Collected Stories

by Bernard Maclaverty

  ‘I thought she was improving last night,’ said Susan, ‘when she got up for a while. Said it eased the pain – sitting on her hot-water bottle – God love her.’

  ‘And when she was anointed – that helped,’ said Annie. ‘It was more than good of Father Logan to come out so late.’

  ‘The doctors said there was nothing they could do.’

  ‘The kidney man from the Mater is supposed to be the best in the world,’ said Annie. ‘It’s amazing what they can cure nowadays. Help me lift her.’

  ‘Where’s the best place for my hands?’ Annie showed her. Ellie was cold to the touch. The two women raised the body and Annie pulled the nightgown off over Ellie’s head and down the stiffening arms. They carefully laid her flat again. Susan looked shyly away from the body’s whiteness and triangle of dark hair. Annie modestly covered it with a small linen towel. The material was dry and remained tented like cloth drying on a hedge.

  Then Annie noticed a chain – a long chain around Ellie’s neck. There was a ring on it.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘I dunno.’

  ‘A gold ring.’

  ‘I can see that.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘I know nothing about it.’

  Annie turned the ring between her fingers. The fine chain holding it glittered as it moved. ‘Why would anybody want to wear the likes of that? Instead of on your finger.’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Down her bosom?’ Susan began folding the nightgown. ‘A wedding ring too,’ said Annie as she moved to the marble washstand to pour some hot water into the basin. She wetted and soaped a face-cloth and began washing Ellie’s face, damping and pushing back the black hair from her forehead, making sure the eyes stayed closed. When she had finished the face she moved onto the body. Susan watched mesmerised by the way the skin moved, just as it would in life. The chain with the ring was in the way and Annie disentangled it and took it off over Ellie’s head.

  ‘You’ve never seen this before?’ Annie wrinkled up her blunt nose and held up the chain.

  ‘No. It’s just a ring – all girls love to have rings.’

  ‘But a wedding ring?’

  ‘Especially a wedding ring.’

  ‘Ellie could never have afforded this. You know how much one of these costs?’

  Susan shook her head. No, she didn’t. Sadly.

  Annie was about to hang it on the bedpost when she paused.

  ‘There’s writing here. Inside. I can’t make it out. It’s too small. Susan, away and get me my specs.’

  Susan left the room and creaked down the stairs. It was only recently that she’d needed glasses herself. Before that her eyesight had been good but now, definitely, she needed them for close work like darning or for reading a newspaper. Annie despite being so much older claimed she’d no use for them.

  ‘Good light is all you need,’ she said. ‘You wouldn’t miss much if you never read a newspaper. You have your eyes wore out, Susan.’

  On the rare occasion she did need to see fine print she’d resort to a lorgnette which she kept in the drawer of the bureau bookcase. Susan, now with the lorgnette in her hand, climbed the staircase slowly as if it was the highest and longest staircase in the world. She knew what was coming and was filled with dread.

  Susan passed the ring to her sister. Annie brought the lorgnette to her nose and focused on the inscription. ‘For Ellie – my love – and – I can’t make out whether that’s life or wife.’ Annie moved closer to the window and held it lower to catch the light coming beneath the blind. ‘What do you think?’ She passed the ring to Susan who read it off almost without looking.

  ‘For Ellie – my love and life.’

  ‘In the name of God . . .’ Annie stared at Susan perplexed. Susan handed the ring and its chain back. Annie hung it on the bedpost again.

  ‘What’s going on here?’

  ‘How should I know?’

  ‘Who would have given that to her – and her only twenty? Susan, why aren’t you looking at me?’ Susan raised her head and looked at her sister. ‘You haven’t been able to meet my eye since we came up here. What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘My wee niece has just died.’

  ‘There’s something else.’

  ‘You’re wrong. There’s nothing.’

  ‘I know you of old, Susan. You think I don’t know when I’m not being told the whole story?’ Susan’s eyes went down again and she began to weep with her whole face. Eyes, mouth, chin, the wings of her nose. She did not wipe away the tears or knuckle her eyes. While her sister cried Annie continued to wash the body. Every so often she looked up to see if her sister had stopped. Eventually she did.

