Ma, Jackser's Dyin Alone

by Martha Long

  I lifted my head a bit, looking over at her. Then I stared, seeing her stooped in the chair. Her eyes were locked on the floor, staring into the distance. I could see her jaw working up and down, chewing the inside of her mouth. She kept blinking and thinking, with her breath ready, always, to take that little cough. She looked so old, yet she was only sixteen years older than meself. With her thin grey hair and the grey old skin, and the tired old eyes looking like she has spent a lifetime in tears, there was so much pain staring out of them eyes.

  Suddenly I could feel a dam burst as an ocean of pain and a sea of tears swelled up inside me. I wanted to cry my heart out as I stared over at her. Oh, Mammy, Mammy! My poor little mammy. I wanted to rush over there and wrap her to my chest. She looks so small and frail and thin, all worn out from living.

  I could feel a terrible longing coming over my chest. Oh, if only, if only I could turn back the clock. Images – pictures of pain and misery and mayhem – rushed across my mind. The images kept flying, a grey blur, going faster and faster down through the years. So much time. On and on they go, making me grimace as I fall back, flying down the years of my childhood.

  An image stops. I get pulled into a room. A little baby sits on dirty black wooden floorboards looking up at me. He’s naked, except for a dirty grey vest that only covers his belly button. His tiny body is purple with the cold, and his huge blue eyes look like saucers as they stare out through his tired, pinched little white face. His blond, matted, fluffy baby hair stands up stiff with the dirt.

  He sits with his hands on his knees, looking around. He is wondering if there is something to eat, or touch, or taste, or bang, or squeeze – just something he can crawl to. He has a longing to feel, to be felt, touched. But he sees nothing. Only the dirty floorboards and the dirty bare legs and feet moving around him. There’s nothing but to keep well away from the big boots that might stand on him; then he will get himself hauled by the neck and sent flying through the air. Mercifully, if he’s lucky, he doesn’t get smashed against the bars first; he’ll end up safely in the cot.

  Other shadowy little figures, bigger ones – they can walk – sit and stare around the room. They are waiting. Sitting waiting for the cold to go. For the food that would never come, for the hunger to pass. For the fear to ease, for the dark to come. Then they can hide under the coats and the blankets. It is just the waiting; the room is thick with it. It is heavy with their wants and the despair of knowing nothing is coming. The air is filled with the emptiness of their wants, so they sit and wait and stare. They have trained their senses to be always on the alert; they are looking out for danger. It will come from the big, black, heavy cobnailed boots. They are, right this minute, slowly marching up and down the room in a rhythmic pounding, making the floorboards rattle.

  I see a thin little girl. She stands very still on matchstick legs against a bare dirty wall close to the door. She is inert. Her eyes stare into the distance, but they are alive, watchful. She takes a slow blink, keeping watch on the man walking up and down to the window. She sees as he stops, looks out, turns, then walks back, staring at the floor, having a conversation with himself. He looks very agitated as he snorts air in and out quickly, the madness bulging out of his bloodshot eyes as they stare out of his head. He keeps clenching his fists, hissing in his breath, but he has not noticed her yet. His fight is with himself at the minute, and the demons in his head tormenting him. The girl must not let her mind wander or her guard down. She will sense a hair’s breadth of change in the air. Her instincts are finely tuned to spring at the slightest movement signalling danger. This speed protects her, allows her to cling fiercely to this world. Any minute, Jackser can suddenly lift his eyes and see her; she is then the demon. He will lunge for her and maybe this time he will go too far. She could lose her life.

  Another shadowy figure sits hunched over by an empty fire grate. She keeps her head down, running her fingers through her thin brown hair, looking for lice. She sees nothing and no one. She sighs and prays, talking to herself with her eyes turned inwards. She is not waiting; she gave that up a long time ago when she met a man who would take care of her, mind her and shelter her and her two children. Their fathers had run, leaving her and them to the elements. Now she would be cherished, looked after properly, better than her five-year-old girl could do. But the man was her worse nightmare. She stopped looking, wishing or believing something better could happen. It was him or walking the streets looking to a five year old to make her dreams come true. So she turned to death. It’s the only way out. Now she lives in a twilight world, wishing and praying, getting angry and impatient as she hisses, ‘Oh! I wish I was dead. I wish it would hurry up an take me.’ Then she falls back into stillness, waiting in a black hole of despair for time to pass and death to finally come and claim her.

