Ma, I've Got Meself Locked Up in the Mad House

by Martha Long

  I stared, wondering what he was talking about, then his eyes lit on the woman sitting beside him doing her needlework. He suddenly slammed the book shut with both hands and clapped the woman on the head with it. ‘Wake up! Wake up and see the light!’ he boomed at her. The woman grabbed the top of her head, rubbing it like mad, twisting her fat, white, freckled face in annoyance.

  I stood staring from one to the other. But the woman never once took her eyes off her needlework. She just went back to pulling the needle through the cloth, bending her head deep in concentration, leaving her head exposed ready for another clouting any minute. Because yer man was now talking to the wall again!

  I hurried off, feeling very much mistaken about him and certainly not wanting to get brain damaged. I’d had enough excitement for one morning. This place is definitely proving to be a death trap, I thought, as I rushed out of the room.

  I headed on to see what else was happening. The crowd behind me started disappearing to the tables. I walked on, looking to see what was around the next partition. All the space on the right was sectioned off, dividing up the rooms. I walked on, seeing faces look up, men and women sitting together. Yeah! This is better, no segregation down here. You need the men for the mix. Otherwise the women start killing each other after a while if there’s no men to take the brunt of our frustrations, I thought, getting the picture again of me and Blondie fighting over a fella!

  I walked over to see what an interesting-looking fella was doing. He was playing a board game with another fella.

  ‘Hi!’ I said, sitting down next to him. ‘What are you playing?’

  ‘Backgammon,’ he said, looking at me with icy-cool blue eyes. His hair was prematurely silver, with waves going down the back of his neck to sit below the collar of his shirt. I stared at him. Handsome fellow, I was thinking, looking at his tweed jacket and Brown Thomas wine-wool scarf hanging around his neck.

  ‘Do you like what you see?’ he asked, his eyes softening with a smile.

  ‘You have lovely eyes,’ I said, smiling, ‘and great taste in clothes.’

  ‘Thank you! I like the classics,’ he said, making a move on the board.

  ‘My name is Martha.’

  ‘Seamus,’ he said, taking my hand and giving a firm but gentle shake.

  ‘Push up! I want to see how you play this game,’ I said, pushing him with my bony hip.

  He moved up, taking the board game with him, grinning at me, showing a lovely pair of natural teeth. ‘You are a brazen hussy!’ he said with a glint in his eye.

  I stared at his eyes again. They had huge depths of sadness. ‘How long are you here, Seamus?’

  ‘Thirteen months, one week and four days,’ he said crisply.

  I was gobsmacked. ‘Good God! Do you have a family? Wife and children?’

  ‘No! I never married. Too busy making money,’ he said, slapping down the black checkers.

  ‘What business were you in?’

  ‘I made purple money,’ he said, grinning.

  ‘Church?’

  ‘Yes! That’s what they call purple money,’ he said, laughing his head off. ‘Now the money keeps me in here!’

  ‘My credits are running out, I think!’ said his partner, looking grief-stricken as he scratched his mop of grey hair then fixed his glasses on his ears. ‘I think the VHI will not cough up for much longer.’ Then he took a deep breath, gathering his shoulders together, and leaned into the board looking very worried, getting lost in his own world.

  We sat quietly staring at him. ‘I will have to leave soon!’ he said with deep gravity, shaking his head sadly to the board like he was announcing the end of the world.

  Seamus smiled gently, putting his hand on the other man’s, saying, ‘You can come back again when you build up your credits.’

  Good God! He must be institutionalised! I gave a shiver, wanting to change the subject. ‘Who’s looking after your house?’ I asked Seamus.

  ‘I have a housekeeper; she’s running it. It’s a big house on a hundred acres. The land is the remains of an old estate,’ he said, looking at me to see what I thought of this.

  My interest was piqued. He can’t be more than forty! But. Ah, no. He’s been in this place for over a year! No, I have enough problems of my own! I stared at him and he grinned at me, knowing what I was thinking. Yep! It looks like he might be on the mooch for a woman. No, not me, sonny! Definitely not me.

