Little Boy Lost

by Shane Dunphy

  ‘It cannot be the huntress’s boy,’ they said. ‘He was slain with the chieftain and his men!’

  ‘There is no other answer to the riddle,’ Yellowhammer said. ‘This wild boy is Joseph.’

  Joseph remained silent and dark-eyed. The kindly dwarves tried to make friends with him. Brownbeard, who had been wounded when the wolves attacked the hunting party so many months before, but had survived, was sent for, but Joseph pretended not to know him. He would not eat the soup or the roasted meats or the bread and honey they put before him, and it was many days before they thought to give him nuts and fresh fruit from the woods. Weeks, and then months went by, and as the time passed the dwarves’ patience grew thin. ‘Mad Joseph’ they called him, and took to ignoring him. He roamed the tunnels and caves beneath the earth, finding places they did not go, and there found peace in the silent dark.

  Joseph did not know it, but more than a year had passed when one night he found a narrow passageway down which he had never gone before. He had taken to running on all fours, because it was easier beneath the earth, and because it made him feel more like a wolf. He scurried down this new tunnel, and after a while, felt the breath of fresh air on his face. This breeze was like a drink of water to a man dying of thirst, for with it came the scent of leaves and grass and tree bark. Joseph had forgotten these things after so long hiding in the darkness of the tunnels and living with the blackness that had settled over his heart, and he began to run towards them.

  As he ran he took deep breaths, drinking down that beautiful, delicious air. The passageway started to slope upwards, and suddenly, at the end of it he could see a light – a pale silvery light.

  Joseph crept out of a narrow opening, and found himself in his beloved forest, many miles away from the Northern Caves. It was night, and a full moon was high in the sky above the trees. From very far away, Joseph heard a long mournful howl. Throwing back his head, he howled back as loudly as he could. After a moment, the other wolf, many miles away, howled in return.

  Slowly, but with great joy growing in his soul, Joseph began to walk in the direction of the distant cry.

  A rabbit, who happened to be passing on the way to his warren, saw Joseph, walking on all fours, tears streaming down his thin, dirt-smeared cheeks, saying quietly to himself, ‘I am coming, Father, I am coming.’ The rabbit stopped and watched as the child disappeared into the trees, and then hurried home, wondering who the sad creature had been. And when he got back to his burrow, he held his children tight, and was glad they were all safe and cared for.

  And Joseph, the Wild Boy, son of the woodsman and huntress, cub son of Greyfang and Goldcrest, was never seen in the forest again.

  32

  ‘What does it mean?’ Lonnie asked me.

  We were sitting in his living room. The curtains were open, and the mid-morning sun shone through. He had decorated the room with sprigs of holly and heather from the surrounding mountains, and the room smelt of fresh air and rustic life. A small fire was glowing in the hearth, and the room was warm and pleasant.

  ‘What do you think it means?’ I said.

  ‘It’s a strange, sad story. Does he find Greyfang and Goldcrest?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You wrote the bloody thing.’

  ‘I know I did. But there are very few absolutes or definites in the world, are there? Sometimes, whether we like it or not, bad stuff happens. Joseph is like any child or little person, and I don’t mean that in terms of dwarfism; the dwarves in the story are not little people. I mean he is someone who does not have control over his own life. He is at the mercy of those around him.’

  ‘No one treated him very well,’ Lonnie agreed.

  ‘No.’

  ‘But they were all, in their way, well-meaning.’

  I thought about that.

  ‘Were they?’

  ‘Yes. His parents went out to hunt Greyfang because they thought he was a threat to their home and their son. The dwarves hunted the wolves for much the same reason. Greyfang and Goldcrest wanted to look after Joseph, because they felt guilty about orphaning him, and they gave him back to the dwarves when they felt they couldn’t keep him safe any more. The dwarves tried to care for him, but he wouldn’t let them. Everyone wanted what was best… it all just went wrong, somehow.’

