Where Old Ghosts Meet (25 page)

Matt Molloy's mind was on that night years ago and his bitter confrontation with Gerry Quinlan. The very notion that he could go off to New York and become an actor was ridiculous. How could he know about the loneliness and rigours of a big city like New York? Matt Molloy knew in his heart that he had been too harsh with his young student that night, and deep down he regretted it but he had never found the courage to admit it. He wondered now as he watched if, in fact, he had done him a service that day: if his advice, though harsh, had been sound. His eye caught the faded bronze knot of hair on the top of Peg's head across the room. It shone like a beacon amongst the patches of grey.

“Mr. Molloy, maybe you have something to add. Being an outsider an' all, you've been abroad and seen the world and at the same time know what we're about here. What do you think? Should we shut her down or what?”

He heard the word “outsider” and knew before he stood up that his opinion would count for nothing. He was just a decoy. He knew he shouldn't take the bait but he wasn't about to back away, not in front of Gerry Quinlan. He stood up reluctantly, aware of the deep silence in the room as he collected his thoughts. He was searching for truth.

“This island is a barren, isolated place,” he began, “make no mistake about that.” His tone was quiet and deferential, his eyes averted, not wanting to make contact with anyone in particular. “Even at the best of times life here is a challenge and you respond to that challenge by working hard.” He shifted his feet, glad of the warmth coming from the belly of the woodstove. “Your life here has a strange, unrelenting rhythm. You know it, live with it and survive doing what you know best. In the new growth centres across the bay or in the city of St. John's that rhythm may not be too different from what you know, but make no mistake, it will be different. If you choose to leave, you have to understand that wherever you go, you simply may not fit in with the new order. That is all I have to say.”

He sat down, glad of the partial concealment provided by the stove. He could hear some clapping but he had no way of telling if it was widespread. He wished he could leave now, quietly.

“Well, now, that's all very impressive.” Like many of the island men, the speaker was short and powerfully built. He had a voice to match his bulk and a presence that demanded attention. Matt Molloy recognized him right away. Leo Power, another old student, bright enough, owner of the largest fishing boat in these parts. “Them's grand words from Mr. Molloy, yes, won'erful grand words.” For a moment he stared at his boots and then turned a crafty eye on the crowd, taking time to eyeball certain people, making sure he had their attention. Then he straightened his back and pointed to where Matt Molloy sat by the stove. “But, tell me now, tell me this, what do he know about the likes of us? What do he know about makin' fish or bein' up to yer arse in debt before you ever gets to put yer boat in the water in the spring of the year and still in debt in the fall of the year no matter how good the catch. Now, I can take a swing at life, good as any man, and I'll tell ye this.” He pointed his finger straight into the heart of the crowd. “If I has to jack up my house, put her aboard a raft and haul her across the bay, I'll do it, and I'll tell ye this much, I'll not be beatin' me brains out worryin' about whether I fits in with the crowd over there or not.”

Wild cheers, shouting and arguing followed. That was the final word from the floor. A show of hands and it was over.

Peg looked about for Matt, thinking they could walk home together, but he had gone, so she made out across the path, happy for the first time about the whole situation. She knew now, for sure, what was best. They'd stay on, on the island, no matter what. The Byrnes too had made up their minds to stay and Pius Walsh. “He wasn't goin' nowhere,” so he said. He had no need of a school or church, and the O'Briens down to the Gut, they were staying and there were a fewmore besides. She would make a nice cup of tea when she got in, stoke up the fire and tell Matt what she'd decided. Peg was delighted now that she knew what was best for them both. They'd manage, the two of them, like they'd always done.

There was no light on in the house when she came around the bend in the path. When she came through the door, he was at the kitchen table, sitting in the pitch dark, his head in his hands and not a stir out of him. Peg went straight for the lamp and lit it, paying no attention to him. Then she threw a few sticks in the stove and put on the kettle.

“Matt,” she said, “I've made up my mind. I want to stay here on the island with you. This is where we belong.”

