Bend for Home, The (14 page)

What
’
s
on
the
box?
asks
Maisie,
turning
away.
My
mother
goes
back
to
her
beads.

Get up, said Una.

I have a headache, I said.

I lay in the bed dreaming of a new life in London while the huge mixer in the bakehouse spun dough. The story went round and round. The flour men came up the entry. Miss Reilly shook a pillow slip out of her bedroom window. A car backfired. The jackdaws screamed as they landed on the draper’s roof tiles. Dark feathers flew. I slept and woke and found that nothing had changed. I went back to the beginning and ended up where I was. I tried to convince myself that none of this was true.

I turned in the bed, this way and that, and tried to empty my head of everything. But it was always there. The girls in the kitchen called me down to breakfast but I didn’t answer. They called me to dinner but I didn’t go. Soon the light in the room started to fade. I felt small. Miss Reilly stood looking towards the Gallows Hill. The lights came on in the dining room below, and the whitewash on Burke’s side wall slowly grew grey, with long bands of yellow thrown onto it from the lit-up kitchen where the trays went back and forth, and the girls called to each other cheerfully.

Maisie spoke from the landing.

What’s wrong with you?

I’m sick, I said.

I lay on. It turned black. Music came over the house. Delft clashed. I woke in the early evening from a terrible dream I couldn’t remember, and all that I couldn’t remember tormented me, driving great eerie distances between things that didn’t exist. The geyser stopped hissing. The chairs went up backwards on the tables and the dining room was swept. The baking house slammed shut.

Noel shouted up from the entry in a faraway voice. Are you coming to work, Dermot?

I sat up in the bed ashamed and didn’t answer. Then a while later Una looked into the dark bedroom and said did I want the light on but I said no, I was all right. Then I felt happy in a light-headed
way because I would be left alone. I would be left alone. I knew Maisie had reached her room because suddenly the volume on Radion Eireann was raised. The hunger and the darkness and the fear gave rise to great swathes of self-pity. I dressed in the dark and dropped down into the garden. The streets were empty. I headed for the Ulster Arms and met the lads. Dermot who’d taken the half-day was there. Andy says there is trouble. Bad trouble.

That’s right, agrees Dermot.

We’re in the shit, said Andy. Let’s hit London.

We’re emigrating, he said. Myself and Healy are off across the water.

Is that so? said Mr McCusker, the barber. Give those lads a jar.

By the time we reached the Central at 11 we were footless and Andy was sure we would never see home again. Josie was there sitting at a table on her own.

You can say goodbye to us now, I said, we’re leaving Sunday.

I’ve been waiting for you, she said. I’ve been up and down the town all day.

What for, I asked her.

To give you the news.

What’s happened?

Everything is all right, she said. It’s blown over.

I couldn’t believe it. So we all went off to the amusements and jumped into the bumping cars.

Turned up for role call, answered to my name and hid in the jacks till class started, then I slipped down the back avenue to the bicycle shed and hid there reading
Kidnapped
till 1 o’clock when the half-day at school was over.

Met Josie in the Central. From a Jack to a King was playing.

Did not go to school but went out after dinner because Maisie threatened me with writing to the mother. There was an enquiry.
Fairy sent me to the Dean. The Dean sent me to the President. Father Bob said I was letting my family down.

I know, he said, that you’ve lost you’re father, but you’ve got to come to terms with it.

Square gave me five on each hand. Benny said I’d soon be sent through the gates. And then I read out an essay for Packie the Case entitled Going Abroad and into it I put all the things I imagined I’d have seen in London. Then I went home. I went up to my room and did my exercise and listened to Luxembourg. For a while I thought there was someone standing behind me but there was no one, and yet someone was there all the same. I began to get frightened. Then when it was dark I slipped out onto the roof, over Provider’s wall and went out the Dublin Road. No car was stopping. So I walked the 7 mile through the cold pitch darkness to Josie’s house. Her parents were away. We lay on the living-room floor and listened to records. Boy! Had to walk home in the sleet. I was skint. I got in through the window and went to the toilet. When I came out Aunty Maisie and Una appeared from my father’s room where they’d been waiting. They kicked the hell out of me. Una fell.