  Annie dried where she had washed. She said, ‘Nothing unclean can enter the kingdom of heaven.’ She lifted the white freshly ironed nightgown. ‘Let’s get this poor girl respectable again.’ Susan helped Annie insert Ellie into it.

  ‘That was a favourite of hers,’ said Susan, ‘with its wee ruff of lace.’

  ‘Where’s her rosary?’

  It was kept in the drawer at the bedside. Susan produced a purse. In it, dark knotty beads – and Annie bound Ellie’s dead and waxy hands in an attitude of prayer.

  ‘What I want to know is,’ Annie looked up, straight at Susan, ‘if Ellie couldn’t afford a solid gold ring, then who on earth bought it for her. And put such writing in it?’

  Ellie could carry three plates at a time – one in each hand and the third balanced between her forearm and the first plate. She swooped in and set a plate before each man. Mr McDonald, a whisky traveller from Elgin in Scotland, Mr Rinforzi a string player of Italian extraction from London, and a Mr Burns from Enniskillen who worked as a clerk on the railways. Mr Burns, in his mid-twenties, was their most recent boarder. At some point during the meal Annie always came into the room having taken off her apron and positioned herself with her back to the mantelpiece.

  ‘Is everything to your pleasement, gentlemen?’ They nodded, muttering little appreciations and continuing to spoon hot soup. In the few months he’d been eating with them Annie had noticed Mr Burns’s habit of bringing the cutlery, either spoon or fork, into contact with his teeth. Each time it produced a metallic wet sound. She’d remarked to Susan that Mr Burns wouldn’t be used to such accoutrements at home. Where he was from, the food came in handfuls.

  Ellie dashed in to set more bread on the table. Mr McDonald had finished his soup and sat with folded arms. Mr Rinforzi was saying that he was a freethinker and that the only reason he went to mass was to hear the wonderful Carl Hardebeck play the organ.

  ‘May God forgive you,’ said Annie.

  ‘He was one of the bishop’s better appointments,’ said Mr McDonald.

  ‘The good Dr Henry Henry?’ chuckled Mr Rinforzi.

  ‘His mother suffered from double vision,’ said Mr Burns. He laughed a little at his own joke and offered his empty dish to Ellie. When her fingers came in contact with it she winced and gave a little gasp. She put a finger into her mouth.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Mr Burns.

  ‘A skelf. I got it earlier – out the back,’ said Ellie.

  ‘Let me have a look.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she said and dashed out of the room.

  ‘Such familiarity only embarrasses the lassie,’ said Mr McDonald.

  ‘Never a truer word,’ said Annie, almost under her breath.

  When he had finished his meal Mr Burns got to his feet and pushed back his chair with his legs.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said with some gravity. ‘But I will be back.’ In his absence Annie sat upright on the edge of one of the dining-room chairs. She spoke quietly to Mr Rinforzi.

  ‘Such talk of freethinkers is all very well between you and me but I’d appreciate it if you’d be more circumspect when younger ears are present.’

  Before Mr Rinforzi could say anything Mr Burns returned with a small leather case in one hand and a magnifying glass in the other. Ellie wa
s beginning to clear the table.

  ‘We have all the equipment necessary, Miss Ellie,’ said Mr Burns, ‘to build the pyramids or take a mote from the eye of a gnat.’

  ‘You’ll not lay a finger on me,’ said Ellie, laughing. She bunched her fists and held her elbows tightly in to her waist.

  ‘Dr Burns at your service, ma’am.’ He held the magnifying glass at some distance from his eye and regarded Ellie. The enlarged image of his eye made her laugh.

  ‘That’s horrible,’ she said.

  ‘Show me your pain.’ Ellie smiled a bit. Then unfurled her middle finger. It was a cold night outside and the curtains had been drawn early to keep the heat in. ‘Light,’ said Mr Burns and moved her to the armchair beneath the Tilley lamp. He knelt before her, took the finger in his hand and examined it through his magnifying glass.

  ‘I will draw the sting with my tweezers.’ Ellie gave a sharp intake of breath when he touched the sensitive place.

  ‘Do you know the story of St Jerome?’ said Mr McDonald.

  ‘Indeed you have me there,’ said Mr Burns without looking up from his task.