  ‘Is that they way life can be sometimes?’

  Lonnie got up and went to the window.

  ‘D’you want to go for a walk?’

  He had never asked me that before.

  ‘I’d love to. Sure you’re up to it?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ve been going out a little bit lately. Who did you think picked the heather and the berries?’

  ‘Aisling, I had thought.’

  ‘No. It was me. Come on.’

  He put an oversized fedora on his head, and his funny cape-coat, and led me down the lane outside his house. I lit a cigarette.

  ‘So did you like the story in the end?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘It made me feel odd.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Even though there were dwarves in it, I couldn’t identify with them.’

  ‘Oh.’

  A blackbird broke cover in front of us and flew loudly from one side of the road to another.

  ‘It was Joseph I could see myself in.’

  ‘He was the hero, I suppose,’ I said. ‘You’re bound to feel sympathetic towards him.’

  The pathway slanted gradually upwards as we ascended the mountain. On our left was a low hillock upon which three standing stones rose against the horizon.

  ‘My mother and my aunt weren’t bad people,’ Lonnie said. ‘They loved me in their way.’

  ‘I bet they did,’ I said.

  ‘They always told me that if I went out people would laugh at me. Make fun of me. That’s why they kept me inside.’

  ‘Well, that was probably true. People would have made fun of you. Rude people. Ignorant people. I think they might have gotten used to you in the end. Your family tried to protect you, but something tells me they were protecting themselves, too.’

  Lonnie was looking at the road. All I could see was the top of his hat, and the hump of his shoulder beneath the red coat.

  ‘When Aisling came, I hid from her. I thought she would run away when she saw me. I would only talk to her from under a sheet. She must have thought I was crazy.’

  ‘She was very hurt by the way you’d been treated, Lonnie,’ I said. ‘She wanted to do right by you.’

  ‘In the books and stories, there are worlds where all sorts of people live,’ Lonnie said with bitterness in his voice, ‘and where no one is seen as stupid or weird or strange. Why can’t that be the way it is in real life? Why is it that somewhere like Drumlin is the exception rather than the rule?’

  ‘I’m afraid that people are rarely that honourable or open,’ I said. ‘Most of us fear what is different. It’s the same the world over.’

  Lonnie climbed over the fence that led to the standing stones, scaling it in three nimble jumps. I followed a little more stiffly. I was constantly amazed at how agile he was.

  ‘The other day, instead of sending Aisling, I went to the shop myself,’ Lonnie said. ‘I thought everyone was looking at me, but I told myself I was just being stupid, that there was no way I was that interesting or exciting. I got my few bits and pieces and I went to the cash register. There was a girl who couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen there, and I could tell straight away that she was barely holding in the laughter. The minute I went past, she burst into a fit of guffaws.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lonnie,’ I said. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I ran. I hightailed it out of there, and I gave Aisling dog’s abuse when I got back home for letting me go shopping in the first place. She didn’t deserve that, Shane. But I was so angry.’

  The stones were in a rough triangle facing east. Lonnie looked out over the rolling glacial landscape. He could easily have been a character from one of the boo
ks he so loved.

  ‘Lonnie, the world has dealt you a tough hand,’ I said, leaning against one of the rocks. I was wearing a thick leather jacket and a scarf, but there was a sharp wind coming in over the hills and it was chilly. ‘People have let you down again and again, and you have every fucking right to be mad as hell. And you know what?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Giving Aisling an earful, screaming at me every now and again, admitting at news that you’re in a shitty mood – it’s all right to do that, you know. We’re all your friends, and we can take it. You don’t have to be the jokey, smart-arsed little guy you pretend to be all the time.’

  ‘If I start letting all that out,’ Lonnie said, his voice trembling, his back still to me, ‘I’m afraid it might not stop.’

  ‘That’s a risk you’ll have to take.’

  ‘I’m scared.’

  ‘I know.’

  I think he was crying, but he remained where he was, and I did not approach him. If he wished to keep his grief private, that was his privilege.