Andy caught hens, Dermot fell under the table, they shouted upstairs, I went up and they were downstairs.

Where
are
we?
said
my
mother,
suddenly
darting
awake.

We’re
in
Cootehill,
I
said.

And
you’re
still
here?

I am.

Good,
she
said,
and
she
closed
her
eyes
again.

I played records in the Central Café and finished the last of 10 Players. After 11 Mass Sheila came in for the day. She was looking lovely. Her face was flushed and fresh and happy. She was wearing a long blue jumper over her red pleated pinafore. A gold chain and cross hung down across the small collars of her blouse. The striped tie was knotted firmly. She smiled slyly and came straight across to my table, passing her brother and his friends, and sat down opposite me.

Thank you for coming to see me all those nights, she said, and she moved the milk and the salt cellar aside and took my hand.

Old emotions stir within me. She trailed her fingers over mine, and we sat looking at each other, saying nothing. There were dark tints like sleeplessness under her eyes, something warm and foreign that made me glad. I played Be Bop a Lula. She squeezed my hand.

We’re awful fools, she said. We could have been in big trouble.

I know, I said.

We’re not to do it again, she said cheerfully and added, I don’t think.

She took my hand across the table and pressed the palm to her cheek.

It’ll not be long till Easter, she said.

Then Josie arrived with her flash camera. We stood by the bus station and she took photos of us, arm in arm, Sheila’s hair quiffed back, one foot askew and myself humped over to come down to her size.

Smile, can’t you? said Josie.

In the bicycle shed we all dismounted with crosses of ash on our foreheads. We had a competition swinging along the overhead beams hanging by your bare hands. It was tough going. The boarders had bigger crosses than us, made not with a thumb but a paintbrush. They had black toast they said for breakfast. Everyone’s gone holy, even McInerney.

What are you off for Lent? I asked him.

Talking to you, he said. You’re always getting me into trouble.

Slipped out of bed that night and went for a walk down Main Street. Met the hard lads. Go long, you clatty fucker, said Johnny.

We drank down River Street sitting on the door step of Johnny’s house. His father, a tall tipsy man with an old gash across his cheek, came along from the CYMS carrying a billiard cue.

I like to see our Johnny in good company, he said, taking the piss.

Don’t start, Daddy, said Johnny.

Start what? he shouted.

You’re always cribbing.

Healy, he said to me, go back where you came from.

Then Mrs Galligan, her hair tied back with pins, came down the stairs in a man’s pyjamas. James Galligan, she said, come in from the street.

Yes, Mammy, her husband said.

There’s nothing but class distinction in this town, he said and went in.

I lit a fag. Johnny puked into the Kinnypottle. Andy was pissed. We are all bad cases. I ended up shouting on Main Street.

Did
you
come
across
Shamey
Slacke
in
your
travels
in
that
yoke?
she
asks.

He
was
mentioned,
I
say.

And
any
word
of
Nancy?

A
little.

I
should
never
have
left
you
after
your
father
died,
she
says
and
her
chin
steadies.
Nancy
got
it
into
her
head
that
I
needed
a
break
and
I
ended
up
a
char
off
the
King’s
Road.
And
you–she
looked
at
me–you
went
asunder.

Did not go to school. Bad headache. I’ll never do it again.

Left Josie out part of the way home on my bike and then headed off
alone to the Railway Hotel to see if any of the gang were there but the only man at the bar was the black doctor in a smart grey gabardine coat that detectives wear.

Where have you been? he said. Give this fellow a gin.

I had my first gin and tonic.

It tasted great. We had another. He spoke about Calcutta and lit a cigar and drew it away quick and wide from his face. He clapped me on the shoulder and ordered again. His eyes were cream-white and his knuckles were pinched and blue. He laughed a lot to himself and talked of being lonely, so we hired a taxi and went off to the first opera I’d known of to come to the Town Hall. People there were astonished to see us together.

