by Martha Long
‘I haven’t the money, Martha. I don’t know why ye’re bringin me here.’
‘Look,’ I said, ‘I’ll get you a few bob tomorrow. Here’s what I’ve got.’ I took out the eleven pounds screwed up inside my purse and handed him the remaining twenty. ‘There’s thirty-one quid. I’m sure you’ll spend it on drink. So, tomorrow I’m going to pay for a month’s kip in this place, then you’re on your own. Get back down the country and get dried out! Get yourself sorted. It’s your life. I tried all my days to help you and so did a lot of other people. You let them down, Charlie. You simply do not care what happens to yourself. What can I do but feel the pain of what you are doing to yourself and worry when I think about you? But decide what kind of a life you want, Charlie. Have you made your mind up to die on the streets? Get a premature death? End up buried in a pauper’s grave with no mark, no name, to say you ever existed? Huh, Charlie?’
‘Yeah, I’ve been dry since yesterday,’ he said. ‘I can do it when I want. But it’s when I get back te Dublin, Martha, then I meet the same aul crowd and tha’s it, I’m back on the drink. Ye see, Martha, I tried it wit Alan when he helped me out. But after I left them, when I had stayed wit them fer a few months, ye know? Anyway, sure, wha life? Who do I know? Where can I go? The only people I know are all down-an-out alcoholics like meself, Martha. I lost me old life and opportunities years ago, when I was still a lad. It’s too late fer me, Martha.’
I lit up a roll-up cigarette and sat smoking while he sat beside me smoking his cigarettes. We just stayed quiet, with the two of us lying back in our seats, sitting companionably but lost in our own thoughts.
‘Do you see them steps there, Charlie? What would have been once, I suppose, the back entrance to the women’s hostel? It was always blocked up. It even looked like that back then when we were little and me ma stayed here.’
‘Yeah. Wha about it, Martha?’
‘Well, it was on them very same steps the ma met Jackser. That’s where he was sitting. Right on them steps he was, with a load of other ghougers from the men’s hostel here.’
‘Was it?’ he said, sitting up and looking over in surprise, staring at them. ‘Yeah,’ he said slowly, ‘I used te hear him talkin about it right enough. Wha age was I then, Martha?’
I shook my head, lifting me lips together. ‘A baby! You were only a baby, Charlie. I doubt you were even a year old. Wait, you must have been – I was six years old.’
‘Long time ago, Martha,’ he said sadly.
‘Yeah, long time ago, Charlie.’
‘Now,’ he said, ‘it’s all over fer them two an not before time.’
‘Yeah, but it was too late for us, Charlie. Or at least too late for you,’ I said.
‘Yeah, but you were always different, Martha. I never had your nerve!’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘well, I never had your brains. You had a fine mind, Charlie. You were very clever.’
‘Maybe I was too clever fer me own good, Martha!’ he said, snorting as he sat up straight, getting disgusted with himself.
‘You know, there’s only two buildings along here,’ I said. ‘The men’s hostel here and, up at the end, the women’s. Beyond that is the mad house – or was – Grangegorman. Then to the left is the old Richmond Hospital. But there was no entrance here, only the high wall running down the avenue. This is a lovely little quiet cul de sac. I bet you in the old days that women’s hostel was a big old private house for the superintendent of the mad house. The staff from the hospital probably lived in the men’s hostel, what do you think?’
‘Yeah! Ye could be right,’ he said, looking around at all the trees and the greenery in against the old high wall coming up the little hill.
‘Do you know, Charlie,’ I said slowly, almost whispering, ‘I remember me and the ma making our way slowly – oh, so slowly, we were so weary. Up that hill we dragged ourselves, every night, with her carrying you. It was always dark. We couldn’t come back until eight o’clock in the evening. Then the doors used to be slammed shut after us at nine o’clock in the morning. We had to be out by then, sharp. The doors would then be locked and wouldn’t open until the night. If you were late, you got locked out! Fuck! That was the ma’s worst fear. I can still hear her, “Come on, hurry! Ye have te walk! We’ll be left sleepin out if ye don’t get a move on!”
