The Herbalist (2 page)

A man marched by with a speaker, calling out
the same thing
over and over again: ‘Stanley, a man who dices
with death for a living. With death, I tell you! With death! The speed, the danger
…’

Mam swung my hand and started to sing
softly: ‘He’d fly through the air with the greatest of ease, that daring
young man on the flying trapeze.’ She didn’t like what the man was saying
about death, but she joined the queue anyway. She had to, she’d promised, and Mam
always kept her promises. When our turn came, we began to climb towards the top. We had
to go real slow: there were a lot of people behind us and in front. Like cattle in their
best clothes. The stairs wobbled. There were gaps in the steps, and you could see the
ground way down underneath. Every now and again a girl would let out a screech. Mam kept
humming the trapeze song. We reached the top. The wall came up to my chest. I looked
down on the circle beneath us: the grass was worn away from motorbike wheels. So Stanley
had performed already and survived. I had a memory then, a quick one: I was in my
father’s arms, and mine were tight around his neck; his face felt clean and fresh
shaven. He was telling me it was all right, that he had me safe and sound. I was very
young and I was proud to be with him.

‘I wonder if this is safe,’ Mam
said.

Probably not
, I thought,
seeing
as it’s called the Wall of Death
, but I didn’t say anything. Some
young lads started to lean forward, trying to make the wall shake and wobble. Suddenly
they stopped and stared into the ring. We looked down.

The Blonde Bombshell was wiggling into the
centre. She did a turn and stretched her arm out in different directions to signal the
imminent arrival and feats of the Daredevil. She wore a blood-red corset with green
fringes on the chest and belly. Her legs looked like they’d been steeped in tea;
long and fat, they ended in the highest heels I’d ever seen. Mae West, and well
past her best. The lads gave Tarzan cries and started to jump up and down, trying to
make the wall shake again. Mam grabbed my arm so tight I nearly yelped.

‘Oh, Lord,’ she said.
‘Blondie must be sixty if she’s a day. If she’s any sign of things to
come, this display won’t be up to much. Let’s sneak off.’

Mam didn’t like showing what she was
really afraid of. She always
pretended it was something else. I
could’ve cried. As we turned to make our way down the stairs, I got a glimpse of
Daredevil Stanley strutting out with his motorcycle. He was tucked into a very snug
outfit. A child piped up: ‘You can see his nobbly bits!’

Mam yanked me and I followed her down, step
by lethal step. We had to get down before the show started or we’d be mincemeat.
That’s what Mam said.

Though we’d barely arrived at the
carnival, she was too tired to see the singers and too broke to afford a ticket for the
Arabian Magician, with his flowing black robes and seven child assistants. So we
strolled along the riverside to find a nice spot where she could rest. When we found
one, I rolled around on the long grass to make it nice and flat for her. She laughed,
and then she lay back and closed her eyes.

‘I hope this grass isn’t
damp,’ she murmured after a while.

‘Do you think it’s all right to
go home yet?’ I asked.

‘Not yet.’

She looked sad, and I was sorry for
reminding her of home. She soon fell asleep. Her cheek was getting pink from the sun. I
pulled some of the flattened grass up till her face was in the shade. I didn’t
fall asleep, but I lay there as if I was, liking the idea of Mam and me dozing in the
long grass while everyone else buzzed around – a world unto ourselves. Special people
who didn’t need to talk much to know they liked each other.

Carmel was all set to wash when the knock
came, someone banging on the shop door. Well, whoever it was could knock away. It was a
bank holiday and after hours and people should know better. Thank God the back door was
bolted. Grettie B would think nothing of barging through it, yodelling her hellos and
gabbing away, while Carmel was stooped half naked trying to soap herself behind a towel.
She emptied the kettle into the basin and dropped a muslin pouch of dried lavender into
the steaming water.

