Carn

by Patrick McCabe

  Many of them made their way over awkwardly to them and pumped Benny’s hand, bleary-eyed. They shook their heads and looked away as if they had forgotten how to speak. Others leaned over and whispered furtively, “I know you and him felt the same way. It’s time this business in the north was sorted out once and for all.”

  Eventually as the drink went in, they forgot about Benny Dolan. Then they more or less forgot about Joe Noonan. Sadie leaned over and said morosely, “Sometimes you’d wonder Benny. It’s not much of a way to remember anyone, is it?”

  The floor was littered with cigarette ends and broken glass. An argument over a long forgotten football match rose above the din and others lent their voices to the fray. Racing blared out. “One hundred and eighty,” shouted a darts player. Sadie stroked the back of Benny’s hand absentmindedly. The notion of someone as vivacious as Joe Noonan lying dead in a wooden box just wouldn’t make itself real to her. She felt nothing, only guilt for feeling nothing.

  Coming towards closing time, they began to congregate about Benny once more as if they felt he was the most authentic representative of the dead man. “The bikes,” they said to him. “You and Joe and the bikes. The two of you were wild in those days, eh?”

  After a while Benny heard nothing.

  Outside in the street Sadie said, ‘Well that’s that. That’s it all over. Rotten, isn’t it?”

  “What can you do?” replied Benny. “Unless it’s their own nobody gives a fuck. That’s the long and the short of it.”

  They got into the car and drove off in the direction of Abbeyville Gardens. They turned into the driveway to see a neighbour standing under their porch lamp. She signalled to them anxiously. Sadie ran over to her. There was a crumpled body lying at her feet.

  “She’s been lying there all evening,” said the neighbour, distraught. “I’ve been keeping watch on her. She just lay down there. I didn’t know whether to call the police or what. I didn’t know who she was. The children were all around her. I mean, it’s not good for them is it? She was ranting and raving to herself. I think she’s been drinking all day.”

  The woman shook her head, mystified. “I don’t know what the world is coming to,” she said. “The like of that.” She turned on her heel and crossed the road to her own house. Other doors quietly closed.

  “Give me a hand Benny,” said Sadie.

  They took Josie in and laid her on the sofa. Sadie dabbed her forehead with a cold towel. There was a slight gash on her cheek where she had fallen. Every so often unintelligible phrases issued from her lips. She made sudden jerky movements in her sleep. They waited with her for over two hours. Then her eyes opened and she cried out, perplexed by her surroundings, “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!”

  Sadie touched her gently on the arm. She was sweating.

  “Sadie . . . you’re here. I called up but you weren’t here . . .”

  “It’s okay. It’s okay now Josie.”

  Benny said, “I’ll make some hot coffee Josie. That’s what you need.”

  Josie looked helplessly at Sadie. “I just wanted to talk Sadie. I know you’ve a lot on your plate. I’m worried Sadie. I’m afraid I’ll do something to myself. I’m not able to sleep, things keep coming back to me, things I should have left behind long ago. Half the time, my mind’s not my own. It scares me Sadie. I’ve nobody now. I needed to talk to someone.”

  The older woman’s breathing was tense. She picked at her nail as the continued. “I can’t stay out in that house much longer. I lie there most of the night staring at the ceiling, waiting for more terrible things to come into my head. I’m afraid Sadie, that’s the truth. I’ll have to get out of this town. I’ll have to go back to England. I can’t stay here. I can’t stay out in that cottage much longer. Things turned out bad for me Sadie.”

  Sadie clasped her hand tightly. “Josie,” she said. “It should never have happened the way it did. You should never have stopped coming up here. It was my fault. I let it happen. Josie—promise me you’ll come up soon. Never mind what happened. Never mind any of it. It will never happen again. You can be sure of that. Will you?”

  Josie smiled. “People are people Sadie. You can’t change them.” She squeezed Sadie’s hand. “It’s good of you to listen to me Sadie. It takes my mind off things to talk. There’s too much in my mind.”

  She chewed at her underlip. “Sadie?” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “If ever anything happened—would you see to my funeral?”