‘So, we used to tramp the streets all day long, waiting to come back here and fall into the little narrow, black-iron single beds. We would be weak with the hunger, Charlie. But the funny thing is you seldom cried. You were used to the hunger by then. So was I. It was just something you knew and accepted – that pain in your belly gnawing away with hunger. That and the walking. You would feel very, very tired, lethargic, but just kept on moving. You had no thoughts and didn’t expect anything. Except the one thing you knew – that when the night came, you could walk up that avenue in the dark, with the trees whistling in the wind, making it sound like the Banshee was crying and she was getting ready to jump out at us any minute. I remember I would move in close to the ma, with me hand at the ready, on the alert to grab her coat. I didn’t do that – hold onto her – because I knew she had the weight of carrying you. Anyway, I needed me two hands free to carry all our stuff. I hauled that around with my arms stretched pressed to me belly. The ma had it wrapped up in a sheet and tied in a knot.
‘Jaysus! They were heavy, Charlie,’ I grinned, looking at him. ‘But you know the ma. She wouldn’t leave anything behind in the hostel because she was afraid of it getting robbed. Then one day we went to the ragman – the aul Jew man down on Henrietta Street. He gave us one shilling and sixpence for them – all the spare clothes we had, mostly your stuff, Charlie. She needed to buy milk for you. So, you see, Charlie, I knew them times. I knew her then. I know what she and me and you went through. I lived them times with her. You never knew any other life than the one we had with Jackser. So, you don’t see her like I do,’ I said, not looking at him, just staring ahead, staying with that time and seeing us all. ‘Me ma struggling, me struggling and you just content to be carried in her arms, not complaining whether you were covered and baked in shit from a rag that sat on you for days at a time. No, nor even the empty hole in your belly for the want of a bit of nourishment.
‘No, I don’t remember you crying then, except in the earlier times when we had a roof over our heads. Then she used to go off and leave us on our own, with you left sitting in the middle of the one bed we had. You had a little cot over in the corner by the window. But it was for the two of us to keep each other company, I suppose – that’s why she left you sitting on the bed. You would cry then because the hunger was on you. It would be from early in the morning until the late in the night she would leave us. We would fall asleep together with my finger stuck in your mouth. It helped to ease the hunger, I discovered, having something to suck, but then you got used to it. Come to think about it, Charlie,’ I laughed, getting a thought, ‘it’s a wonder you weren’t poisoned. I’m sure me hands were manky with the dirt!’ I said, looking at him with a half-grin on me face. ‘Huh! I used to even rummage through the dustbins, hoping I would find a bit of stale bread or something. No such luck, I remember. No, people had very little to put on their tables in that place. They certainly didn’t throw it out,’ I said, speaking in a quiet monotone with my eyes staring back to that tiny little room. But it was home, I thought.
‘I don’t know, Charlie. But it was them times we had with the ma and the memories of her never hitting us, just being together. In a way it’s just occurring to me. I think she was as much of a child in her own mind as we were! That’s why she probably never hit me or showed any real emotion. She was so totally lost inside her own mind. It was almost, now I think about it, like she was a robot. We were as much a part of her as the bundle of clothes I carried around caught between my arms and struggled along with them pressed to me belly. She sold the clothes because we needed the money. So, maybe there is something in what you say, Charlie. She sold us to Jackser. He didn’t
want us, but he kept us because they could get money by keeping us. So she knew we weren’t wanted, but he wanted to hang on to us. So we stayed. He ignored us, treated us badly, and she went back to living in her own world.
‘Oh, God Almighty, yes! We were to her like the bundle of clothes I carried. Something she owned, but they could be got rid of or traded if the price was right. So, maybe you are right! You say she had no heart, she was made of stone. Nothing mattered to her except what she wanted. Even Dinah, she would be company. Gerry is her baby, he will do exactly what she tells him; he has the mind of a baby. But she won’t harm them. Dinah is not a child, Gerry has the care of the hospital. You know, Charlie! It wasn’t that she didn’t want to love us; it was simply that she couldn’t. The difference between her and Jackser was he did hate us, he felt passion. She felt nothing; she was just like a robot with a heart made of steel.’