Have you booked? asked Miss Connolly.

No, I said.

Well, all we have are the dear seats, I’m afraid, and she righted her glasses.

That will do, thank you, said the Doc.

Reluctantly she peeled off the tickets and so we found ourselves up the front among all the folks in evening dress. The women wore white gloves and the men dicky bows. In front of us the orchestra were tuning up. Violin, violin, violin. Cello. The drum. A scatter of notes from the flute. A head through the curtain to see was the house full. And all the time the Doc kept laughing. When the lights went down he fell asleep, and woke when I poked him. The worst thing was – it was a sad part, and he jumped to his feet and clapped. All eyes turned to us. I was mortified. Afterwards I took him home to the hospital on the bar of my bike. On the avenue we fell off into a bush and lay on the lawn laughing. Every time we tried to get up he started another burst of laughter.

We must do that again, he said, some time.

The College lost the McRory cup so we got no free day. Everyone was badly disappointed. That night all the school boarders from Saint Pat’s and Loreto were let out for the opera, so off I went to the opera again. The girls were in the front and just before the start Sheila stood and waved at me.

Josie took off her roll-on. Would not but was nearly going to. We had some of her father’s gin then.

Did not go to the alley but stayed in and studied. Asked Maisie for money for the pictures.

You are abusing privilege, she said.

Please, I said.

No, she said, a thousand times no.

I just want to go to the pictures.

No, she said. You’ll see no more money from me.

So Dermot paid for me in and Josie bought me 10 fags and a 99. Josie and I broke the seat at the pictures while courting. She hit the floor and said Fuck. Everyone in the Magnet laughed. Afterwards we hitched through the cold to her place towards Killeshandra and I met her mother and played her some records. She poured me a gin.

What age are you? she asked me.

Nineteen, I said.

Have you any interest in politics? asked her father, the doctor.

Not really, I said.

Well you should, he said, certainly, certainly. We talked about Ireland. The mother stoked up the fire. It turned 2. He said he’d leave me back to town. I got into the car and he poured a kettle of hot water over the frozen windscreen. He started to reverse. Josie was standing at the gate to wave goodbye but the car skidded on the black frost and hit her.

I ran to her.

Dermot, she said, I feel sick.

She’s suffering from shock. He hit her on the leg. The father was upset.

It’s all my fault, Daddy, she said.

I led Josie back to the fire. She held my hand. Her father wrapped her leg in a bandage and the mother gave her a hot whiskey. Josie didn’t want me to go but I had to. I said I’d walk home because he was too drunk to drive. I got lost coming down the lane from their house in the snow and felt my way by the branches. Cows were
bellowing in sheds. It was pure cold. I slid along the ditch. Stars were everywhere. I must have been walking a long time when the squad car stopped me on the Farnham Road and the guard rolled down the window. I could feel the hot air from inside. He asked me my name.

What are you doing out at this hour of the night?

I said I was walking home.

I can see that, but where are you coming from?

A Fine Gael meeting, I said.

Is that so.

And then my wheel went flat.

Ah
h-ard
luck, he said.

It was 3 when I reached the Breifne and Maisie was waiting for me on the stairs. I said I had an accident. The only accident you had, she said, was the day you were born.

Got six slaps from Square, the Dean, because Fairy reported me for throwing orange peels in singing class. Then Barney chucked me out of science for causing a disturbance. Then Mutt hits me. Josie gets into the car.

I have a sore arse, she says, and she gave me a letter from Sheila.

It’s a fair day in Cavan. The town is full of ponies and cows and carts of pigs. The Market House is running with seeds. The Market yard is filled with carrots and heads of cabbages and onions. Everyone is on the move up and down from the Gallows Hill where the cattle pens are. The pubs are overflowing. The Northern farmers, in squat wellingtons that suck as they walk, piss down the entry and stalk the streets with hefty sticks. They’re having fries and high teas of ham and tomato and sliced pan and butter pats in the Breifne, and Katie German is on her feet all day by the range with a plate over the frying pan. Maisie is flying in the shop. Una is serving in her Poor Clare’s uniform.

