As though they could see into my thoughts, the drunks let another collective cheer out of them, and I looked at the beaten-down state of them and half-smiled, glad to have received their support. I left them to their songs and headed home.
*
Through the crack in the door I could see her. Bouncing up and down on Mario’s sturdy knees. Her knockers swinging good-o. Her face a picture of steely intent. Up and down, she went. A little to the left, a little to the right. Oh, yes, baby. Oh, please, baby. And all the time those boggy hands of Mario steering her hips around and around. I couldn’t look for more than a few seconds or I’d get dizzy.
Are you back already! she screeched when I marched in, and a face on Mario somewhere between Holy Fuck and Thank Christ.
How much does she owe you, Mario? I said, and a spiky heel I needed to duck away from, or else, came whizzing across the room.
MORE COCKROACH THAN WITCH
I was lying in my bed. Had no idea what time it was. After midnight, I’d say. Well after. Another calm night. Quiet too. Wondered if Mario was still knocking about.
Raised my arms and looked at them. Thought about the girl. The bruise on her neck. Hoped she was OK.
Thought about Ma. Her singing friends. That crazy Happy Hour. That spinning shoe.
Had even started thinking about that Paris trip, when I heard them in the next room. Fock me! He was still knocking around. Listen to him. The cobblestone talk out of him. The Moulin Rouge and the Left Bank Café. Before he had a chance to mention bread, I was whipping the blanket off me.
Downstairs I switched on the TV. The picture was pink, like it had been since the start of summer. News was coming on. It’s Saturday, the 18th of July, and here is the late news, the newswoman purred. She looked pretty good in pink whoever she was and I turned up the sound in time to hear a story about a jumbo jet on its way to France missing somewhere over the Atlantic since the start of June. The search team was still looking for wreckage and bodies – in the middle of a raging storm. Good luck with that, I said, and turned the thing off again.
Could still hear them upstairs. Urgent and noisy with it. Turned the TV on again. Cranked up the volume. Watched a chef showing a kitchen full of learner-cooks how to do it properly. He had a funny way of going about it. Fuck me, he said, as soon as one of the others put on a saucepan of potatoes. Soon the learner-cook was in tears. Fuck me, the chef said again, as soon as he saw the tears and the learner-cook ran out of the kitchen. Fuck me, he said again, flicking his apron and going wrinkly all over. If it was me, I wouldn’t have run away. I’d have grabbed the saucepan and clattered Mr Fuck Me down on top of his wrinkly head. Imagine if he ever landed inside our kitchen. Oh my, that is very delicious, the most delicious thing I have ever tasted, he’d tell Ma, licking the fingers he had just poked into one of her simmering pots. Like hell he would. Fuck fuck fuck fuck me, he’d say to her when he saw what she was up to, and give her several clips across the ears.
Turned it off again.
Listen to them!
Fock me!
Switched on again just in time for the late film. Something with a lad in jeans and a t-shirt, who had just struck up a conversation with a girl spinning a baton in the middle of the road. I’ve got some things I want to say, he said to the girl and, though she didn’t let on too much, you could tell she was interested in what those things might be. Was interested myself. He was a cool customer, standing there in his jeans and tight t-shirt, the sort that had detected a big picture for himself, even if all he did for now was empty rubbish bins. If he did have anything to say, he was keeping it to himself. He was just standing there, flicking his hair, like someone without a care in the world. Next thing he had shot the girl’s da, torched the house she lived in, and they were on the run together, shooting everything in sight.
So much for not having a care in the world.
I liked the girl. She reminded me of the girl at the Swamp – a slightly older version. Another wisp of a thing. Freckles either side of her nose. Shorter hair, though, and a softer voice. Maybe they were related, sisters who had never met. She didn’t seem to mind her life on the run with a killer, didn’t care that they had no place to go except drive through vast territories where there were no towns, no people, nothing to see save for telephone poles and the sun going down at the end of the day. They stopped when they needed to find some petrol for their car, get something to eat, one night they did a little close-up dance beneath the dark sky. They were so alone, and whenever either of them spoke you could tell that deep down they both knew it. Knew that there was only one way their story was going to end. Of course the ad break had to ruin the mood. Still though. Got to see what the movie was called. Badlands. That’s what it was. I liked that name. Liked it a lot.
