Born & Bred

by Peter Murphy

  Others said he had been caught drinking on the job. Either way it didn’t matter—things weren’t good at home. There’d been talk of holding Danny back for a year to let him catch up. But the fear of stigmatizing the boy lead them all to agree: “Let him sit his exams and if he doesn’t do well he can repeat them next year.”

  Br. Arnold spent as much time with him as he could, helping Danny without drawing the other boys’ attention. Children could be such a vicious lot and he didn’t want the burden of teacher’s pet to be piled on the boy’s flagging shoulders.

  When he got behind Maguire and Collins, he could see what all the snickering was about. They had been sneaking glances at a folded-out picture of a young woman, naked, with her breasts on show for the whole world to see, and her other parts, concealed only by the fold of her thighs.

  Br. Arnold pounced and extracted the smut from under Maguire’s book and crumpled it up like a wick.

  “Get up, the two of you, and stand at the front of the class until I decide what to do with the pair of you—bringing the likes of that into school with you. You should both be ashamed of yourselves.”

  “It’s not ours, Brother. We were only just looking at it. Boyle gave it to us,” Maguire pleaded, his eyes wide and his face red.

  “That’s right, Brother,” Collins chimed in. He was a sneaky little runt of a thing that was never far from trouble. “We didn’t know what it was.”

  “Is any of this true, Boyle?”

  “No!” Danny protested with indignation. “I never saw that before in my life.”

  “Are you telling me the truth, Boyle?”

  “I am, Brother, on my granny’s life.”

  “Go on then,” Br. Arnold commanded gruffly as he snapped his book shut and held the wicked girl in the other hand. “Go on, the lot of you, the class is over. Except you two,” he pointed to Maguire and Collins. “You two are off to the headmaster’s office to explain yourselves.”

  **

  They were waiting for Danny on the way home, leaning by the corner near the Bottle Tower, sharing a cigarette and blowing on the angry welts on their fingers. The headmaster had the same solution for every problem that landed in his office—six-of-the-best from a vicious, swishing, bamboo cane. Maguire knew that it was better to stand and face it and not flinch. Those that did had their legs whipped, too, until they stood still and took their punishment like a man. Maguire had been there often enough but Collins had tried to dodge and had two burning welts on his thighs, chaffing against his pants. They were both in a foul mood but brightened when they saw Danny approach.

  “Come here, ya bollocks. Come here and get what’s comin’ to you.” Maguire stepped away from the wall and flicked the cigarette butt into the gutter.

  “Yeah Boyle,” Collins joined in. “Your granny isn’t here to save you this time.”

  **

  Danny struggled to control the fear that churned in his stomach and threatened to come scuttering down his leg. He wanted to run but there was no point. They would be waiting there tomorrow, and the day after, and each day their fury would grow. No, he had to face them now and get it over with. Martin had shown him a few boxing moves—how to keep his guard up and how to throw a jab, but he hadn’t really taught him how to fight.

  “Leave me alone will ya? It wasn’t my fault. I’d nothin’ to do with it. What are you blamin’ me for?”

  “Because,” Maguire explained like he was talking to a retard. “You could have fuckin’ told him it was yours.”

  “Then I would have been caned.”

  “You’re the brother’s pet; he wouldn’t have done anythin’ to you.” Maguire slapped him up the side of his head. “You could have got us off, Boyle, and now you’re goin’ to get what’s comin’ to you.”

  He stood closer and sneered into Danny’s face. He made a sudden movement with his arm and when Danny ducked, flicked his shoulder catching Danny on the nose, causing his eyes to water.

  “Magser!” Collins laughed as he swung his foot toward Danny’s backside. “You’re after makin’ him cry. Look at him.” He grabbed Danny by the hair and pulled his head up level with his own and spat in his face.

  Danny’s blood began to boil, melting his fear. He wriggled free and pushed Collins to the ground kicking wildly at his ribs.

  “Get him Magser,” the terrified Collins pleaded as he tried to roll away. Maguire stepped between them and pushed Danny back, like he expected him to run. But a red mist had descended on Danny. He jabbed as Martin had taught him and connected with something soft, even as Maguire’s fist caught him on the nose. He was fighting for his life and punched away with both fists, ignoring the pain in his nose and blinded by his own tears. He backed Maguire against the wall and punched frantically for as long as he could until someone grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back.

  “Hold on there, Tiger,” an adult voice commanded and Danny went limp, sobbing and slobbering as he tried to control his breathing. “Calm down now before you kill the pair of them.”

  Mr. Quirke offered him his handkerchief and motioned for him to wipe his face. “Calm down now, Boyle, and take a few deep breaths.” Mr. Quirke taught history and encouraged Danny when other’s didn’t. “If I were you,” he advised the bloodied Maguire, “I’d get out of here while I try to calm Boyle down.”

  Collins didn’t need any more encouragement but had to help Maguire get away, his bravado now in tatters around his ankles.

  **

  Mr. Quirke watched them leave with a flicker of a smile on his face. He couldn’t take sides but he could enjoy the outcome, privately. He waited until Danny stopped shaking and snivelling, getting colder as his rage evaporated, and put his arm around his shoulder. “Go on home now, Boyle, and get someone to put something cold on your nose.”