  “Josie for God’s sake . . .”

  “I have nobody else Sadie . . . would you?”

  “Of course I would, you don’t have to . . .”

  Benny arrived back with the coffee.

  They went back to the first day they had all met at Una Lacey’s wedding, the subsequent chance meetings in the hotel and the evenings babysitting.

  “The town will never be the same without young Noonan,” said Josie.

  Benny lapsed into long periods of silence when his name came up.

  Sadie and Josie sat talking for over two hours.

  Josie came back from the bathroom and thanked Sadie again. She donned the borrowed coat and hesitated in the doorway.

  “Call up tomorrow Josie if you’re feeling up to it.”

  “Thanks Sadie,” said Josie.

  Benny revved the car engine and Josie slipped into the passenger seat. He waved and sped off towards the railway. The Hairy Mountains reared up and out of the darkness. When they got to the cottage, Josie reached in her handbag and pressed a ten pound note into Benny’s hand. Benny pushed it away. She thanked him again, and brushing her hair back from her eyes got out of the car and set off across the overgrown railway track. Benny kept the engine running and looked after her to make sure she made it to the small cottage nestled in the crook of two drumlins. He stared at the blunt outline of the railway building, moss-whiskered and covered with weeds. The engine sheds had caved in on themselves, a wreckage of twisted girders and broken concrete. He remembered it as it had once been, the locomotives puffing in and out of the town the whole day long, endless traffic to and from the now derelict building. He scanned the field again. A light burned in the window of the cottage. He cleaned the windscreen with a chamois, the snow was beginning again. He sighed and his head fell on the steering wheel. The voice went through his head.

  “That cunt Cooney has the back worked off me. Come on for a pint.”

  Someone helping them this side, the northman’s voice said. Has to be. Has to be.

  The dawn was breaking over the town by the time he got back.

  The Golden Book of the Sacred Heart, said Cassie. Do you know Josie wee pet you can have any name enrolled in this book and you can have a young man educated to the priesthood and sent far and wide across the globe to preach the faith of our fathers to those less fortunate. Cassie smiled and stroked the imitation leather cover as if it were a living thing. She turned the pages gently and her voice was music to Josie’s ears. Josie looked up and saw that the book was bathed in golden light and the inscribed names of all the holy people in Carn swarmed out from it like the souls in purgatory to fill the room. Mr Peter Cassidy Miss Eileen Kelly The Reilly Family. Oh look, cried Cassie, look at that Josie, that’s your own your very own name in the copperplate handwriting of Canon Martin himself. Look Miss Josephine Keenan just under my own Kathleen Keenan and William Keenan. Your very own name in the holy book.

  Oh hello Josie, I saw your name in the Golden Book and your own lad how is he? He must be a fair age by now. The last time I saw him he was eight years old, you were off to Dublin in Mooney’s minibus. Yes we went, just me and him I took him to the top of Nelson’s Pillar and then we went to the Savoy for an ice-cream. It was one of the best days we ever had. He’s a good boy and doing well at his school. What did you say his name was Josie? Vincent, little Vincent, that’s his name, Josie Culligan.

  Annie Lennon.

  Josie Culligan.

  Mrs James McDonald.
>
  Marion McCabe.

  Josie Culligan.

  Margaret Malone.

  Josie?

  The names were chanted in a distant chapel.

  Michael McCaffrey.

  Edward Maguire.

  Seamus Smith.

  The McMahons.

  Are you in there Josie? Open the door.

  Des McCarron.

  Mary Ann McDonagh.

  JJ Egan.

  The Martins.

  Josie let me in or I’ll drop with the cold.

  Josie awoke in sheets drenched with sweat. The Sacred Heart lamp flame waltzed on the wall in front of her. She pasted back her hair and tried to shake her thoughts away. The voice came again and her whole body stiffened.

  For the love of God Josie, let me in.