Left Freckles and T-shirt to it, and wobbled like one of the back-lane drunks into the kitchen, stumbled into a chair, rested my head on the table. What was I like? Hadn’t even tasted Ma’s vodka and here I was staggering about the place. Rubbed my eyes and then stared at the bockety wall clock. The second hand took one step forward. Then it changed its mind and went back to where it was. Forward it went again, then back to where it started from. And again. Gave my eyes another rub, but it made no difference. The second hand was going nowhere. The clock stayed at the same time. Then I knew the girl was wrong. Time didn’t fly. It didn’t go anywhere. It made me wonder how I came to be here, sitting at this rickety table, staring at a no-go clock. Then I was worried that time had stopped and that I’d be forever stuck inside the boghole town I lived in.
Opened the back door and stood outside. Thought of the Swamp out there and felt scryer Annie’s eyes boring through me. Heard some laughter. A man’s. Whoopee! The bull-nut seller had just made another sale. Thought if I hung around down here long enough Mario would show his face. Could have that talk with him. Man-to-man style. Could find out how he was fixed for having another kid in his life. Didn’t sound like he was in a rush, though. Stepped into the back yard. Gazed up into the dark sky. That was the place for her. My mother the witch. Put her aboard a broomstick and let her take off. That’s it, Ma. Fly away. You’d be doing us both a favour.
Although now that I had a chance to think about it, she was more cockroach than witch.
Indestructible.
Reached for the razorblade. Gripped it tight. Held up my arm and let the starry night shine on it. Let the blade edge dance cold and ticklish along the cuts I’d made. Thought of the girl again. Wished her beside me now. Tried to come up with some words I could throw her way if she was. Impressive lines. Stuff to make her admire me. Hey, girl! Let’s spill some blood. What do you say? No? Not tonight? Another time, then. What’s that, girl? You want me to say something else? Something cool. Something hip. Something you’ll remember me by. OK, then. I like who I am when I’m with you. That’s the best I can do for now.
Inside again, I heard the pitter patter of feet, the toilet flushing. More sounds arrived. A giddy moth. Worried floorboards. Clinking in the darkness. Upstairs, I heard Ma coughing as if she was having a fit. Maybe her fast life was finally catching up with her, her kidneys had gone into revolt, or some other inside part of her. Maybe she was thinking of all the money she owed. Maybe, like me, she was thinking about faraway places. I hauled myself upstairs, and fell into bed.
Some time after – seconds, minutes, a half an hour – I thought I heard someone come into the room. Ma, I supposed, who else could it be? She sat at the end of the bed. And for once I was almost hoping she might start into a song and have me guessing names. Or get stuck into one of those stories she used to tell me when I was very little. One I hadn’t heard before, about some mystery man she had known sometime in the past, someone she suddenly had lots to tell me about. But she didn’t start into a song or any kind of story. She just sat there in the darkness, saying nothing.
FLOATING KIDNEYS, RENAL MALFUNCTION, GALLSTONES IN MY PANCREAS AND DANGLING RUGBY BALLS
Early morning, the phone wa
s ringing and lo and behold there was something wrong with my pancreas. It had enlarged, was full of stones, the juices leaking out of it were playing havoc with my bowels. I needed intensive care and expert medicine. More than money could buy. And my kidneys. They were more or less kaput. One of them was floating. The other had been invaded by parasites. It was all down to the drinking water. Any day now E-coli was the likely possibility.
That’s right. E-coli! I could hear Ma yell, really revving up now. A deadly thing. Has wiped out much of Africa. AFRICA you hear me! Then there was a little more about my symptoms. My skin was blue and blotchy. The black, tarry urine was now a yellow-green sap. The smell continued to defy description. Meantime, just like I could have predicted, the cancer in my left goolie had spread to the right one. My poor boy, she whimpered into the phone. It’s like he has two rugby balls dangling out of him. You should see him try to walk.
