The Herbalist

by Boyce, Niamh

  ‘Just protecting your honour,’ he laughed.

  ‘Do you think it’s funny? Do you think I want to be serving here till my hair has fallen out?’

  He looked startled, as if it had only just dawned on him that Sarah might have dreams of her own, dreams that didn’t involve the shop, or him and Carmel.

  Of course Dan never did take her to the carnival; she knew he wouldn’t. Carmel wouldn’t like it. So the opportunity came and went and was never mentioned again. Sometimes when she served him, Matt’s fingers touched hers as he took his change. It made her sad. I wanted you, she told him in her mind, but you wouldn’t even walk me out. She couldn’t understand it. He seemed to like the look of her, but he never said anything.

  Carmel said that he was a strange man, a widower, that he’d known plenty of women, all sorts. Though what they saw in him was a mystery to Carmel, with him so rough from working the river. River people were odd anyway.

  Sarah stopped being nice to him or making conversation – it was too painful. She just said ‘Grand day’ or ‘Wet day’ as suited the occasion and kept her feelings to herself. Pretty soon he became brusque too, and it seemed to give him more confidence, make him easier with her. He even made a few throwaway remarks every now and again.

  Their dealings became flavoured with resentment. Sarah felt the lost opportunity – the waste – and came to despise herself, and him, for their blushing awkwardness. It showed in how curt she became towards him. He responded by adopting a careless manner, began to call her ‘sourpuss’. She followed suit, called him an amadán, or a buffoon, and would often tell him to hurry up, that she hadn’t a whole day to waste while he rooted round for his change. And soon all hope of him being tender, of saving her with kisses and a ring on her finger, was locked away and buried for ever. A girl like you. He sometimes referred to her like that. ‘Sure what would you know, a girl like you?’

  35

  There’d been a fortune-telling session by accident, and the herbalist had drunk enough rum to blacken his teeth for life. A shindig to mark the hanging of the sign over his front door: HERBAL SURGERY.

  At around eight o’clock that night I had knocked, and he had pretended to be awfully surprised to see me, to have had no choice but to let me join the party.

  ‘A one-off, Miss Madden,’ he said with a wink, and let me in.

  I was surprised to see Miss Goodie-Two-Shoes Harvey standing inside the door, clutching a small sherry and looking as if she didn’t know whether to stay or flee. He must’ve pulled her in off the street on her way to evening Mass. The house was packed. Aggie’s pals Lila and Judy were already tipsy and trying to start a sing-song.

  ‘Down by the River Saile …’ Lila belted out.

  She grabbed Frank Taylor’s arms, and started to wave them up and down in time to the song, like he was a puppet or something. He plucked them back and readjusted his silly satin bow tie. What was Mr Taylor doing there? The town hall caretaker hated market people, called them the bane of his life. Lila and Judy had opened their top buttons to give all and sundry a free sampler. Their fat cleavages glistened with sweat; it was the ale and the excitement – there weren’t many places that let them in. They were shameful women, worse than Aggie.

  Nell Daly was by the back door, waving her handkerchief around her face as if the herbalist’s kitchen was the Sahara Desert. She was still wearing her widow’s weeds and was surrounded by rapt men – Billy from the Picture Palace, River Inn Jim and Short Arse Smith – lapping up her every word. She saw me and raised her voice over the din.

  ‘I was abducted from the footpath, Emily,’ she laughed, ‘abducted!’

  That’s when I caught a glimpse of Aggie in the yard outside. She was stumbling past the kitchen window, eating the face off Ned, the road sweep, like he was her long-lost sailor love. And it not yet dark! I should’ve known not to stay. People weren’t in full control of themselves. I should’ve gone there and then, before it got worse.

  Milkie Nash was carrying a plate of goodies and wore shining silver bracelets. She offered me a slice of fruit cake. I wondered if her mother knew that she was there. The herbalist handed me a glass of lemonade; I didn’t realize the thirst I had on me till then and downed it in one. The fruit cake was delicious, crumbly and moist, with loads of cherries and almonds. It had been a while since I had eaten anything so good.

