they’d make a new start but she started crying and said she couldn’t, that she had to take care of her father. He said she needs counselling and she said she wasn’t going to counselling ever. She was too ashamed. And he said if it wasn’t her fault how could she be ashamed and she just started crying.

  He became convinced she didn’t love him and he didn’t believe her story any more.

  It was Monday now and he was supposed to be up in college in Dublin. His father called to the house to bring me up to him. I found him in the library. He was walking around in circles. Then sitting down. Standing looking out the window. Sitting down then again. Then getting up and circling the room again. He was talking fierce bullshit. His eyes were red from crying and he rubbing them.

  —She likes that fucking prick. The rape thing is only a story. I can’t fucking believe it Charlie. I thought we were for ever.

  —No James. She don’t love anyone else.

  —You don’t know that Charlie. It doesn’t make any sense otherwise. She doesn’t love me any more.

  He sat down and started weeping.

  —No James, I said.

  —She thinks she’s not good enough for me. That’s always been there. Cos my parents are rich. She’s always felt inferior. I should have done more to make her feel at home with us.

  Silence then for a while but then he starts off again.

  —It’s her father. Her father hates me. Always has. She always deep down wants to win his fucking approval.

  Next thing it was my fault.

  —How could you not know anyway Charlie? It’s not even plausible for fuck sake, you’re always below in Roundy’s when she’s there. You’d know what’s going on. I know you listen to everything down there.

  Later he blamed himself. Saying he should’ve known that she’d find him less attractive if he appeared at all needy. And he did need her. And to Sinéad, this became a turn-off he reckoned. He was annoying me now with all this bollicks. I didn’t understand what she done either but I wasn’t talking shit and he shouldn’t be either. Most of all he shouldn’t. Making her out to be like that.

  Little did he know how much she needed him as well though. I said good luck to him and I walked away home about one in the morning and he still pacing the floor. I knew he wouldn’t go back to Dublin in that state. Was about six o’clock in the following evening and his father called to my parents’ house again. He was wondering if James was with us. He hadn’t seen him all day and his bag for Dublin was still in the house. He was worried. I told him I’d have a look a few places and not to worry, that he might have gone to see Sinéad but he said he tried her house too and was told she was working.

  —Don’t worry, I said, I’ll find him.

  —Send him home Charlie won’t you?

  —I will.

  —His mother is worried about him.

  I found him the first place I looked. Down by the river at Pontoon Castle.

  —The man himself, he goes when he seen me coming.

  —The very man, I said. Your father’s worried. We’ll go back.

  —OK.

  He didn’t say anything for a while then he goes.

  —Can’t get the picture of them doing it out of my head.

  —Jesus, I said.

  —Maybe he doesn’t give a shit about her and that’s a turn-on for her. Her taking it doggy style. Her on top. Her going down on him. Like . . . she had to be thinking of me when they were doing it. Him on top and she looking into his eyes. Maybe he was all gentle or something. Or rougher maybe.

  —Jesus James, I said.

  There was silence then for a bit and next thing he goes,

  —How long are you supposed to last do you think?

  —James . . . stop now James. You’re not thinking right at all.

  The next day I called up and he was up in the library. He seemed a bit better. Eyes less bloodshot.

  —Sorry about yesterday, he goes.

  —Nah, I said.

  —Thing is, he says looking at me all matter of fact. It’s not her fault. And it’s not my fault. It’s just evolution. Women are evolved to find a variety of men attractive. Gives their genes better chances of survival. Biology. Simple as that.

  I said nothing.

  —It’s like the size of your prick. Mine is pretty average.
I’m above average in other attributes. Below average in others. Women need the variety for to ensure success in their offspring.

  He was turning into a bit of a prick himself now with his shite talk and I was starting to feel embarrassed listening to him. It was kind of insulting to her and was annoying me. I goes,

  —For that to make sense all brothers and sisters would be the same. But they’re not.

  That shut him up. I just told him to go and see Sinéad. Before he left for the train though he called to her. I think it was to see if he could forgive her and somehow make a go of things again. He went to knock on the door but stopped when he heard the song Sinéad had playing inside in the living room. She saw him outside and they just watched each other through the window without saying anything. Tears were streaming down her face. The song on was ‘River’ from a one called Joni Mitchell. I don’t even want to think about the fucking words of it.