  ‘There you are!’ roared Blondie, staggering around the corner on her stilts. The height of those bloody high heels! I stared down, feeling mad jealous at the style of her.

  ‘Come on!’ She grabbed me by the arm, laughing, and said, ‘Let’s go and play table tennis.’

  ‘That sounds great!’ I cheered up immediately at the thought of doing something interesting. I never played that before, but there’s always a first time!

  I was up and off. ‘Bye, Seamus! See you later,’ I laughed to him, and took off after Blondie, who was waving her body down to the end of the room.

  ‘We’re next, boys!’ Blondie shouted at two fellows as I came barrelling around the corner. One of them was Rory.

  ‘Hi, Rory. Look! They let me loose!’

  Blondie roared laughing and grabbed the little white ball as it hopped on the table. ‘Come on! Time up! Give me the bat,’ and she lunged at Rory.

  ‘No! I’m telling the nurse right now!’

  ‘Let go!’ roared Blondie, as she wrestled the bat out of his outstretched arm.

  I was busy taking in the other fella. I stood gaping, mesmerised. He was wearing a long wine-silk smoking jacket with a lovely white-silk cravat wrapped around his neck, and he had long, curly white-blonde hair. My eyes landed on his face, watching him stare with his head thrown back, an amused look on his red-bow lips. He had a very aristocratic bearing. His face looks the image of Oscar Wilde, dressed like one of the ‘dandies’ out of the late Georgian period.

  ‘What is your name?’ I asked.

  ‘Henry!’ he said, looking me up and down, raising his chin in the air like he was daring me to insult his outfit.

  ‘I love your style, Henry! Very romantic!’ I purred, moving closer to him. ‘How old are you, Henry?’ I asked, my eyes glittering at the romance of him.

  ‘Twenty-four!’

  ‘How old?’ I roared, all thoughts of romance slipping away as disappointment leapt in to settle on me chest.

  ‘How old are you?’ he asked me, striking a pose, flirting with me.

  ‘Too old for you, Henry!’ I said, giving him a sour look.

  ‘Good God, woman! I am not the slightest bit interested in you!’ he said, sniffing like there was a bad smell under his nose.

  Blondie roared laughing, and I stood staring at him snort his way around the room, trying to look imperious. Then I started laughing my head off. ‘What sort of women do you like, Henry?’

  ‘Not your sort, my dear!’ Then he pompously picked up another ball and batted it at Blondie, who was falling off her high heels, laughing her head off.

  ‘Cheeky little runt!’ I snorted. ‘What do you mean my sort?’

  ‘If I wish to cuddle up to a skeleton, I can follow my father into the college of surgeons and have my pick! The place is full of skeletons, you would be right at home there!’

  Blondie watched my face turning purple with rage and started stamping the floor, trying to get air. She sounded like bagpipes wheezing out the laughs.

  ‘Give me that bloody bat,’ I screamed, steaming over to tear the bat from him.

  He put his arm in the air out of my reach.

  I stood snorting, hands on hips, watching his movements. Then, like lightning, I bounced to the other arm, anticipating he would swap over, and grabbed it. I waved it triumphantly in the air, and Blondie was collapsed on the floor with her legs crossed, tears coming out of her eyes, just as Jam-jar came flying around the corner with Rory on his heels, pointing me out as the robber!

  ‘I might have known it would be you!’ he said, making a
beeline for my bat. ‘Give it here!’ he barked, reaching around my back to take it.

  I dived out of his way.

  ‘You are not going to bully my patients!’ he screeched, the bit of hair flying off his head to swing around his ear, leaving the bald patch on top exposed.

  ‘How dare you, you four-eyed fucker?’ I screamed in rage. ‘You are the thundering bully! Come and get it, you little pipsqueak.’

  The shouts brought other patients in to see what the fuss was about.

  ‘You are going back to lock-up!’ he screamed at me, lunging for the bat.

  I laughed, ducking out of his way and letting him land on the table.

  ‘No!’ shouted Henry. ‘Leave her alone. We are finished anyway.’

  Jam-jar didn’t hear. He was too intent on getting his hands on me.