  She could not place the voice and went cold all over. Fragments of imagination and reality came at her from different directions. She fumbled her way to the kitchen and took down the librium from the shelf. She emptied a few down her throat. She could see a shadow on the curtain. She tried to pour water into a cup but she couldn’t manage it. She waited for the drug to draw its comforting silk around her mind but she was too taut, her body fighting against it.

  She felt for the latch on the door. The barman from the hotel stood facing her with a brown paper bag under his arm. Behind him, looking away from her was the heavily built man, Jack Murphy. She could see that their eyes were bloodshot with drink.

  “What do you want?” she said.

  The barman grinned. “Lord bless us Josie, I thought you were never going to open the door. What do we want?”

  He held up the bag. “We brought you a little drink. On account of it being the festive season and that . . .”

  “You can’t come in here . . . please . . . it’s too late . . .”

  But the barman had already eased his way past her and was standing in the centre of the kitchen. He surveyed his surroundings. “The Sacred Heart, eh? Good to see that you have the man above on the wall to mind you. Not that you’d need minding from me and Jack, seeing as we know one another so well. Come on in out of the cold Jack, you’ll get your death.”

  Jack Murphy came in and closed the door behind him. He stood beneath the Sacred Heart.

  The barman rubbed his hands. “Now,” he said, “What about an opener?”

  “I haven’t got an opener,” Josie said.

  The barman raised his eyebrows in mock horror. “No opener? How can we have a party with no opener? Josie—I’m suprised at you.” He took the bottle from the bag and bit the cap off with his teeth. He spat it into the fireplace. “What do we need an opener for anyway? Eh Josie?”

  He drank from the bottle. Then he moved towards Josie. He held it out to her. “Here you are now. Have a drop.”

  Josie turned away.

  “What’s wrong with you? Not want a drop, do you not? You weren’t so quick to refuse drink in the hotel. You were keen enough then, weren’t you?”

  He drank again. “’Course you’re keen on a lot of things when it suits you.”

  Josie said nothing.

  The barman laughed. “Look at her Jack,” he cried, waving the bottle, “you’d think she was the Little Flower standing there hiding herself. You’d think it was the fucking Little Flower herself Jack.”

  Jack Murphy didn’t reply, fidgeting nervously and looking towards the window.

  “What do you think we are—imbeciles? You think I’m some sort of half-wit that doesn’t know what goes on? I’ve been watching you a long time now Keenan, I’ve been watching you too long not to know what game you’re playing. You think I’ve nothing better to do than fill your glass and wipe up after you? Think I’ve nothing better to do than fill you up with drink? Eh?”

  He passed the bottle to the other man, “Oh, me and Jack here heard a few home truths about you. From an old friend of yours.”

  He stood over Josie. “A friend of yours this long time.”

  He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face forward. “Mr Lacey. Aye, that’s right, Pat. Me and Jack know Pat well.”

  He held her in a vicegrip. “What does Pat like?”

  He pulled her towards him and his tongue darted into her mouth. “I don’t have to ask you that you know. He told us.” He burst out laughing. “The bollocks let it all out. Gave it all out after a skinful of whiskey after hours in the Railway.”

  He wiped the tears from his eyes and said, “I thought a woman like you would have more sense than to have truck with a blabbermouth. You’re his mammy, are you? Mrs Lacey, eh?” He sneered.

  “That’s Lacey’s game, eh? How could you go near a man like that? You’d have liked his wee speech in the back bar all right—muttering and slabbering like a child. I don’t know what comes over me he says, God help me God forgive me she makes me want things a man should know nothing about. From the day and hour she set foot in this town I’ve never had rest. If the like of that ever got out. Jack thinks you should leave poor Mr Lacey alone. Me, I don’t give a fuck for Lacey.”

  He forced his tongue into her mouth again. “Now me—I wouldn’t blab. You could be sure of that.”

  He gripped her tightly about the shoulders and forced her slowly to the floor. “I heard plenty of stories Josie. What about Vinnie Culligan, the fly boy butcher that robbed half the town and fucked off to England. I heard he left one or two things behind him.”

  He unzipped his flies and stood over her.

  “What was it like in England Josie? Used to the high life were you?”