She was pacing about the sitting room, one hand pressing the phone to her ear, her free arm wrapped around herself the way Annie the scryer did, shivering. And she was twisting and turning, and flicking her bobbed hair, and moving the receiver from one hand to the next. It was a great show. So convincing was she, I could feel the various body parts inside me squirming as soon as they were mentioned.
What do you mean this has nothing to do with you? I heard her say next. She removed the phone from her ear, held it out in front of her and gave it a look that could’ve turned round a big ship. Well, I have to say I disagree with you, she said next. This has everything to do with you. It has everything to do with you and the lord and master telling you to call me up first thing with your bully-boy tactics. What’s that? Don’t make me throw up. I need every penny to save my boy. Do you understand me? You don’t! Well, I have to say I find your attitude very disappointing. Let me ask you another question, then. Have you ever had renal malfunction?
She was rolling her eyes as the words left her mouth, squeezing her free hand into a little fist.
Yes! They’ll end up hard as rocks if we’re not careful. And this can lead to renal malfunction. Then he’ll need dialysis. And a transplant. And I think it’s safe to say that you and the bully-boy you work for won’t be the ones rushing in to the emergency room with a set of dripping kidneys to hand over. Now if you don’t mind. My poor boy has just pissed himself for the one hundredth time this week.
*
You better sit down, I told her after she’d hung up. Sit down on the sofa and I’ll turn on the television.
She ignored my invitation. She was wandering aimlessly about the sitting room, all tossed hair and streaky-make-up eyes, she looked like someone who had been sleeping in the back lane ditch.
What did the caller want? I asked.
I don’t remember.
They didn’t sound like the sort who will take no for an answer.
Didn’t they?
You told them what to do, I said.
What would you do without me? she said, waving me out of her way and making her way in to the kitchen.
Is Mario still here? I called in to her.
What? Is who where?
Are you going to work today?
I haven’t decided yet. Please stop asking questions.
She padded back into the sitting room, a rollie in one hand, a drink in the other. This time she cleared some empty cans off the sofa and sat down.
I was thinking, Ma.
Uh-oh.
When you’re on the phone you should say there is something wrong with you. Not me.
You think so.
It would save you a lot of pretending.
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
I was just thinking.
Well, here are three words of advice for you: don’t think so much.
That’s four words.
That’s good advice.
Before I had a chance to say another word there was a knock at the door. And before she had a chance to tell me otherwise, I made a dash for it, and when I swung it open there was cop Lawless standing on the step. It’s for you, I yelled, hurried on and plonked myself at the top of the stairs.
Cop Lawless. The large lump of him all over our doorstep. The stern head. The garda hat. And he wasn’t going anywhere until Ma came to the door and listened to what he had to say. I was interested myself and could soon hear Lawless rehashing my latest trip up Rich Hill, and the small matter of a number of walls and gates being defaced and residents coming home from work to find upsetting slogans painted all over their property.
Slogans! Ma gasped, doing her best to give Lawless the reaction he was chasing from her.
That’s right, Lawless said, at last taking off his garda hat, delighted with himself to have a chance to say some more.
What sort of slogans?
Well, that’s just it, Jacinta, it’s OK if I call you Jacinta? Thanks. Well, the slogans mention, among other things, a certain woman and things she’s interested in, things I’d rather not say out loud – if you get my drift – and there’s a phone number up there and . . .
. . . And did you call it? Ma interrupted, reaching for the sleeve of his uniform.
Well, I did, you know, just to see, and, well . . .
. . . Yes, said Ma, returning her hand to her face, scarcely able to stand the suspense.
And nothing. It rang out.
Oh. As a matter of interest, why are you telling me all this?
Well, I thought you should know.
And what are these things this woman is supposed to be interested in?
Well, I can’t recall the precise wording. But it’s . . . just . . . you know, childish stuff.