The knocking got louder. Someone who
wasn’t giving up – a straggler from the carnival maybe? Carmel sighed, rebuttoned
her smock dress and carried the basin into the kitchen, out of sight of visitors. She
moved slowly; customer or no customer, she wasn’t going to rush and slip, not in
her condition. She put down the basin and patted her arms dry with a towel. Then she
pulled her hair back, put on her spectacles and went to open the shop door.

When she eased back the bolt, it was neither
Grettie nor a straggler. It was her brother, Finbar.

‘Hello, Carmel.’

‘Finbar!’

She wanted to hug him, but he’d always
hated ‘gushing’. Besides, he was carrying a large cardboard box.

‘It’s wonderful to see you,
Finbar. Come in, come in.’

She locked the door behind him.

‘Come into the back. How’ve you
been? How’s James? How –’

‘Ah, one question at a time,
woman.’

He sounded gruff, but he smiled.

She wanted to say how much she had missed
him, ask had he got her letters. But knew better: Finbar would interpret that as a
rebuke for not having visited her in so long.

He followed her into the living room and set
the box on the
sofa. He turned then and gave her a peck on the cheek.
His skin smelt of Pear’s Soap. He was impeccably attired, as ever.

He looked around the dim room, frowning at
the closed curtains. He went over, pulled them open and sighed when, instead of the
garden, he got a view of their new kitchen extension. He didn’t say anything;
Finbar would be loath to acknowledge any of Dan’s handiwork. Instead he
concentrated on his own reflection, licked a finger and tamed his fringe. He
hadn’t changed much since she last saw him, at the reading of the will.

‘You’re looking very
well.’

‘As are you. I see the child must be
due soon?’

‘I think it’s a boy,’ she
said, smoothing her smock.

So he’d received
that
letter
at least. It would be so nice to share her joy with one of her own. Finbar glanced away
from where her hand rested on her swollen belly. Carmel thought she detected a faint
shudder. She folded her arms in front of her stomach and adjusted her expectations
accordingly. How quickly it came back to her, the code she had developed long ago for
dealing with her difficult brother, for staying in his affections.

‘How’s James – did he pass his
exams?’ she said.

‘Long ago, Carmel. And why
wouldn’t he? What kind of headmaster would I be if my own son were a
dunce?’

‘Of course, I knew he’d do well
– how’s he spending his Easter Monday?’

‘James can take care of himself.
He’s not a child.’

He didn’t offer any further
information on his son, and he didn’t ask after Dan. No surprise there. He looked
around the room a bit more and then his gaze landed on the box he had brought with
him.

‘What’s in it?’ she
said.

‘Excuse me?’

‘The box?’

He went over, sliced the tape with his
thumbnail and flipped back the lids. Carmel looked in. It was full of books.

What had she expected? Flowers? A
christening gown?

‘Books?’

‘Banned books,’ he corrected;
‘a friend in Customs supplies a
select few, people who
wouldn’t let them fall into the wrong hands.’

‘Oh, Finbar, thank you!’

She threw her arms out towards him.

‘Carmel, will you stop?’ He
sidestepped away. ‘Now you can give old Birdie Chase a run for her money, eh?
Though why she rents banned books is beyond me; it’s not like she needs the
income.’

So he had got all her news and he had been
thinking about her – that was something at least.

‘You never said how you found out what
Birdie was up to. Or were you one of her customers, Carmel?’

‘Stop it! Of course not. Seamus Devoy
was delivering the papers one day and mentioned Birdie’s under-the-counter game –
as he called it – in passing. As if it were common knowledge. He knew by me I
hadn’t a notion what he was talking about. “Renting the filthy books,”
he said, with a big leer on him. He said she had loads of
Lady Chatterley’s
Lover
. He thought it was great gas.’

‘Well, make sure you’re more
discreet than Birdie, won’t you?’

‘Oh, you’ve no worries on that
score.’

Carmel lifted books out of the box. Some
were dog-eared already.
Tender is the Night
,
Bird Alone
,
Hollywood
Cemetery
,
As I Lay Dying
.

‘Is
Lady Chatterley’s
Lover
in here?’