  He saw him safely onto the bus before he allowed himself to smile fully and whistled aloud as he headed for home.

  **

  Jacinta didn’t smile. She ran her hand through her hair and raised her eyes to the ceiling. “What on earth got into you? Brawling on the streets with a pair of guttersnipes.”

  “Leave the boy alone, for Christ’s sake,” Jerry snorted from behind his Evening Press. “He was just standin’ up for himself—and it’s about time, too.”

  “And what are we going to tell his granny when she sees his nose all bloody and swollen?”

  “We’ll tell her that he was playin’ football and the ball hit him. Besides, she’ll hardly notice—the state she’s in.”

  “Jerry! Don’t be talking like that in front of the child; can’t you see that he’s upset enough?”

  “He’ll be fine.” Jerry lowered the paper and studied his son’s face. “It’s about time that you learned to stand up for yourself. The world is full of bastards who will only leave you alone if they can find someone easier. You gotta be tough to survive, son. That’s somethin’ else they don’t teach you in school.” He went back behind his paper to hide his smile.

  “This is nothing to be smiling about.”

  “You’re probably right, Missus. Is the dinner almost ready?”

  **

  Jacinta turned away and went back to stirring pots on the stove. She sniffed each one and added a pinch of salt here and there. Her cooking was getting better—not that they seemed to notice, shovelling it down without comment. And Granny was worse, hardly touching what was placed before her but quick to complain if it wasn’t. Jacinta didn’t mind, too much. Granny was clearly in pain, though she did her best to hide it.

  Jacinta would never let her find out that Danny was getting into fights—it would kill her altogether and that day was coming soon enough. Jacinta knew better than anybody; she changed the old woman’s sheets and washed her things.

  She worried about what would happen to them all. Jerry hadn’t found work yet, and, sometimes, she wondered if he was even trying. Not that she could say anything about that; Granny and Jerry were united in agreement that he was a victim of politics,
just like his father before him, and Jacinta knew better than to step between them.

  She still had to go and see the doctor once a week; a bitter visitation to the dull hopelessness that once was her life. He told her how happy he was with her progress, of which he always seemed to have prior notification. He even worried about regression on the occasions when she displeased Mrs. Boyle, something Jacinta was learning to avoid.

  But it was worth the price she had to pay. She had Danny back—and Jerry. They were becoming a normal family again and normal families had to put up with tough times. That was one of the things they had taught her in the hospital: that life wasn’t going to be rosy all the time. “That’s why God made drink,” her sisters agreed when they got together and tried to laugh all of their problems away, even while creating new ones. She felt better when she was with them, married with a child—even if it was to Jerry Boyle. But at least she had a man. At least there was that.

  She smiled as she put their plates on the table “C’mon lads and get this into you. Go on now and start and I’ll be down after I feed Granny.”

  “Can I bring it up to her?”

  “Not tonight Danny. If she sees the state of your face she will only get upset and we don’t want that, do we?”

  “I guess not.”

  “You can say goodnight to her later on when her lights are off, okay?” Jacinta caressed his bruised face and his swollen nose. “Go on now and eat so you have plenty of time to do your homework.”

  “So?” she heard Jerry ask as she left the kitchen. “Tell me all about the fight.”

  **

  “What are we going to do?” Jacinta asked when Jerry came back from the bar with their drinks.

  They liked to get out every night after Granny was asleep, to relax a bit. Danny was there doing his homework and would come and get them if there was a problem. “There’s no money for anything. I don’t suppose you have had any luck finding a job?”

  “There’s no work anywhere—what with the Arabs shuttin’ off the oil, and all. There isn’t even any work in London and there’s always work there.”

  “You’re not thinking of going back there?”

  “I might have to if things don’t pick up here.”

  “And what about me and Danny? I don’t think we should be dragging him off to London; it’s no place for a family.”

  “You and Danny can stay here and I’ll send money over.”

  “But what about when your mother is dead?”

  “Don’t be talking like that. The poor woman is bad enough without wishin’ her dead.”

  “I’m not Jerry, but we have to face facts.”

  Jacinta leaned forward and raised her gin and tonic to her lips. “It’s going to happen, one of these days, and we’d be better off knowing what we’re going to do.”

  Jerry sipped his pint and fumbled in his pocket for his cigarettes. “Let’s just have these few drinks in peace. I’m worn out.”

  “Worn out? What has you worn out now. Didn’t you stay in bed until after ten while I was up tending to Granny and seeing Danny off to school. I hardly have a minute to myself, anymore. I haven’t even seen my sisters in weeks.”

  “Jazus, Jass. You’re not the only one who is suffering. It’s my mother that’s dying.”

  “I’m sorry, Jerry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I know how hard things are for you right now, having your job stolen right out from under you and having your mother dying. Is there anything I can do to make things better?”

  “You can give me a cigarette. I must have left mine at home.”

  “Don’t you remember? You smoked them all.”

  “Shite! I only have enough for two more drinks. Unless you can make that one last the night?”