‘Now ye’re thinkin on the right track, Martha. That’s exactly wha I saw, right from the very beginnin. I think up te now, Martha, you weren’t prepared te face tha fact. Because as you say, it kept ye goin thinkin the ma was still yer ma. Otherwise ye would have te face the fact she made a fool outa you. Everything ye ever did fer her was all for nothin. You couldn’t see tha you had nothin te begin wit, ye needed te believe someone in yer life cared about you. Because in yer own way, Martha, deep down, you’re a real softie! But now ye know,’ he said, looking very worn out because he had been carrying that belief all his life. The knowledge came too early for him.
I managed to keep going by fooling myself that deep down in her heart she cared, it was just that Jackser had killed her feelings, but she had cared one time, I thought. Now it seems that’s not true – there had been nothing there all along. That’s why Charlie had not even got started in life – he couldn’t take the pain of living with the emptiness, because everyone needs someone to love them, even if it’s only for a short while. I thought I had been given that care; he knew he never had. So, that was the difference between us. That is why he fell so soon – he had nothing and nobody that mattered to him.
‘You never believed there was something waiting ahead in life for you, did you, Charlie?’ I said quietly, looking at him, feeling a terrible sadness for him.
‘No, but I was always too cowardly te do somethin about it.’
‘Like what, Charlie?’
‘Like kill meself as Harry did. So I take the slow way. Anyway, I’ll go out happy I hope, tanked up te me eyeballs,’ he laughed.
‘You listen to me, Charlie. You are here for a reason. As long as you’re still alive, there’s hope. You never know what’s around that next corner. I love you – you’ve always had me!’ I sighed. ‘I’m going home, Charlie. Go on, they’re all giving you looks, them fellas going in there.’
Charlie turned his head, seeing a crowd of aul fellas laughing at him. Then they gave him a wave with a knowing look, like he had gone and landed himself with a woman, the lucky devil.
‘Go on!’ I said. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Will you be there, Martha?’
‘Yeah,’ I said.
‘OK,’ Charlie said. ‘See ye then, good luck!’
‘Good luck, Charlie!’ I said, watching him wave from the door, looking embarrassed with the heads all peeping around, standing behind his back, laughing, watching and pointing.
Jesus, that would be hell on earth for me – no front door to call your own, no way to tell them to fuck off and shut the door in their faces when all you want is a bit of peace and nobody to push you around. Oh, Charlie. If only …
I turned the car around and headed off for home and an early night in bed. Jesus! I am banjacksed. I will be so glad when this is all over, I thought, feeling a little lift hit me as I drove down the hill in my big car where once I struggled up on dark nights in the wind, the rain and the cold, walking with a woman carrying a baby, and she was as cold as the grave and as dead as the buried. Thank God I never realised that until now.
‘Oh, I think ye always did, but ye saw only wha ye wanted, because ye knew it was the only way,’ murmured a wise little voice who stirred sleepily in my heart.
24
On the last lap now, I turned left heading for home. Ohh! The lovely, sweet, familiar scent of the fresh sea air. God, how lucky can you get? Bloody hell, the fumes from that city centre nearly had me suffocated. Yeah! The aul smoking doesn’t help.
‘Here we are,’ I sighed happily, then looking up, seeing the house in pitch blackness. What! It can’t be that late? Oh, I just remembered their father has taken them off. He’s visiting friends first, the Russian brigade, then he will drop them down ahead of me and leave them with the Wallaces. Jesus! How could I forget that? You didn’t. You just hadn’t time to think about anything but what you were doing.
Oh, great. I have that to look forward too – a nice few days down in Wexford in the Wallaces’ summer house with their three children. The kids are best friends. They’re all around the same age and they go to the same school. So, that’s how I got to know the parents. We get along great, but the mother and myself are like chalk and cheese. She’s softly spoken, blonde, tall, absolutely gorgeous-looking and very sophisticated. But we get along grand. We laugh at the same things, because we have the same sense of humour. Yeah, it’s going to be smashing.