  ‘The lion with the limp,’ said Mr McDonald. ‘The saint saw what the problem was right away – a common or garden thorn. So he removed it and from that day onwards didn’t the lion follow him about like a dog. Any picture of St Jerome – look in the background and you’ll see our friend the lion.’

  Ellie was tightening her mouth as Mr Burns worked at her finger.

  ‘I’m sorry but I have to go against the grain,’ said Mr Burns, ‘to loosen it. Could someone hold the magnifying glass for me.’ Annie was reluctant to move, to have any part in this performance. Mr Rinforzi obliged.

  ‘Going against the grain may well get you frowned upon in this house,’ said Mr Rinforzi glancing at Annie. But she was looking away from the tableau. Mr Burns cradled Ellie’s hand in his and brought the tweezers close. Ellie closed her eyes and then yelped.

  ‘There we are,’ said Mr Burns. He felt he had to placate Annie and laid the skelf on the white tablecloth in front of her. She declined to look down.

  ‘Small enough to be almost invisible,’ said Mr McDonald. ‘Large enough to cause considerable pain.’

  ‘Like your whisky,’ said Mr Rinforzi.

  Ellie was sucking the bead of blood released from her finger. Mr Burns knelt on the floor putting the things back into his case.

  ‘I’ll send you my fee, Miss Tierney,’ he said.

  In the kitchen Susan, flushed with heat and work, had begun to stack dishes on the draining board. Annie came in and stood with her back to the range. Her fists were rolled into a ball and she was shaking her head.

  ‘What’s getting your goat?’ asked Susan.

  ‘Ohhh.’ Annie refused to answer, keeping what she had, pent up. Ellie came in with some dirty plates.

  ‘Make sure that door is closed,’ hissed Annie. Ellie backed against it and it snapped shut. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses, girl?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That carry-on out there. Do you know how that looks? In front of rank strangers?’

  ‘They’re not strangers. They’re our boarders.’

  ‘They’re not family and never will be. They are three gentlemen who are here as paying guests, and for you to be parading around – flaunting yourself . . .’ Annie mimicked what she thought was Ellie’s voice. ‘“Oh I’ve got a sore finger. Mr Burns would you like to hold my hand. Kiss it and make it better.” I will not tolerate this . . . this sluttishness. If I see this kind of behaviour again from you Ellie I’ll . . . I’ll . . . You’re not fit to be in the company of gentlemen.’ Annie stormed out of the room and they could hear the carpeted stomps of her footsteps all the way up to her room.

  Ellie stared at her Aunt Susan and her chin began to wobble. Then the tears came. Susan went to her, put her arms around her and whispered, ‘She’s in bad twist tonight. I could see it from early on.’

  It was now much colder in the evenings and Ellie was lighting the fire in the dining room to have it warmed up in time for the evening meal. In the kitchen Susan was preparing a pie, cooking meat, chopping vegetables, rolling out pastry. Suddenly the door of the kitchen burst open and Annie strode in with her face like a clenched fist.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ said Susan. Annie closed the door with a firm snap, made no reply and began pacing up and down. Her face was pale and her mouth drawn tight. She was arranging something inside her head.

  ‘Has anything happened?’

  Annie reached the pantry door and turned on her heel and walked back again. She looked as if she was rehearsing something – thinking through a game of draughts. Reliving old moves, anticipating new ones. Her index finger pointing things out.

  ‘In the name of God answer me,’ said Susan.

  ‘I don’t know whether I could. Or should.’ Her voice was quiet, whispered, controlled. She now moved her head in the same way as she had moved her finger. Weighing, balancing, planning. She stopped pacing and put her face in her hands and remained like that for some time.

  ‘I’m waiting,’ said Susan. She was holding her chopping knife point up.

  ‘About half an hour ago I sent Ellie to light the fire . . .’ She stopped, realising this was the wrong way to begin. She began again.

  ‘I have just seen . . . our Ellie . . . throwing herself at Mr Burns.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Kissing him.’ Annie almost shouted the words. Susan covered her mouth with her hand and widened her eyes. Annie began her pacing again. ‘I have said or done nothing about it – because she didn’t see me. Nor did he. His back was to me. She – she was so swept away, she had her eyes closed. I was in the hall – the door was open. Her eyes closed, I tell you. Her hands were that black with the coals, she was afraid to touch him – holding them up like this, she was. Not to spoil his jacket.’ Annie demonstrated as if she were trying to stop someone in their tracks. ‘That charlatan of a showman – Mr Burns – he’s blotted his copy-book well and truly this time.’