  “I can do better than that.” She reached into her purse and pulled out an old five-pound note.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “I’ve been saving it,” Jacinta nudged him. “Go on and get your fags and get us another round, too.”

  She had found the money in an envelope in one of Granny’s drawers. There were two more fives and an old ten-shilling note. There was a letter, too, but it wasn’t her place to read it. She wasn’t really taking the money—she was only borrowing it.

  **

  “You’re a life saver,” Jerry sighed as he blew a long stream of smoke above their fresh drinks, lined up, waiting.

  “And we’ve enough for another, too.” She swallowed the tang of guilt. It was another thing she had learned about in hospital: rationalization–only they were trying to discourage it. But if Jacinta was going to survive, she had to make her own rules. “Jerry? Would you mind terribly if I went out with my sisters, one of these days?”

  “What do you want to be goin’ out with them for?”

  “They’re my sisters, Jerry. I just want to see them, once in a while. Besides, I can ask Martin to take Danny to the pictures so you can stay at home and watch the racing on the telly.”

  “But what if my mam needs something? I don’t know where anything is.”

  “We can give her medicine early and she’ll sleep like a baby.”

  **

  They met in town, in the usual place, and fussed over Jacinta, making it clear they still thought of her as delicate. “You’re looking awful tired. You must be worn out with all that you have to do.”

  “And I don’t suppose that himself has a job yet?”

  “A job? He’s just waiting for his mammy to croak so he can get at her money.”

  “Is that old bitch not dead yet?”

  “She’s too miserable to die.”

  “She’s probably died already—only the Devil sent her back so as he could get some peace.”

  “Ah don’t be talking about her like that. She’s dying, God love her.”

  “Not soon enough.”

  “Now girls, don’t be speaking too badly of her—after all, she’s buying the drinks.” Jacinta flourished a five-pound note, the penultimate from the forgotten envelope in the drawer.

  “Fair enough then, we’ll be nice—‘til it’s gone.”

  “Does she still have any money? I heard that she gave it all to the IRA”

  “I heard that they pay her—for protection.”

  “That old bitch has bags of it hidden away somewhere.”

  “How do you put up with it all?”

  “She’s not that bad, and besides, when she dies the house will be Jerry’s and mine and then we’ll see who’s laughing.”

  Jacinta was not as confident as she wished to sound. She did not believe in guardian angels; she was far more focused on the devils that preyed on her mind, just waiting for an opportunity to reach out and create havoc in her day. She did not love God, she feared Him and all He stood for—judgement and retribution. Stern and strict and remote like an overlord, He had little time for the likes of her so she had to find her own way, always careful not to get caught doing wrong. Not because it was wrong but because the punishment of God was vicious and complete.

  **

  Martin was far more optimistic and believed everything had a reason and a purpose in a greater plan that simply was and did not conform to right or wrong. Nor was it haphazard, simply far too complex for human understanding. He took hope from that, even if he was nervous as he waited.

  He had never been to a solicitor’s office before. Mr. Davies had the second floor of an old building on Dawson Street, a musty old office full of dusty old tomes and the memorabilia of a life spent in the public cause; yellowing pictures of posed smiles and formal handshakes between friends, and colleagues, and notaries. Martin recognized some of them from pictures he had seen in the newspapers, and a few from his history books.

  Davies’s secretary said he wouldn’t be long and offered coffee but Martin declined, not wanting to have to balance the cup on his knee while he waited. He was wearing his best suit, a dark blue polyester with wide lapels and flared pants.

  “He won’t be long now,” the secretary
smiled and went back to her typewriter, tapping along with the ticking of the great clock in the corner. Martin sat and rummaged through the newspapers and magazines on the low table in front of him. He found an old and yellowed issue of Dublin Opinion and passed the time down memory lane.

  **

  “And you must be Martin,” an old whiskey-red face beamed at him from the door of the inner office; a mustier place with a large wooden desk and fine old leather chairs, dense with years of pipe smoke. “Come in, come in.” He ushered Martin inside and softly closed the door, muting the world outside. He sat behind his desk and deliberately composed himself. “Well now. Has Mrs. Boyle given you any indication as to why she wanted me to see you?”

  “Not really,” Martin was unsure and didn’t want to say the wrong thing.

  “I see. Well! Let me get straight to the point, then. As you know, my client does not have long and she has asked me to apprise you of her wishes for her estate, after she has passed.”

  Martin sat as straight as he could and held his hands in his lap.

  “The house and its contents will pass to her grandson, Daniel, with a monthly provision for her son, Jeremiah, and his wife, Jacinta, to maintain things until Daniel comes of age.”

  “I see.” Martin wanted to sound like he knew why any of this concerned him.

  “However, Mrs. Boyle has some reservations about their financial acumen and has appointed you as . . . a form of guardian.”

  “I see, but I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Yes. It is a bit unorthodox but what Mrs. Boyle has requested is that you oversee the family and keep me informed of any problems that might arise. I realize,” he paused as if he was studying Martin’s perplexed face, “that this might put you in an awkward position but Mrs. Boyle expressed a particular confidence in you and felt that you would be the best possible influence on Danny’s life.”

  “But what am I supposed to do?”