  We stayed in that high place until the sun started to go down, comforted by the vastness of the sky and the immutable wind.

  33

  ‘I sit next to Sukie, Max,’ Dominic said.

  ‘No. Me.’

  ‘I. Sitting. Next. To. Sukie,’ Dominic said and, without missing a beat, sent Max sailing across the room.

  ‘Dominic, no!’ Sukie chided him, and went over to see if Max was all right.

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ Dominic said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  Max seemed to be none the worse for his short flight, and he moved to another seat about the table.

  This sort of thing had been happening a lot lately. Dominic had become more and more jealous of anyone spending time with, or even around, Sukie. So determined was he about this that he put Max’s early histrionics to shame. The problem was that with Dominic reason rarely worked. When he got an idea into his head, nothing would dissuade him or dislodge it.

  ‘Sukie is my girlfriend, Max,’ he called across the wide table to his sulking friend.

  ‘She not!’ Max said, his heckles well and truly up, now. ‘Shane, tell him!’

  ‘Dominic, Sukie is your friend, but she is not your girlfriend.’

  ‘She is, Shane. She tell me.’

  ‘I doubt that very much, Dom,’ I said. ‘She is your friend, and she likes you a hell of a lot, but she’s not your girlfriend. That’s a very different sort of friend.’

  ‘I love Sukie, she my girlfriend,’ Dominic said pettishly, and laid his head down in his hands.

  Sukie had been in the kitchen getting Dominic’s and her own lunch ready. She came back in, carrying their plates, and sat down next to him. He didn’t look up.

  ‘What’s the matter, Dommy?’

  Dominic’s voice was muffled by his hands, but I still caught the interchange.

  ‘You my girlfriend, Sukie?’

  ‘Of course I am, poppet.’

  I froze. One of the basic principles in dealing with people with special needs – whether that means individuals with intellectual disabilities, or the kind of social retardations that can result from abuse or severe neglect, is the importance of absolute honesty. I did not doubt that Sukie meant nothing by the remark – she saw no harm in this little pretence. Girlfriend could be taken in all sorts of connotations, after all.

  The truth was, though, that it was very clear the interpretation Dominic was placing on it, and I didn’t like it one little bit. Poor, sweet Dominic was confused enough about this complex, awkward world of ours without adding to his problems. I determined to speak to Sukie about it at the first available opportunity, and get her to put this right. I had no idea exactly how she was going to put it right – as I have already said, Dominic could be very stubborn. But I knew for definite that things must be put right.

  When lunch was over, I went over to Sukie, and asked her to step into the office with me for a moment. I was, by now, very angry. Sukie may have been inexperienced, but she was far from stupid, had been through a college course and knew the basics of social care very well. The mistake she had made was one I would have expected from someone who had no inkling of how a place like Drumlin worked.

  I didn’t beat about the bush when the door of the office was closed.

  ‘What are you thinking, Sukie?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What have you told Dominic?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did you tell him you are his girlfriend?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘I just heard you!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t mess me around, Sukie. Why did you tell him that?’

  Sukie sat down and shook her head in exasperation. ‘Come on, Shane, it’s only a game. He’s such a big old softie, there’s no malice in him. Sure, he’s like a big, cuddly teddybear.’

  ‘He’s a sixteen-year-old boy – a young man – with all the desires and needs of any other kid his age. Except, with Dominic, the ability to understand and channel those feelings is seriously compromised. Today, he tossed Max across the room like he was a soft toy because he wanted to sit next to you. What’ll he do next? You’ve got to set him straight. Right now.’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, lighten up, Shane, will you?’ Sukie said. ‘I’ll break it to him gently. Look, we’ve got gym this afternoon, so he’ll be busy. I’ll chat to him tomorrow, okay?’

  ‘What are you going to say?’

  ‘I don’t know. Look, I’ve been dealing with men ever since I grew a pair of tits. I’ll sort it out.’