  ‘Maybe they’re . . . they . . .’ said Susan. She set her knife down on the chopping board.

  ‘Maybe nothing,’ said Annie. ‘Men are only out for what they can get. Not one of them’s any good – every one of them’s after foulness and filth.’

  ‘Och Annie, give us peace,’ said Susan.

  ‘And if it isn’t foulness and filth they’re after, it’s a round-about way to lead up to foulness and filth. How dare he? I am going to ask that degenerate to pack his bags and leave before dinner. Him and his foul tongue. And foul ways. Did I tell you what he said at dinner last week?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He didn’t know I was coming into the room and he mocked your Brussels sprouts – brothel sprouts he called them. Because that’s what a brothel smells like, says he. How does he know the smell of a brothel? And boasting about it too, into the bargain. That man makes me want to be sick.’

  ‘Don’t get yourself in such a state,’ said Susan. ‘You’re too hard on them. They’re only young. You see badness where nothing bad was meant.’

  Annie sprang forward and flung the door open. She yelled at the top of her voice. ‘Mr Burns! I want to speak to you right this minute. Mr Burns! And you too, Miss Ellie!’

  After mass the crowds streamed out of the zinc Church of the Holy Family into the sunshine. From inside the organ boomed and warbled faintly. A parishioner stood on the steps holding a collection box for the poor. Aunt Susan and Ellie slotted some coins into it as they came down the steps into the chapel yard. They met Emily Mooney and chatted a bit. Ellie looked this way and that.

  ‘And how’s Annie?’ said Emily Mooney.

  ‘Fine. In the best of spirits. It’s my week for this mass – otherwise you’d be talking to herself.’

  ‘Give her my regards.’ And she was away.

  Ellie turned to Susan. ‘Can I go and talk to Frank?’

  ‘Who’s Frank?’

  ‘Mr Burns.’
/>
  ‘Oh, aren’t we very friendly.’

  ‘Och – Aunt Susan.’

  ‘I’m sure Aunt Annie wouldn’t . . .’

  But before she had finished her sentence Ellie was away across the yard. Mr Burns, wearing a handsome Norfolk jacket, was standing by himself smoking a cigarette. He looked pleased to see Ellie, and touched his cap politely when she came up to him. They talked a little and Susan could see they were shy of each other because they moved a lot and laughed a lot. Ellie constantly fiddled with the drawstring of the little bag she carried on her wrist. Susan looked around to see if people had noticed the young couple. She strolled up and down, her hands joined at her waist. Inside the church the organ fell silent. Mr Rinforzi came down the steps, smiled and raised his hat to her in passing.

  ‘Mr Hardebeck pulled out all the stops this morning, eh?’

  The next thing Ellie was by Susan’s side.

  ‘Can we go home through Alexandra Park – with Frank?’

  ‘But that would take ages,’ said Susan.

  ‘Yes.’ Ellie smiled.

  ‘Aunt Annie wouldn’t be too pleased.’

  ‘Please, Aunt Susan.’

  ‘As long as you both walk with me.’

  ‘Thank you, thank you.’

  They walked down through the Limestone Road entrance to the park with Susan in the middle. To their left was the pond penned in behind waist-high railings. Swans moved quietly, looping their necks down into the water to feed, whereas the mallards and other ducks created an uproar of quacking and splashing. Mr Burns smiled and said, ‘Acrimony among the duckery.’ Ellie laughed.

  Susan said, ‘You do use such words, Mr Burns.’

  ‘He makes them up,’ said Ellie.

  ‘Where do rooks live?’ said Mr Burns defensively. All three smiled.

  ‘Where do you live now, Mr Burns?’ asked Susan.

  ‘Got a good place now,’ he said. Then quickly added, ‘Not that there was anything wrong with my last place. I’m in the first house in Kansas Avenue. In every sense of the word.’ They were strolling now – diverting to look at this bush or that flower-bed.

  At one point Mr Burns said, ‘Have you ever had a job, Ellie?’

  ‘What do you call what I do? I’m never off the go – from morning till night – so’s the likes of you can live like a lord.’