And he was fumbling away and getting his lines mangled and Ma was standing there enjoying his discomfort, and when I tuned in again, Ma was not making it go easy for him.
Let me get this straight. He defaced a wall.
That’s right.
A wall!
That’s right.
What sort of a wall?
A granite wall.
A granite wall! Nice walls, I hear. Granite walls. And how did he deface this granite wall?
He must have found some paint.
Paint?
Yep. Marrakech.
Marrakech? What’s that?
The colour.
Marrakech is a colour?
It’s a dark-red colour.
Why not just say dark red, then?
I suppose so.
And you’re sure it was him? Out of all the brats and wasters and general scumbags knocking about the place with nothing to do, he’s the one.
That’s just it. He admitted to it – in the Hungry Worm.
Say that again, please.
He announced it to one of the residents, and more or less in front of Mattie Conlon and the other waitress.
What!
That’s more or less it.
He said it was him.
That’s right.
The little pri—! Hang on. You don’t think someone could be trying to frame him?
And why would someone do that?
Yes, I see your point. Well. What should we do with the little toe-rag?
Well, for starters, he ought to apologize to the residents. Then, perhaps he can clean off what he did. And maybe on this occasion we can issue him with a severe warning. It’s not as if he’s a menace, now, is it?
A warning! Ma said to all that, as though she was scarcely believing what she was hearing. Surely, we can do better than that.
Well, I don’t think . . .
We should put him in stocks in the Market Square. Make a proper example of the little pup.
Well, eh . . .
I know. We could use the Tower. About time that useless monstrosity was put to some good. Take him to the Tower. Yes. Let’s do that. Then we’ll go for a coffee and plan some torture.
That’s funny, Jacinta . . .
Funny! Do I look like I’m joking?
Well, no, I suppose you don’t.
By now
I was silently applauding every word and gesture out of Ma, was doing my best not to laugh every time she opened her mouth. I knew she knew I was listening.
What about hauling him before Deeley the judge? I hear he’s a real bastard.
Ah, I don’t think that will be necessary.
Ah, come on. Please tell me you don’t at least have a dirty dungeon we can chuck him into. Into the dirty dungeon with him and throw away the key. I, for one, would be glad to see the back of him.
Lawless didn’t know what to say to that and she flashed a glance up the stairs at me and winked.
Let’s just make sure it doesn’t happen again. What say you we leave it at that on this occasion, Jacinta?
That’s it. He’s getting off with a soft warning and some cleaning?
I think so.
What did you say that colour was?
Marrakech.
Marrakech?
That’s right.
I must look out for it. Well, if there’s nothing else, I have to get dressed.
But of course there was something else and now I was hearing about my visit to the Hungry Worm and the fright-of-her-life bat-ear Devine had for herself when she saw me yakking away to her baba. Next thing, cop Lawless was relaying the highlights of my talk with the baba, the strange questions I had, my peculiar interest in all things Mario – a wonder Lawless didn’t produce the baba as a witness there and then, the way he was going on. And then it was back up to Rich Hill and more graffiti talk, with special mention of the message I’d left for Mario and the trip to Gay Paree.
Harassing! I heard Ma howling at Lawless when I tuned back in.
Well, now, I probably wouldn’t go quite that far myself, Lawless was saying, but, you know, at the same time, the little fellow had them worried. Not that that means anything, Lawless was fast to add, and sure he wouldn’t be the first lad to be seen chatting away to a baba. So don’t worry, Lawless went on, she doesn’t want to take it any further. So long as he doesn’t show up pestering her again. Between you and me, I think she felt sorry for the lad.
I’d say Ma wasn’t listening to any of it, especially to that bit about feeling sorry for me, could even hear her chuckling at Lawless, and then Lawless was having a giggle about something too, he was trying not to, but between Ma swishing away for him and the way she was reacting herself, who could blame him? And listen to the pair of them! Next thing they were both cracking up, they thought the whole business was hilarious, were regarding me and my idea for tagging along on the trip to Gay Paree as some source of amusement, like circus-clown entertainment.
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