  Lizzie Murphy, perched on the biggest chair, began to warm up her old fiddle; she was all elbows and knees, like a brown spider weaving. John the Jobber was standing beside her, braced for the nod to squeeze a tune out of his accordion. Between the ladies of the night roaring a-weile weile weile and Lizzie’s fiddle, it was a cats’ chorus in there. I felt like putting my hands over my ears. Then a fat man walked into the middle of the room and began to sing.

  He was what they’d call a baritone, and he left all other contenders for centre stage in the ha’penny place. There was silence around his voice, even in the spaces he left between verses; nobody filled them with whispers or talk. He had a mighty broad chest, and he sang from somewhere inside it that must’ve been bottomless. Whatever the opposite of lowering the tone was, he did it. There was a huge round of applause when he was done, and a polite chatter of approval from all corners of the room.

  The herbalist strutted over and shook the man’s hand. The fat man was suddenly the guest of honour and offered the best of everything.

  Aggie came back in after the performance. She set herself up at the kitchen table and started to ply her other trade. She did it all – palms, tea leaves, cured warts too, or so she claimed. I sat at the end of the table and listened. Miss Harvey put down her sherry, muttered some excuse and left. The herbalist ignored me in favour of the fat man. They were deep in conversation, facing each other, legs akimbo and arms crossed. Milkie said that the fat man was the herbalist’s new landlord, and that if the herbalist played his cards right, there was a chance of an even bigger residence somewhere down the line. The fat man was loaded: he drove a big black motorcar. It was Lizzie told Milkie, and she’d heard it from the herbalist himself. Milkie was looking very heated and very pretty. I wished she’d just go home.

  ‘I sincerely doubt that a word of that is true,’ I told her.

  ‘Miaow,’ she answered and flicked her hair.

  I watched her tour the room with her baking and gulped back the rest of Miss Harvey’s sherry. Aggie read fortunes well, with just the right amount of lies and truth. How excited I’d been the day she told me love was coming. She may have hit the nail on the head, but she’d hit it by accident. There was brandy on the table, so I gave myself a refill as Aggie predicted a windfall for Judy. The liquid burnt my tongue and throat but filled my belly with warmth. She turned over a Jack of Spades, let out a low ohhh and told Judy that meant false friends and quarrels. Judy scratched her diddy and said she could stand a quarrel if the few bob came first. She roared laughing and I looked away: the woman hadn’t a tooth in her mouth, it was as black as a bog hole.

  The time flew watching Aggie rake it in. She must’ve done everyone that wanted to be done, because at some stage she turned to me.

  ‘Well, petal?’

  I looked around the room – where had everyone gone? Lila and Judy chatted by the fireplace; the herbalist lay back in his armchair with his legs stretched out and crossed, his eyes half closed. The singing fat man was at the other end of the kitchen table. He lit the cigarette in his mouth with a candle, and winked. He was within arm’s reach of me, yet he seemed very, very far away, very misty.

  ‘Why not,’ my voice droned, like a record played at the wrong speed.

  Aggie laid out a card then but kept it covered. I
tried to lift it, but she kept moving it around the table real quick, grinning and spiteful-looking. Then she lifted it close to her face and made a great show of letting on she saw something horrible, like old Nick.

  ‘I can’t tell you, oh, no, I daren’t!’ she crowed.

  Then she pushed it towards my face.

  It was a Joker. A horrible laughing one in a tight red and yellow costume, with golden bells on his toes, knees and elbows. His tongue stuck out and his big white eyes bulged under a ferocious pair of black brows.

  ‘What does it mean?’ I whispered.

  ‘A terrible end …’

  That drove me into one of my fits. I got up and stamped my feet. And shame on them, the three women – Aggie, Judy and Lila – copied me as if it was a dance step I was teaching.

  ‘Witches! Make them stop! Make them go away!’ I screamed at the herbalist.