Get in there, says Katie.

I wash up in the Breifne till the restaurant closes. The girls collapse in the dining room and light fags. Then I work next door in Noel’s bar. The skin on my hands is white from the soap and hot water. In the yard a man broke a stick over his son’s back then drove him before
him screeching up Main Street. The door in Woolworth’s slammed shut on a woman’s arm. I served a snail in a bottle of Guinness. The farmer spat it out into the palm of his hand, studied it and asked Noel when had the shop turned into an eating house.

That’s a good one, said Noel and gave him a Power’s before compensation set in.

A small man ordered a drink and came up on his good leg to get change from his pocket. He was 6 feet tall. The pub was full till 10 and Noel paid me 9 shillings and 20 fags. I go for a stroll. The town is littered with dung and walking sticks.

Howareya.

Howareya.

Oh how is it going?

The same. The same.

Don’t go to school, still have the
cruiscin.
Dermot left me in a few books to read.

Do not go to school. Spent the day in bed. Then in the middle of the night there was a tap on the window and Andy in a long green FCA coat climbed in off the kitchen roof. Next thing Dermot brought a ladder up the entry and two girls climbed up into my room. We thought you’d like the company, said Dermot.

Working all day washing delft, then went off to see
Ben
Hur
at the pics. There was no seat beside Josie but one beside Andy, so at the break Andy took Josie’s seat and she took his and we ate apples I’d stolen from Blessings. Quiet, shouted George O’Rourke and he shone his torch at me.

Where
are
we?
says
Mother,
wakening.

Here,
I
said,
in
the
bungalow.

She
closes
her
eyes
and
sighs.

The Saint Patrick’s Parade came charging down Church Street. There was a pipe band from Downpatrick and another from Kingscourt. Then the floats came. Provider’s, Fegan’s, the ESB, Jackson’s Garage, Smith’s garage. The scouts. The Brothers’ band with Gerry Brady marching in front of them with Brother Cyril. Irish dancers. Roadstone.

I’m not going back to St Fucking Pat’s, said Ollie.

All right, I said.

I’ve had enough of that place, he said. I’m for Manchester. Will you come?

I might.

Good.

I don’t feel right, said Dermot and he went home.

I’ve just cut my finger, said Ollie. How did that happen?

I haven’t a notion, I said.

Myself and Ollie walked round the town. I slept that night with him in our single bed. He got up at dawn fearing trouble. I’ve done it this time, he said. He put the dicky bow in his trousers pocket and headed off for college at half past 6 looking miserable.

Ollie got 10 slaps from Square and a warning that his parents would be told. He said he felt ill and had slept in the Farnham Arms. He denied he was with me. In Packie the Case’s class Bob the president called me up to his room.

Have you been out near Loreto? he asked.

No, I said.

Are you sure?

Yes, Father.

Well, the nuns say it’s you. They’ve heard the girls talking.

It’s not me, Father. Not at all.

I suppose I must believe you.

Thank you, Father.

Should I tell the Mother Superior it’s not you?

Yes, Father.

All this, Dermot, is very sad, he said.

That night I walk out to Josie’s house on my own. Nearly dead tired when I get there. We listen to music for hours. I ride back to town on Josie’s bike and leave it in the Regal yard. It’s 12 o’clock. Aunt Maisie is at the door. She takes my key.

Josie thinks I went with someone else last night. And also thinks something happened on Sunday night. I say no. We go on talking over the phone. Then the operator breaks in.
Stop
that
dirty
talk,
she says. We go on talking. The manageress of the Ulster Arms arrived.
Get
out
of
that
phone
box,
she says,
I’ve
had
a
complaint.
She dumped me onto the street, I went up to the phone box at the post office and rang back. We talked on, and on. But it was no deal. She doesn’t believe me.