  As I stood watching, taking in the picture, I could feel the thick, suffocating air of stillness, a feeling of everyone waiting for something that will never come. They know that nothing of their wants, needs, will ever happen – no, they will never be met. So they all sit, desolate of any life that will bring hope. They were born to endure; they must exist only to feel a terrible sense of aching emptiness.

  Oh, Ma! Mammy! The pain in me, the longing, the ache in me is making me cry inside. I long, Ma, to be able to go back, to be given that power to stand you on your feet and turn you around. I want to force you to open your eyes, then to pump life into you at what you see. I want to shout, ‘Ma! Ma, look! You have your health, you are young, look at all else you have, Ma. Look at your lovely children! Look hard at them; they are dying inside. Oh, but they are so beautiful. Look at the little babby sitting in the dirt. He’s waiting for you to pick him up. He longs for you to warm him against your body and chase away his fears. He needs you to feed him, clothe him and make him feel safe and snug. He cries for you to bring him into a world with the sound of laughter and to feel the warmth from a ray of golden light. He wants to know and feel the wonder of it all.

  Look at the others – the little ones standing up looking at you with the clothes caked to their skin from the dirt. They’re in rags, Ma. Their huge haunted eyes are staring out at you, you who brought them into this world. They want you too, Ma. They need you. They look to you to give them mercy. They ask for so very little. Just to be warm and dry and safe, no more than a cub lion gets from its mother in the wilderness. But their pain is getting deeper now because they know, they learnt, the world is a terribly dark place. Oh, they are afraid all the time. Who is causing it all, Ma? You! Him there! That man! That lunatic rattling the floorboards, walking up and down the room talking to himself. The one taking up all the space, making everyone stand out of his way, leaving them all terrorised, hiding themself crouched in corners.

  Ma, the world belongs to you, too! These are your children! Use your rage by thinking as a mother. Say, ‘No! No more! No more!’ Get him locked up in a mental institution. Look at him! He’s stone mad. He’s not well! That’s an easy thing to do, Ma. Anyone can be locked up! You know that. There’s a place for everyone, even the children; they lock them up, too. That was your worst fear when you were on the run with me as a small child. They were looking to take me and put you away in a Magdalene laundry. But you kept running. Now it’s time to stop running from your mistakes, Ma. Take the house from under Jackser! Get him locked away! Then go out and beg, borrow and steal. What you can’t get, Ma, ROB! Do whatever it takes to rear, protect and nourish your children, Ma. Make their world a place of magical wonder for a child. Just be a mother, be a woman.

  If only, if only, I thought, shaking my head slowly. So much suffering, so much pain – what a waste. Oh, Ma! You were fucking hopeless! No! I can’t go back. I can’t ever undo the damage. Jesus, sometimes I hate and love the ma in equal measures. They both end up cancelling each other out. No wonder I forgot she existed and buried her. Now she’s back with a vengeance and dragging me down with her. Fuck! I’m cursed because I love her.

  ‘Martha! Martha, for
Jaysus sake, will ye wake up outa tha? I’m tryin te talk te you!’

  ‘What! What, Ma?’ I looked up, seeing her bending over me, talking into my face. ‘Oh, sorry, Ma! I was just resting. The tiredness is catching up on me. I didn’t get to my bed last night,’ I sighed, giving a yawn.

  ‘Listen te me, Martha. Tha doctor’s been in there fer hours now. I’m thinkin he coulda been finished long ago an may be gone off without tellin us! Will we go up an see?’ she said, staring at me with a worried look on her face.

  ‘But sure you could have gone yourself, Ma, and checked!’ I said, seeing the dirty look she was giving me, as if it was my fault in the first place Jackser was even sick.