So, tomorrow morning is the funeral. I will fix up all the odds and ends, pay the undertaker what I owe him, then hot foot it over to the hostel. I can even take Charlie back there with me, pay for his bed for the month as I promised, then, first light the next day, hit the road before the early-morning traffic starts to pick up. That way I should arrive just in time for breakfast. Ohh! I can’t wait. I will have plenty of time with the children – get to hear all their news and see what they’ve been up to. Brilliant! I wonder if they have enough clothes? I can ring and find out. Maybe phone them as soon as I get in. What time is it now?
I squinted at the car clock. Quarter to nine! Hmm, maybe the kids could be in bed, with the parents having their feet up. Yeah, I’m sure they will be sitting down to a lazy dinner, supping wine and talking. They might even have invited some friends over for dinner. Yeah, best to be on the safe side. It wouldn’t be good to disturb them seeing as we are under compliment being their guests. OK, first thing in the morning, around nine, I can let them know when to expect me. Good, that’s that worked out! But the best thing about this is that the children will be having a great time. They won’t pause to feel deprived about not having had me around. Poor things, they are very good; there was not one word of complaint out of them. On second thought, maybe the little worms are happy to see the back of me! Good, break for me!
Right, first things first – something to eat, I thought, racing around the side of the house, then pushing in the kitchen door. Oh! They took Minnie! No wonder the house is so quiet. No company, so it’s just me and me on me own. I should have known – small and all as she is, you would hear that bark a mile down the road. The kids think she looks and acts like me – noisy and all hair! I switched on the light and two came on. One over the Aga and the other one lighting up the breakfast area. OK! What’s there to eat?
Talking about that, it’s just hit me! Why the hell did I go beetling off, tearing around the supermarket like a blue-arse fly with the kids racing up behind me doing a weekly shop if we were going away? I was wondering why the kids were so keen to know what we were going to do with all the shopping, especially when they kept saying, ‘Mamma, are we bringing this to Wexford?’
‘Yes, darling!’
‘Are we bringing that to Wexford?’
‘Oh, yes! Of course, and that.’
I knew we were going, but I never made the connection between the two. I must have been thinking it was … Who the hell cares? I’m a right eegit. I certainly wouldn’t be doing my weekly shop to take down to the Wallaces’! They would think I’m odd, turning up with grub. They don’t need it. If I had their money, I could burn me own.
Anyway, they eat
rubbish, chickens stuffed with blue cheese – it smells like a dirty rag! Reminds me of the pissy smell meself and Charlie used to get off ourselves when we were kids after pissing the bed. No, thanks, I will just have to starve and enjoy the fresh air. So what planet was I on? Never mind, the food won’t go off. Lovely, so now I can have me pick – something fast, though. I’m not in the mood to start cooking up a dinner now. Then I will have a quick shower and hop into bed with a good book. What’s to read? Something light – a book by Franz Kafka, The Trial. Light, me arse. Forget that! He would put years on you. Mind you, I love using that word. ‘It is sooo Kafkaesque!’ It’s handy when you meet some gobshite who thinks they’re Einstein, dazzling you with their genius or, worse, the snobs! Out comes me, ‘It’s soooo Kafkaesque.’ That gets the grin wiped off their chops!
I stood up, wondering where all this was coming from. Snobs! What about them? Hmm, I think I’m a bit nervous about hanging around for a few days with the Wallaces. It’s not them; it’s their bleedin friends. When they start, I’m bound to say something … off-putting!
‘Love your dress, dawling!’
‘Yeah, bought it in Oxfam!’
‘Owh! How lovely. I must do my little bit too, send them some donation!’
Then they waft off looking for someone normal. Some brilliant, intelligent, sparkling wit and upper crust like themselves, they think. Jaysus, I never know who I’m going to become around that lot! I could be Missus Bucket … ‘Bouquet, darling. It is pronounced Bouquet!’ she snorts.
‘You speak so beautifully, Martha! Where did you go to school?’
‘Eh! The Rutland.’
Blank look then a huge smile. ‘Oh, really! Was that the famous public school?’
‘Oh, yeah, definitely. It was very public!’ I drone, thinking, so public the ma’s and grannies could see us clawing at the windows, banging, hammering and screaming to be let out. They locked the doors to stop us escaping back to Summerhill, Sheriff Street, Sean McDermot Street and all the surrounding boltholes.