  At the end of the song James turned and walked away.

  —She didn’t even come out after me, he said, and the tears in his eyes.

  As if I couldn’t have seen that for myself.

  James went away back to college in Dublin then. They were finished.

  James always loved Sinéad. But he began to hate the people around her. Hate was something new to him. Didn’t sit well on his shoulders. Transformed him a bit, so it did. Could have contorted him if he wasn’t careful.

  I remember around this time I came off the bus in Ballyronan after work about six o’clock in the evening and Sinéad was coming up the street on the way to Roundy’s to work for the night. I crossed the road to avoid her. Could see her out the corner of my eye stopped still across the street just looking at me walking away from her. I was never so disgusted with anyone. You think you know someone and you don’t isn’t it? That’s what I was thinking. Maybe that’s what she was thinking too.

  Sinéad’s Psychiatrist’s Evidence

  —Yes. My name is Richard Mooney and I’m a consultant psychiatrist at Cork University Hospital.

  —Thank you. And could you confirm, as the victim is unable to testify, that you have been requested to testify on her behalf?

  —Yes. I have been requested to do so. In writing.

  —And could you confirm that you are therefore permitted, and indeed required, under the law and in line with medical ethical practice in court proceedings of this type, to testify on behalf of a patient who, for whatever reason, is not in a position to describe her mental condition around the time in which the court is interested?

  —Yes, I can confirm that.

  —Thank you. Could you tell the court please, Mr Mooney, when you first saw Sinéad as a patient.

  —Well, Sinéad Halloran presented at first with sleeping problems and some possible concentration problems, which were deemed to be mainly due to her sleeping difficulties.

  —Did you ascertain a cause for these sleeping difficulties?

  —Well, Sinéad had two stressors which we believed were the main . . . the main cause of her sleeping problems, namely her father being ill and consequently losing his job and secondly she missed her boyfriend who was in college in Dublin.

  —I see. Did you prescribe medication for her sleeping problem?

  —Yes. A standard prescription sleeping tablet. Zolpidem. I began with a half dose and told her G.P. to increase it to a full dose if it didn’t work.

  —I see. And did it work?

  —It did, yes. Her G.P. increased it to a full dose and it did work for a time. She remained on those for a period of months but was referred to me a second time by her G.P.

  —Ahm. So on her second visit to hospital she wasn’t unwell enough to be admitted either, is that correct?

  —Yes, that’s correct. Yes, in my judgement she was depressed. She saw me as an outpatient and I felt she would get over it in time. I was aware she’d just come out of a long-term relationship and this caused her a great deal of sadness. At this stage I changed her medication from sleeping tablets to anti-depressants.

  —I see. What was she taking then?

  —I put her on Prothiaden. It’s a mood-lifter. Unfortunately there’s a lot of trial and error involved as what will work for one patient may not work for another.

  —I see. And did Prothiaden help her?

  —No. Not in my estimation, no. Two months later I put her on Lexapro. This didn’t help her either.

  —When you say it didn’t help her, can you explain? Isn’t it true that even though Sinéad was no longer in a relationship with James that she still worked an average of forty hours a week as a barmaid? Was she severely depressed?

  —Yes. In my view she was. Many people who are severely depressed do manage to hold down full-time jobs. In many ways these late work hours helped her as she didn’t sleep well anyway and starting her shift at six or eight in the evening would be much easier than a long night at home of . . . you know, deep deep sadness. And anguish.

  —I see.

  —Ahm . . . then . . . a few months later her . . . her symptoms pretty much disappeared.

  —How come?

  —We put it down to . . . to James, this boyfriend of hers she always spoke about, we put it down to them . . . reuniting.

  —Getting back together?

  —So to speak, yes.

  —Did she continue on the medication?

  —We weaned her off the tablets . . . over a period of I think eight to ten weeks.

  —I see.

  Mannerisms

  Went downstairs there. My sister’s here again with Emily only this time Emily has a little baby sister. Aoife is her name. Sister only had her a few weeks ago. I didn’t say it at the time cos it’s none of your business and I wasn’t writing much cos of my mother putting on Johnny Lee Hooker anyhow. One good thing about the new baby is that the mother isn’t bored and annoying me when I’m in my room. She’s funny to watch. Emily is. The little girl. Trying to be like her mammy or her granny. Copying everything they do. She had a little floor brush with her. Toy one. ’Tisn’t even two foot long. She’s busy out and then she goes,

  —Now so.