  She shook her head, looking like the idea horrified her. ‘No! No, come on, you go an see.’

  I stood up, saying, ‘OK, Ma. I’ll just see if he’s still there.’

  The ma doesn’t want to face up to the truth that Jackser is bad, I thought. This is going to be real hard for her no matter what anyone else thinks. In her mind, Jackser is the world for her – a world of horror, but it’s still her world. The damage is done for her – she’s programmed to obey him.

  Then it hit me! I am Pavlov’s dog – I must obey. He trained his dog to respond to a bell. Every time he rang the bell, the dog would start salivating. He knew he would get grub! Pavlov showed the world. See, we are all like this dog. We can break your mind and condition you into believing what we want you to. And don’t I know it! The world is full of bleedin zombies all marching to the same tune, people following each other like sheep. They have been taught to obey the rules. Even when they know something is wrong, nobody will step outside the line. I think it must be primitive instinct. Stay with the herd, follow the leader. The experts have spoken; they must be right. We have to listen to ‘our betters’.

  That is why I am grateful now I never set foot inside any learning establishment. Schools are wonderful for the rest of the world, especially my children. They train your mind to think; they help you to develop your strengths. Grand! Lovely! But not for me, thanks! Because the downside to this is they condition your mind to think as they want you to think. I have no knowledge of that. So I wander off happily, discovering the wonder of learning in my own sweet way, with no one to tell me how I should think. Therefore, I may learn the hard way, go the long way about things – discovery is a slow business – but I am daft enough to believe I can move mountains, because no one has told me that is not possible. I know nothing about physics, gravity or other such mundane things. But I have discovered you can move mountains.

  The great eminent, learned scientists will tell you it is not possible to move a mountain through sheer mind power alone. We will prove it to you. I know nothing about nothing. But I know what I want – I want that mountain to move. Then the fire in my belly rages – I will move that mountain! That is what makes it move. I am deaf to all around me who say that is not possible. They are taught to believe; I am not!

  The ma was a broken woman long before she met Jackser. She carried herself to him. He took her and trained her like Pavlov’s dog. She is going to need someone to mind her, Martha! Fuck! The curse of love – I can’t say no. This love is not something you feel; it is way beyond that. It is paying back to her for the gift of giving me life. But, Jaysus, if God had sense he would have stayed awake when he was dishing out the gift of a child. A mother can wield an unholy power, then the child will curse the heavens as Harry did. A quick and brutal end, when he took that flying death leap, was preferable to a living hell. ‘God rest you, Harry, may you now rest in peace,’ I sighed. ‘OK, enough, Martha, enough!’ I whispered, coming out of my doze.

  I put me head inside the ward, seeing the curtain drawn around the bed and bodies pressing against it. Oh! They are still with him.

  A nurse appeared out, coming arse first, dragging a long pole with a drip.

  ‘Nurse! What’s happening? Is everything OK?’

  ‘Yes, the doctors are with him now. We shouldn’t be too much longer. Just take a seat in the waiting room. The doctor will come and see you.’

  I wandered back to wait, pulling my tobacco out and rolling meself a cigarette.

  ‘Wha’s happenin, Martha? Are they ready yet? Jesus Christ! How long does it take them?’ she cried, twisting her face, making her keening sound like a Banshee’s wail.

  ‘They’ll be ready when they’re ready, Ma,’ I sighed, puffing out me breath, then suffocating in smoke.

  ‘Here he is! Here’s the doctor, Martha. Come on! Gerrup!’ me ma whispered, hissing at me with her eyes leppin out of her head. Then she stood herself up, blinking and coughing, getting ready to hear the news.

  He marched in, jamming a stethoscope into his white coat pocket, then stood, rocking on his feet, looking from me to the ma. I watched as his big mop of curly brown hair bounced around on the top of his head. We waited while he prepared himself to say what he wanted to say. He was thinking of the best way to get it out, I could see by the way he was watching the ma. He knew she wasn’t going to take any news he gave her too well at all.