  I genuinely wanted to believe her. I really did.

  34

  Jimmy Simms is a multi-instrumentalist I met and played with occasionally while living in the city, and one day I saw with great delight that he was to perform a gig in the local arts centre. Jimmy is a brilliant musician, a fantastic storyteller, and has such an eclectic style that everyone finds something they like in any show he does. His set ranges from comedy songs concerning two-timing grannies, to serious folk ballads about lost love, to rockabilly numbers about cars and girls. I thought it would be wonderful to bring the group from Drumlin to see him, and I knew he’d be delighted to have them along. Tristan agreed whole-heartedly, and notes were sent around to the various parents and carers to inform them of our intention to bring their loved ones out to see a show.

  Everyone was allowed go, and on the night in question we all met at Drumlin, where a little pre-gig party was laid out (we remembered the crispie buns this time). Max was particularly excited. He had never been to a gig before, and in fact rarely went out much in the evenings except to go for a walk or a cycle while it was still reasonably bright. This was a huge treat for him, and he was dressed to the nines in a specially bought shirt and jeans, with his hair gelled to within an inch of its life, and reeking of Brut aftershave.

  ‘You look lovely, Max,’ Ricki said.

  ‘I know!’ Max grinned.

  ‘Tell her she look nice too,’ Elaine barked.

  ‘Look lovely, Ricki,’ Max said, suitably chastened.

  ‘Thank you, Max,’ Ricki said.

  When everyone had eaten, we piled into the minibus, and made our way into town. I had arranged for seats to be reserved for us, and we arrived a little bit early, so the group could have a wander around the various exhibitions of paintings and sculptures that were on show in the centre’s three galleries. A small bar served drinks, and, with glasses in hand, and nibbling the odd canapé, our little crew wandered about the beautiful old building, commenting on the art and chatting about the upcoming concert.

  When there was around ten minutes to show time, a bell was rung, and we all took our seats. An announcement came over the public address system to let us know where the fire escapes were, and to inform us that there would be a brief intermission during which the bar would be open. Then Jimmy took to the stage.

  He is a short barrel of a
guy, with a thick head and face of grey wiry hair. From Texas originally, he’s been living in Ireland for many years, and plays Irish traditional music as well as any Irish musician I’ve ever known, but does not limit himself to any particular idiom. He opened the show with an American old-time song, which he played on a beautiful old mandola, and went on from there. Every song was punctuated with stories about his life and times on the road, of the people he had met, of places he had seen, of other musicians he had met and played with and fought with. The first hour or so passed quickly, and at the interval we filed downstairs again.

  The group were all in high spirits. Jimmy had welcomed them from the stage as his guests, and they all felt a little bit special that night. I knew some – Max in particular – had been just a shade nervous about coming out, and I could see that, as he ordered a drink from the bar, he had relaxed somewhat. Jimmy had come downstairs and was mingling with the crowd, and then came over to introduce himself to the Drumlin group. I was chatting with him about one of the songs he had done when things went badly wrong. Piecing together the various perspectives on what occurred from Ricki, Elaine, Glen and Max, I think I now have an accurate picture of the chain of events. Dominic, who was right in the middle of the whole thing, always refused to talk about it.

  Max had, by now, consumed one or two drinks, and was feeling relaxed and ebullient. Standing in a small group with some of his friends from Drumlin, he was telling a few jokes. Max’s idea of a joke is a little different from yours or mine, as it tends not to feature a recognizable punch line, but, for whatever reason, the folk at Drumlin have always found them hilarious.

  I have thought back and asked myself if Max was being particularly loud, if he might have been disturbing the people in the room who were not used to him, and for the life of me, I cannot answer the question. It is possible that he was being just a little too noisy, and that someone not accustomed to a person with Down’s Syndrome, or with his particular speech defect, might have been disturbed by his conversation. But I do not think that excuses the manner in which such a disturbance, real or imagined, was dealt with.