  That’s what Irish mothers say after they do a bit of housework. And she has an apron on too even though I never seen an apron on my sister. My mother wears them all right though. Best is when she copies my mother and says,

  —Jesus,

  cos my mother’s always saying Jesus.

  It’s kind of nice for the grown-ups isn’t it? Like a compliment for them. That this little person thinks they’re worth copying. Humans know how to fit in without even knowing it. From day one, they’re training as children how to be an adult who fits in. They’re complete copycats really.

  I seen Sinéad copy too. When James was off in Dublin. It might have been after they broke up. Probably was. For the first time she began to adopt the mannerisms and the accent of Racey and company. She began to dress like her too.

  The leering old fellas in the pub made jokes that before she’d have found inappropriate. Nowadays these joke-insults seemed to give her a sense of belonging. Heard her telling Dinky and Racey this.

  —I was in the butcher’s the other day, buying a steak to cook for Roundy for his dinner, you know?

  —You cook for him?

  —Yeah, sure he’s helpless in the kitchen himself.

  —OK, go on.

  —And in comes Teesh you know?

  —Yeah?

  —And he’s like, ‘Christ Sinéad girl, I’d say you’d have a fair old appetite for the meat would you? What do you think of them big fat sausages?’ I was like, ‘Jesus I dunno!’ And Teesh says, ‘I’d say you’d take four of five foot of that a week, would you?’ God he’s one gas fucker, Teesh, the whole shop was in stitches, except Mrs Higgins. I’d say she was disgusted.

  Roundy’s became like a big long boring Carry-On film. Sinéad lapped it all up. Joke-insults. On her. She gave the audience what they wanted isn’t it.

  —Oh you’d like that all right Timmy wouldn’
t you.

  —By Jesus girleen, I wouldn’t say no!

  —Ah sure there’s a lot to be said for it Timmy, ’tis only natural!

  —You want another packet of crisps Pete? Sure you haven’t eaten the last packet yet. If I didn’t know you any better I’d think you only wanted to see me bending down to get them.

  —Would I? Look at my innocent little faceen, would I be that mischievous!

  —From what I heard of your younger days Pete, yes! I heard you were like a wild ram around the town!

  —Oho! Doubt ya Pete.

  —Ah sure ’tis only natural.

  That kind of stuff. Lots of it. That was her now. Sinéad. Was like they’d worn her down. And she bolstering up sad lives in Roundy’s with her boobs and her bottom and her lick-arsing of bachelors and men whose wives wished were bachelors.

  She kind of ignored me now. Just served me my Lucozade same as any customer.

  —Hi Charlie. How are things?

  —Grand. How are you?

  —Sure never better.

  Now that light. The light of her spark was lost now under highlights and fake tan stuff or else it was just plain gone out, same as all the other fires in the history of fire on earth. At least when someone’s dead you’ve a body. When the fire goes you’re left with nothing at all that’s even a small bit like it. Only darkness. No comparison, isn’t it? Black and white are more alike than fire and no fire.

  Laughing and joking with them halfdrunk halfwit halfsouls. Went mad with the halves there didn’t I? Everything has two halves. Opposite and the same. But Sinéad and James were two halves of the same. Something. I don’t know what. No two ways about it tho. Sinéad and James. No two ways.

  Anyhow I dunno who she was trying to look like but it wasn’t herself.

  Just went tiptoeing around the house for a bit there. Got restless and cross and uneasy and the tears and snots were coming too quick to be writing and I realised I’d no candle lighting. I need the fire now. Next best thing to Sinéad in the room with you isn’t it? It’s either that or the music and fuck the fucking music cos it only causes distractions that bring troubles and harm. But I have the candle with me now. Cleared away all my wrappers and rubbish cos their shadows were distracting me from the candle cos I wanted to see it as good as I could. Been looking at it now a while cos I thought I might make a better go of describing it and the little bit of fire it has but it’s just as useless as it was the last time I fucked up describing it. Best thing you could do is just get a candle and light it. And turn off all the lights. And if it’s daytime don’t bother your hole cos you won’t see it right and anyhow if it’s daytime where you are now you’ve a million daytime things in your head like dinner and petrol and telly and people and shit so just forget about the candle.