  I shot out of the room, pushing my way through the patients. They all looked like they were having the best day of their life, with the huge grins on their faces. I ran down the room, heading for the door, and straight into the barrel chest of the Russian monk. His eyes bulged in shock, and his hands immediately grabbed my waist, lifting me off the ground like I was a pound of sugar.

  ‘Let me down, you fucking bastards! How dare you treat me with such indignity?’

  ‘Behave!’ his voice rumbled like a bear, then he shook me like a rag doll. The man is a bloody tank. I relaxed into the position of being carried under his arm with my arse in the air. It’s just as well I’m wearing thick tights! Anyway, there’s no point in resisting.

  Blondie was nearly asphyxiated. She collapsed herself against the wall, pounding it with her fists, trying to laugh. Big hee-haws sounding like an asthmatic donkey came wheezing out of her neck as she watched the monk carry me with my legs swinging in the air. Then he twirled me around with the greatest of ease and put me standing on the floor.

  Jam-jar came pounding down, hauling himself at me and grabbing my arm. He was out of breath and held me with one hand, flicking his hair back with the back of his other hand, and said, looking white as a sheet, with steam coming out of his nose, ‘You are going back to lock-up.’

  ‘No! She is OK. I will take care of her,’ the monk said, shaking his head and putting his hand on my arm. I don’t know if it’s to protect me from Jam-jar or to stop me running off. But my chest was melting with pleasure as I stood quietly by, waiting to see who would win the argument.

  ‘No! She’s coming with me,’ Jam-jar croaked, pulling me away.

  ‘No! It is OK, Bert! I will take this one,’ and he waved his arm at Jam-jar, taking me by the arm and marching me down the room.

  Bert stood staring after us, and Blondie flew past me, tapping my arm and saying in a whisper, ‘I won’t be long, I’ve got to dash to the toilet!’

  She puffed her way out the door, crossing her legs like she had deformed hips, flying nowhere in a hurry on her high heels.

  ‘Do you want a cup of coffee?’ the monk asked me, suddenly stopping.

  ‘Yeah!’ I said, thinking all my birthdays have come at once.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said, taking my arm and steering me out the door. Then he slowly put his hands in his pockets and meandered down the passage.

  A door swung open and Blondie came flying out, skidding on her high heels straight into us, sending me smack into the monk’s belly, big and all as it is. It was like a rock.

  ‘You ladies are in a great hurry today,’ he said, reaching out to grab hold of her, pushing me out of the way with his arm.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she asked, looking from me to him. I glared at her, taking in the sparkle in her eyes. No wonder she was in a hurry. She was making sure I didn’t get to be on my own with the monk! Her glance didn’t stay on me long enough to see me wishing she’d broken her bloody neck.

  ‘We are going for coffee. Come!’ said the monk, giving her his bleedin arm.

  She wrapped herself around him like a fur coat, curling her arm under his. I was forgotten!

  My heart sank down into my belly, and I felt the rage coming up to my chest again. That fucking woman is used to getting her own way. Robbing the monk from under my nose. I stood staring after them, and the eegits didn’t even know I wasn’t moving. They were too busy nattering to each other about sweet nothings! I thought about telling them to shove their coffee up their arse, but thought better of it. I’m not that much of a fool. Hanging on to me dignity is one thing, but letting the way open for fucking Blondie to have him all to herself? NEVER! Hmm! I’ll have to think of something.

  I took off after them, wondering if I could squeeze in between them, prising them apart. I eyed their hips knocking in unison, keeping step for step. No chance there! So I whipped up alongside them, and my jaw dropped, the heart going crosswise in me chest at seeing the monk listening to Blondie talk a load of rubbish, while he gazed into her face and stroked her hand, telling her she had piano fingers.

  ‘Oh! You are such a charmer!’ she cooed and giggled like a sixteen year old, wriggling her whole body in ecstasy. ‘No,’ she lisped.

  ‘Oh, it is true!’ he purred, tapping the top of her nose gently with his finger.

  I nearly got sick. I wanted to kick him up the arse, wearing her high heels, and shove her face down the toilet. ‘How old did you say your husband was, Sylvia?’ I suddenly asked, dripping with venom as I leaned across the monk.