  ‘Ahem! Yes, well,’ he paused, looking from me to her, wondering which one of us is best he should make the eyeball contact with. He plumped for the ma – she looked more desperate.

  ‘We have examined your husband.’

  Husband? I thought. She never married in her life! But he was married … for a few weeks, I think! Yeah, he told me that in one of his more sentimental moods. I was six, yeah! He said the new missus was stone mad; she tried to kill him! Yeah, she’s still my hero! You don’t mess with a Moore Street dealer. They’d ram their carrots down your neck.

  ‘Your husband has pneumonia.’

  ‘PNEUMONIA!’ me ma squawked.

  ‘Yes, double pneumonia,’ he said, his face looking very grave as he bounced back on his heels then let his head bow to her.

  ‘But didn’t I tell you this would happen? I knew it! I knew! I was right all along,’ she puffed, working up the breath, getting ready to explode.

  Me heart started to jig!

  ‘That’s youse are fault!’ she screamed, stabbing him in the chest with her finger.

  Oh, fuck! I thought, grabbing her. ‘Ma! Ma! Calm down, take it easy. Let the doctor talk.’

  ‘It’s them! It’s all their fault!’ she shouted, looking at me. ‘An yours! You’re every bit as much te blame. You put them up te it! He’s in there now, fightin fer his life. They have kilt him wit their bed baths!’

  ‘That’s enough now, Ma. Calm down!’ I said, seeing the young doctor walking himself backwards, standing close to the door. He was turning all colours, mostly white to match his coat.

  This is not helpful to anyone, I thought, most importantly not to the ma and Jackser. I could see ourselves now becoming outcasts, with everyone giving us a wide berth. We would lose all respect, seeing as we have no respect for them.

  ‘Calm down, Ma! Calm down, please, or the doctor will walk away and so will I,’ I said, being brutal to force some sense back into her.

  She started to cry.

  ‘Oh, Ma, come on. I’m sorry, Ma,’ I whispered, putting my arm around her. ‘Come on over here. Sit down there,’ I said, quietly and gently, putting her sitting in the seat to rest. ‘Let’s hear what he has to say, Ma. He knows you are upset.’ I looked up at the doctor, seeing he looked shocked, not knowing how to take this.

  ‘Listen, Doctor. What exactly is happening?’

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘the news is not good. He has had a stroke.’ Then he looked at me, waiting, saying nothing.

  ‘So it’s bad, then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So what can you do for him? He’s in terrible distress. It’s almost impossible for him to breathe. What can you do? What about physiotherapy?’

  He nodded his head, agreeing, then said, ‘But I think the immediate problem is to get him comfortable. We are going to give him oxygen and increase his medication. We will keep him under sedation and, meanwhile, get the antibio
tics into him. So we are working on that right away,’ he said, making to move away from me.

  ‘OK, thank you, Doctor,’ I nodded, watching him take off. ‘Ma,’ I said, seeing her sitting in the chair, wiping her eyes and nose with the sleeve of her cardigan.

  ‘Wha? Wha did he say te ye, Martha?’ she whispered, looking up at me, hoping I might have better news.

  ‘Ma, they’re going to make him comfortable. He’ll be able to breathe easier in himself. They’re going to give him oxygen and give him antibiotics.’

  ‘But will he be all right? Will he get better, Martha? Tha’s my big worry!’

  ‘I know, Ma,’ I said, feeling my heart break at seeing her look so lost and helpless. ‘Listen, Ma, he’s in great hands,’ I said, getting her to her feet. ‘The doctors are doing everything in their power to look after him. Look, come on, let’s go down and see him. At least now we know he’s getting something to help him.’

  9

  We hurried into the ward, then slowed down when we saw Jackser. He was snow-white, like all the blood had been washed out of him. We stared, letting our eyes take in the sight of him. He had an oxygen mask wrapped around his face, helping him breathe. We listened, hearing it make a hissing sound, then watched it send out a vapour of white, icy-cold air, heading straight for Jackser’s lungs. Some of it was managing to escape and waft up around him, then settle itself on his face. But that was grand, because it was cooling the air nicely around him.