“No, Peg,” he said. “The reality is that you belong here. I don't. I realize that now. I suppose I always knew but didn't want to think about it.” He continued, “You've been good to me, Peg, and I've been happy here. For that, I will be eternally grateful. I wanted to tell you that before I leave, but it's time I was off.”

She couldn't believe her ears. She was willing to change her whole plans so they could spend their old age in peace and quiet in the place they both loved and all he could say was, “Thanks, I've been happy, but goodbye.”

Peg turned on him then. “You don't care about me, Matt Molloy. You don't care about me or yourself or anybody else in the whole world. You'd be quite happy now after all these years to walk out that door and just leave me to find my own way. Well, you'd best go on then. Yes, go on out of it. My father told me years ago this would happen, told me to my face: ‘He'll leave you on your own, Peg, out on the bawn.'Them's his very words. And you know somethin'? He was right. I should have listened to him.”

Matt spun round in his chair, mad as a hornet, and shouted at her, “I do care for you, Peg.”

She was shocked and so was he. She didn't think that was what he had in mind to say, but there it was: popped, like a cork from a bottle.

“There was an awkward minute between us then. He had never before raised his voice to me, but saying he ‘cared for me' made me, well …”

Her lower lip began to tremble but she covered it quickly, pausing before continuing. “But I knew what he said was true. I knew in my gut but hearing him say so was, well, it was what I needed to hear. When we finally got over the shock, he spoke first. ‘It's not what I want to do or even what I'd like to do, but rather what I think is best for you. You want to go, I know that, and I'm in your way. I'm driving a wedge between you and the people around you and I don't want to do that. That's what I really believe but I never seem to be able to do or say the right thing.' I wanted to wrap him in my arms then, to hold him close to me 'til he understood how much I wanted to be with him always but … he was sitting down and …”

She started to giggle like a girl. “Anyway, I didn't. I just cupped his cheek in my hand and looked him straight in the eyes and said, ‘I'm happy to hear you say that, Matt. That's all I need to hear. We must do what is best for us now. We'll stay, you and me together, and care for each other.' From then on, that was how it was between us. It's just how it was.”

22

A
shadowy figure was beginning to emerge from the dark boundaries that surrounded her grandfather and his arcane life. He was all around her now. Nora knew the look of him, could hear the deep resonance of his voice, could sense his detachment, feel his fear and uncertainty, knew of his passion. She could sense too a certain generosity of spirit but it was finely layered and fragile. But the heart and soul of the man remained elusive, shifting like a fog, at times thin and veiled, but mostly dense and impermeable.

She was unsure how she felt about this stranger who was her blood relative, her grandfather. She still had difficulty saying the word grandfather in relation to him, difficulty with the whole idea. It made demands on her that she was reluctant to meet. What if he should, by some miracle, walk in the door right there and then? Would she want to sit with him, tell him about the family he had left behind? Would she want to talk to him about Ireland, about the theatre, about teaching? Would she want to hold his hand, comfort an old man who wanted, above all else, to look upon his grandchild? She dropped her head into her hands. Everything was spinning, confused and muddled. She pushed hard on the hollow spaces at her temples. She felt no affection for the man, pity maybe, grudging admiration and, at times, shame.

We expect too much from family, she cautioned herself. A common bloodline does not necessarily produce people whom we trust, admire and love. Friends frequently fill those roles with greater understanding and sensitivity. She caught Peg's eye. Steadfast and true, here was the ultimate friend – loyal, generous, caring, understanding – what he had not been able to find in his family.

She took Peg's hand and squeezed it gently, saying nothing, allowing the warmth of her feelings to flow hand to hand. Their heads came together. “I hope he cared for you, Peg.” There was a shadow of uncertainty there. Nora's grip tightened. “I hope he truly cared for you.”

Peg fixed a steady gaze on Nora. “Yes, my dear, he was good to me and we cared for each other.” Her voice was soft with contentment, but her eyes, still fixed steadfastly on Nora, said a whole lot more.