  I watched her grab his hand again, like her life depended on it, and look over at me, the light going out of her eyes. For a fraction of a second, I felt sorry for her.

  He shook his head slowly from side to side, not impressed with me, then eyed her. This gave her hope, and she lifted her head, spitting over at me, ‘Mind your own bloody business.’

  The monk lowered his sweeping-brush eyelashes at me, squinting, and said, wagging his finger, ‘Martha! You must learn to behave yourself!’

  ‘Excuse me! I only asked a civil question.’

  They moved closer together, freezing me out. I crawled behind them, feeling the fire go out of me too. That didn’t work! I’m now the one ending up looking foolish. He’s speaking to me like I’m a half-witted child. Fuck ye, Martha! Stop acting like one! You are only making a complete eegit of yourself. Anyway! He’s definitely only interested in her. Ah! To hell with them!

  I turned tail, going back down the passage, and headed out the door into the grounds. Fields! I looked around. Fresh air! I saw a tennis court through the shrubbery and headed for that. Two women were belting a ball back and forth to each other. It looked easy. But I knew it wasn’t. I tried that in the convent when I was a kid. The racket sailed out of my hand at the first attempt. Sister Eleanor came barrelling over to me and belted me out of the court, saying I had no respect for property. Nah! I’m no good at that!

  I wandered off, spotting an enormous window looking into a restaurant. It was overlooking a huge water fountain spouting jets of water high into the air and sailing back down into the basin. I headed for the restaurant, walking around the window, trying to find the way in.

  I ended up at the front entrance to the hospital, with miles of landscaped gardens and a huge plate-glass entrance. This is not the way the ambulance came in with me. I headed into the foyer, where round leather seats sat in a circle looking out onto the gardens. Patients were sitting smoking and gazing out the window. Then I saw the entrance ahead into the restaurant. I sailed past the big reception desk, getting a suspicious look from the baldy-headed woman manning the desk. She stared out at me from a weather-beaten face, looking carefully at me through her milk-bottle glasses.

  I lifted my head in the air, looking like I was only visiting, and made straight through the door into the foyer of the restaurant. I stopped to look at a huge fish tank with ugly-looking black fish. They started blowing kisses at me. I stared, fascinated, and one stopped to stare back.

  ‘Mind they don’t bite you!’ a voice said, laying a hand on my shoulder. It was a monk in long brown robes. He whipped off again, flicking his thick silvery hair back
off his eyes, and looked back at me, giving a huge grin.

  I took up my trot again, marching in the door after him, and stood on the top landing looking down into split levels of great comfort.

  The view was magnificent, with the spray from the fountain sailing into the air and landing back into an enormous marble basin. Seats and tables were spread out all along the rooms, with very comfortable-looking armchairs mating with tables, and long-cushioned seats against the walls. People were dotted around the place, and one woman was playing the piano. I made straight for that.

  She crooned softly to herself, singing moodily, ‘He said he loved me. But he lied!’ Then she shook her head slowly in despair, sniffing.

  I interrupted her melancholic mood. ‘Do you play “Chopsticks”?’ I asked her, ready to sit down beside her and bang out a duet. I’m not bad on the aul piano, I thought. I play by ear. I had to! Because I got kicked out of the music lessons in the convent even before I had a chance to get started. Hmm. What’s changed? I still can’t keep out of trouble!

  ‘So!’ I prodded the woman; she was ignoring me. ‘A duet!’ I had my hand poised over the piano.

  She glared up at me with a pair of pink eyes. God! She’s done some crying, I thought, looking at her. ‘No? No “Chopsticks”?’ I asked, bending down to her.

  ‘Get stuffed!’ she whispered through gritted teeth.

  ‘Right! I’ll come back when you’re in a better mood,’ I said mildly, taking off on my mission to ‘find myself’ in this place. Therapy! I need something to occupy me. Forget the monk. He’s lost his soul to the blonde. She’ll eat him alive! I would have been most definitely a much better proposition. But that’s his loss.