‘Ah, Carmel, how would I know? I
wouldn’t lower myself to read that lot.’

‘I know you wouldn’t.
You’re very good to bring them at all.’

‘Make sure you get cash up front. Give
no credit.’

‘Don’t worry your head about the
finances.’

‘I’m telling you, Carmel – give
no credit.’

‘And I’m telling you, Finbar –
you’ve no need to worry.’

‘Your letters give me cause
to.’

‘I know, I know, I just worry,
that’s all.’

She felt guilty. She shouldn’t have
said anything, imposing her troubles on him. The shop would probably have done better
under Finbar. He had a knack for business, an eye for opportunity. Well, it hadn’t
been her decision.

‘Come into the kitchen. I’ve a
nice bit of ham.’

‘I’ve eaten,’ he said.

They stood there, momentarily silent. It felt
like he was waiting for something, but she couldn’t think what.

‘You know, you look well, Carmel, and
happy.’

‘I am happy.’

Finbar laughed. ‘Daniel Holohan
won’t be happy, not when he sees these books. Maybe we should run our scheme by
the man of the house?’

How slippery Finbar was – that much
hadn’t changed. He knew she wouldn’t tell Dan, knew it would be their
secret.

He closed the box and hoisted it high. His
face reddened with the strain.

‘Where will we hide the evidence,
half-sister dearest?’

She hated it when he called her that.

‘In the extension, through the door
behind you – there’s a long white cupboard. I’ll show you.’

He followed her through the door. She opened
the cupboard and cleared the rags and polish from the lowest shelf. Her belly made her
awkward and slow. When she was done, Finbar eased the box into place and closed the
cupboard.

‘You won’t be stuck for reading
material now, Carmel!’

‘Between the shop and the baby, there
won’t be much time for reading.’

‘You’ll want to be careful not
to get worn out. Remember poor Nancy, how frazzled she got trying to manage everything,
what it did to her temper?’

‘I’m not my mother.’

‘Of course, you’re very
different women, Carmel. You, most likely, are well prepared and have help arranged –
some local girl?’

‘We don’t want everyone in the
town knowing our business.’

Finbar’s face lit up. ‘Do you
know, I have just the person. She’s of good character but not local to you – an
old pupil of mine.’

‘I don’t know, Finbar – girls
can be trouble.’

‘Sarah’s far from a girl – very
pleasant, and very reasonable, if a touch on the plain side.’

‘Well, I could probably do with a
hand. I’ll talk to Dan.’

‘As if Dan ever made a decision in his
life.’

‘Now, Fin.’

‘That’s settled, then.
I’ll send her on when the time comes. Just drop me a note.’

He walked back into the shop. Carmel
followed. He went behind the counter and ran his hands across its surface.

‘That’ll be in four weeks,
Finbar. Imagine, four weeks and I’ll be a mother!’

Carmel went to grasp her miraculous medal,
but it wasn’t there. Could the chain have snapped and fallen into the basin?
She’d have to look later.

Finbar took the stack of ledgers from the
shelf behind him. He selected the most recent one and started leafing through it.
Without looking up, he waved his hand at her. Carmel took off her glasses and gave them
to him.

She looked at the top of his head as he
studied the ledger. It was like he had never left. Why had he come now, after two years
of no word? Dan said there was always a motive with Finbar. Carmel didn’t like it
when Dan spoke like that, but he was right. She had adored Finbar since she was a child,
but she wasn’t blind. She knew how he felt about her.

Finbar had always drawn attention to his
status, refusing to call his stepmother by anything other than her first name. That
hadn’t gone down well. Carmel’s mother hated her name, thought it was
common. Maybe that was why Nancy took to Dan. He always called her Mrs Kelly and treated
her with the upmost respect. And when it came to the end, Dan was the only one who could
tolerate her fevered notions. He would sit by her sickbed, letting her ramble on and on
long after everyone else had grown tired listening. Such a contrast to Finbar, whose
visits felt like assessments to calculate how long she had left and exactly when he
could step in and take over.