Nora searched, looking from one eye to the other, following an elusive shadow that hovered there all but invisible.

Peg never flinched but bright tears, rising to the surface from the deep veins of caring and want, began to form in the corner of each eye. They hung there on the brink, ready to flow but she held on, bravely forcing her eyes to remain wide. “There are things we hope for …” She took her time before trying again. “I ran out of time.” She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand.

Nora could see it all now, wrapped up deep inside Peg Barry like a tight ball of string: the suffocating realization of lost time, lost opportunity, lost youth.

“I might have been your step-grandmother. That would be something now. Imagine.” She laughed, the old twinkle back. “I'd have liked that.”

“So would I.” Then, after a moment's consideration, she added, “In a way, you are.” They laughed.

“You must be tired, Peg.”

“Yes, I am a bit but we'll finish off this bit of whiskey, girl. Let me have your glass.” She poured half of what remained in the bottle into Nora's glass and the rest into her own. Added a splash of water from the jug and then passed it to Nora.

“Best thing we ever done, deciding to stay on the island. We were some happy, even though down the road I could have done with the services they were offering elsewhere.” Peg looked at Nora. She was comfortable with his granddaughter. She could tell her all her long-held secrets, secrets she had never breathed to another soul. There had been some tense moments from time to time, flashes of anger behind those dark eyes but, always, Nora had held back and allowed her to continue and tell it like it was without interruption. Peg was thankful for that, thankful for the blessed simple comfort of having someone listen and not judge.

Now, seeing Nora there in the lamplight, looking more like her grandfather than ever, put Peg in mind of that night eight years ago when her old life had come to an end: everything she had known, her home, her way of life, her relationship with Matt.

She was jolted from her reverie by Nora's voice. “Most people moved away from the island then?”

“Yes, my dear. In the years following, it was happenin' all over the place.”

“That must have been terrifying, seeing everyone leave and being left behind?”

“Well, I suppose I have to say it was.” She ran her finger around the rim of the glass. “Sheila was gone, of course, and now Pat and Bride and the children were off, too. That was a hard day, the day they left. I went down on the wharf to see them go. I'll never forget the sight of it. Seein' the house, loaded up onto them big oil drums, just like it was a doll's house sittin' up there on the water, the curtains still on the windows, hitched up to John Mooney's boat and ready to be hauled to the other side. That took the heart right out of me. I'd seen other houses on their way, but somehow the sight of my poor sister's house, the room where she'd passed away givin' birth to Sheila, bobbin' about on the water and headed for Placentia, was more than I could bear. And worse again, all their belongings, piled on up the wharf, all the things that made up a warm comfortable home, lookin' now like they was fit for nothin' but the dump. When I saw that, in a way, I was some glad to be stayin'.”

“So people took their houses with them across on the water?” Nora was dumbfounded. “I didn't know you could do that.”

“Oh yes, some did, not everyone. They just rolled them down on the beach on logs and onto a raft and towed them across. There's times now I sees the refugees on the television, old people, little children, mothers with their babies clutched to their breasts headin' off down the road with their few things, and I thinks, That was us back then.”

She looked at Nora, the shock of realization on her face. “Eventually when it came my turn to leave, I never did clear out the old place. I left it as it was, just took the few things I needed or couldn't part with, then pulled the door behind me and left. Thought I might go back for a spell come the nice weather, but I never did.”

“And Matt?”

“Matt died home, on November 14, 1962.” Her finger tapped the table top. We had a few wonderful years on the island after the crowd left. Those who stayed behind came closer together. Survival, I suppose. Times, it was a struggle but we always helped each other out, like in the old days. The biggest change I remember was people comin' to the house again. They were back and forth all the time. I liked that and I believe Matt did too, although he never did say. He was more comfortable, I think, with the few. We were all in the same boat. There was just no way we would have made it without each other. No way. When you're happy, girl, it makes a lot of things come together. Don't you think?”