  He opened his eyes but he didn’t move from his chair. The fat man egged them on, beating out a rhythm, faster and faster, on the table, and then they took on the attitude of fine ladies at a ball, circled me, raised their fingers into dainty crooks and jigged around. Aggie sang a tune.

  ‘Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do.’

  ‘Make them go away.’ I tugged at the herbalist’s arm.

  He pulled me on to his lap and whispered, ‘They’re gone. They’re not really here. It’s just you and me.’ He rocked back and forth. ‘It’s just you and me. You and me.’

  36

  Carmel took Grettie B’s invitation down from the mantelpiece. She wanted to look at it again. It was quite lovely: a square of thick, creamy card requesting her company for supper on Sunday. She had never been to anything formal at the Birminghams’. It had been an ambition of hers once, to get something like this, but not so much now. The invitation was for her alone. It must be a woman’s thing, one of Grettie B’s do-good groups.

  Carmel plonked herself into the armchair. It was so nice to put up her feet after a long day. Sarah was taking in the washing. Dan had fixed the line at the weekend, so Sarah had been catching up on laundry all week. Of course Dan went and bought enough rope for every washing line on the street. Just to annoy her – You want rope? Here’s rope for you – but she refused to take the bait and saw him throw it into the shed after it had sat out on the grass for a few days.

  When Sarah finished, she would offer her a tipple and they could have a bit of a chat; she must miss her aunt’s company. Sarah had received post too, probably from home, but she didn’t say. It annoyed Carmel the way Sarah tucked her letters into the waist of her skirt and patted them like they held top secrets. Today’s missive was peeking out of Sarah’s belt as she rushed in and out, draping sheets on the clothes horse in front of the fire.

  ‘Sit down and join me, Sarah,’ Carmel said, when the sheets were all in.

  ‘Thank you but I have to be elsewhere.’ Sarah went straight towards the coat stand. Just who did she think she was?

  ‘Hold on. Where do you think you’re going?’ Carmel jumped up and walked over to her.

  ‘The herbalist’s, for cards.’

  ‘First I heard of it. Are Sundays not enough for you? Well, you’re not going and that’s that.’ Carmel had had enough of Sarah suiting herself. She knew she’d been staying late at the herbalist’s despite her strict instructions. She took the coat from her and hung it back up.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ Dan said. She hadn’t heard him come in. The sympathetic look he gave Sarah irked her.

  ‘I’m informing madam here that under no circumstances is she waltzing off to the herbalist’s.’

  ‘Sure Sarah wouldn’t want to, would you?’

  ‘No, I’d rather stay home; it’s so much nicer here.’

  ‘Enough!’ Carmel’s hand flew at Sarah, just missed slapping her face.

  ‘Carmel, what’s wrong with you?’ Dan grabbed her wrists. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Did you hear her, the spiteful witch, did you hear what she said?’

  Sarah backed away from them; she had one foot on the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Go on, Sarah, go on …’ Dan said.

  He let go of Carmel’s wrists when the girl had gone upstairs.

  ‘You can’t be doing that, you can’t be hitting out like that. Do you hear me? Do you hear me, Carmel?’

  ‘I feel weak.’ Carmel sank on to the sofa and put her hands over her face. ‘Did you not hear the insolence of her?’

  ‘Ah, Carmel, just leave it, leave it be.’

  Dan lifted his own coat from the stand.

  ‘Don’t dare say you’re going down to the pub. Don’t dare put on your coat.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Can’t you see I’m upset, that I’m not myself?’

  ‘You’re always upset; you’re never yourself lately. It doesn’t mean the world has to stop going about its business.’

  ‘God forbid. Look, Dan, look.’ She beckoned him over to her. ‘I’d like us to try again. We can’t do that if you’re not even in the same premises of an evening, can we?’

  ‘Shush. The girl will hear.’

  Carmel put out her arms towards him. ‘Sit with me tonight – stay home, let’s try again for a child.’

  ‘Will you speak quietly? Do you want the whole world to know? And besides, there’s tomorrow night – Sunday – for that.’