  He pulled out his penis. “I’d say you seen plenty of these in England.” He held it in his hand and stared down at her, whitefaced.

  “Lacey’s like this?” he said in a whisper. “Eh?”

  He pushed her down and heaved himself on top of her. She cried out and he caught her by the throat. “Don’t.”

  She scratched at his face and he squeezed her neck until she could barely breathe. He held her there and slowly withdrew his hand.

  “Don’t,” he repeated. “Understand?”

  “No . . . for Christ’s sake . . .” pleaded Jack Murphy.

  He pulled her dressing gown up over her waist and drove it into her again and again. He groaned as if in terrible pain. His whole body shook as he spurted and withdrew haplessly. He stumbled backwards, a clown with his trousers about his knees and his braces dangling. His hands began to shake as he pulled up his trousers.

  His eyes were filled with fear and hatred. “Now Keenan. Now I know what you’re like. I know your game now, why you have to hurt him. That’s all you can do Keenan, because you hate it, you’ve never liked it in your life. I’ve seen women like you. The Buyer was fond of the women too, wasn’t he? Kept it in the family, didn’t he? The rough tough Buyer, that was his style in the end too. Him and Lacey be well met. I’ll tell you what, you stay out of my way in the future, you hear? Stay out of the Railway Hotel! And don’t think of telling anybody about this if you’re wise—not that they’d believe the likes of you anyway . . .”

  “Come on . . . for the love of Jesus,” cried Jack Murphy.

  Stray flakes of snow blew into the kitchen as they went out into the morning.

  She lay there on the floor for the whole day long. The snow came and went at the window, the day passed and the light began to fade. Josie tasted salt in her mouth. The cold sweat dried on her skin. There you are now, a grand sight on your kitchen floor Miss Lollobrigida, it’s a pity your doctor husband isn’t here to help you now, what a shock he’d get if he were to walk in and see the cut of his sweet young bride.

  Josie cried and cried bitterly. The Sacred Heart became a grey silhouette. She felt her way to the bathroom. The side of her face was numb. A hag looked at her from the mirror and filled her with revulsion. Between her legs she felt him pushing again and again. His face came at her and she tried to release herself by going forward, by lunging at the image, watching herself killing him, blood pouring from the folds of his neck. She spat phlegm into
the basin. The more she backed off from him, the more terror and pain she felt. She forced herself and his head went back and she did it to him over and over.

  She did not sleep. Her body had her primed for an imminent disaster she could not name. Her fists would not unclench. Her breathing was tangled up in her chest. In the corner the stained dressing gown lay in a heap. When she looked at it out of the corner of her eye she began to cry again and her whole body shivered. She took a heavy cardigan from the cupboard and put it on. Ah that’s no outfit for La Lollo, the woman who stunned the streets of Manchester when she skipped off the bus all those years ago. You weren’t always like this, make sure they know it, oh no, you had a face that could stop the street and no mistake, Phil Brady would vouch for that. You didn’t get a doctor husband but you got Phil Brady and a few others. Didn’t you Josie? You got a thirteen stone docker who liked to dress up for you. And a man from Mayo who cried like a baby in your arms. Not to mention Pat Lacey—Pat Lacey the important official! You did very well for yourself Josie—who cares about a doctor husband? Oh there’s no doubt, you could have got what you wanted had the dice tumbled the other way. But sure then, who couldn’t? Who couldn’t Josie. The thing is, it didn’t. Eh? It didn’t Josie. That’s the trouble, you have to take what you get. Look at Cassie. Look what she got. Did you want her life? You did, didn’t you? All you ever wanted was to be her. All your life you wanted to be Cassie Keenan, the best woman that ever lived, and look what happened. Culligan put you on the wrong road and now you’re in with nobody, even the Sacred Heart will turn His back on you after all your trickery. Pity you didn’t stick it out like Cassie Josie. She’s on the pig’s back now in that blue and never-ending place and damn the bit of her you’ll ever see, neither you nor the Buyer and his rough roving hands will ever set eyes on Cassie Keenan again.