  ‘For that,’ Carmel began to weep. ‘Ah, Dan.’

  ‘Stop, please.’ He sat down beside her. ‘Please stop. Don’t.’

  ‘I never knew marriage was going to be so lonely.’

  ‘That’s because you don’t have children like other women.’

  ‘Well, give me one, please. Tonight give me one.’

  ‘Stop, she’ll hear. Hush, don’t cry, don’t. I’ll tell you what, I’ll be home early, how about that?’

  She didn’t bother answering; just put her hands back over her face. He was gone by the time she looked up. The room looked different, gauzy with hurt.

  Carmel hadn’t really expected him to stay. She shouldn’t have asked, humiliating herself, begging for her husband to make love to her. His voice, humouring her. Carmel was tired of being humoured. Tired of watering down what she really wanted to say just because that girl might hear them. She was tired of the sounds of their voices, of all their voices, knocking around this small house, saying the same things, day in day out.

  And what about her medicinal tonic? There was hardly any left again. The herbalist had told her to call round to the shed, said he kept some items locked up there, but he’d never showed. Offered no real explanation, no apology either. She had queued at the market stall, asked for hand cream and whispered her complaint as she handed over the money.

  ‘I forgot,’ was all he had said; ‘will you take a bottle now?’

  She nodded. He had tossed her a small glass bottle with no label on it. Carmel was mortified; anyone with eyes could see that it wasn’t a hand cream. And it was tiny. She was too proud to ask for a larger bottle while so many people were listening. So she took what she was given and now she was caught short again. The room was getting dark. Carmel felt a chill. Could have done with something to warm her up.

  The floorboards creaked upstairs. The girl. Carmel should let her have a few days off, arrange a ride home for her with Seamus. It would give Dan and Carmel a bit of breathing space. Time alone together, without any distractions. She felt bad about lashing out at Sarah. It was her tone, that haughty tone of voice – It’s so much nicer here. That’s what had made Carmel snap. The insinuation that life with her and Dan was far from nice. Maybe poor harmless Emily wasn’t so bad after all.

 
There was a clatter and a thump from Sarah’s room. She’d better go up and talk to her – what if all that toing and froing was the sound of her packing her bags? She was the type, unpredictable, sneaky. They all were, that class of girl.

  Carmel went up the stairs, taking it nice and slow and not making a sound. There was movement coming from the bedroom; the door was closed. Carmel put her ear to the wood. It sounded like someone was jumping around in there. She was about to turn the brass door knob when it turned all by itself and the door flew open. Sarah was standing there: the belly of her nightdress was all puffed out and blackened with soot, and in her hand was a dead bird.

  Carmel screamed. A silly woman scream that made her angry at herself. The girl was holding the bird as casually as if it were a purse. Carmel gathered herself.

  ‘Another one?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I thought Dan had blocked the chimney?’

  ‘He jammed newspapers up it; they must’ve fallen down.’

  Sarah shrugged her shoulders, looked uncomfortable. She was trying to get past. Carmel moved aside, watched her go down to dispose of the bird. Heard the back door open. She was going out to the garden – don’t say she was burying the thing? Carmel would have flung it out of the window and been done with it.

  The room was in disarray, Sarah had probably tried to catch the bird before it knocked itself out. The fire screen was toppled over; there was soot sprinkled all over the floor. The walls weren’t too bad – it must’ve headed straight for the window, for the opened curtains. Carmel looked at the rocking chair: there was a bright blue shawl hanging over it, beautiful gold fringes trailing over the floorboards. The stain wasn’t there any more; Dan had washed the blood clean away. She knelt and looked more closely and found where the grain of the wood was much darker. Once you saw it, you couldn’t un-see it: a round shadow. The only sign that there had ever been a baby.

  So Finbar had been right about the birds coming down the chimney – but why only that chimney? Why not the one in her and Dan’s room? Oh, what did it matter? It was only the girl’s room now and it hadn’t caused any damage. She would instruct Dan to block it properly and that would be the end of it.