Held my penis and testicles and pushed them far back between my legs, then crossed my legs so my genitals couldn’t be seen.
I am a woman now.
Man delights me not, nor woman neither.
Turned on the bath taps. Clanks and gurgles but nothing came out, except for a thin black trickle. Pipe blocked? Ballcock gone again? Tank burst? Can’t be bothered to find out. Had quick wash at kitchen sink. Felt no better.
At about four this afternoon went down the garden to play with him again. Realised half-way down that I was still a bit drunk. He was sitting cross-legged on the ground, breathing in and out very deeply and looking like he was asleep. Something of the maharishi about him, except, of course, that he’s in handcuffs. But then I suppose the real maharishi has spent time in handcuffs too when you think. Said his name. Slowly opened his eyes and looked up at me.
—I remember y’now. I saw y’in the court that time. The screws pointed y’out to me.
—Is that right?
—Yeah. And lookat, I meant to go over and say sorry. About your daughter and that. And what happened to her. I was gutted about it. Straight up.
Some bird I didn’t recognise made a fluting noise in the ditch. Nightingale? No, only sings in June. Warbler maybe. Rare anyway. Fat yellowhammer hopping along the grass.
—Well, that would’ve made a huge difference all right. I always like that, when some little cur threatens to rape my daughter and puts her in hospital, I always like it when he apologises to me.
Shook his head.
—The thing at the garage wasn’t my idea. I was forced into it. I swear. I was scared into it. I’d no choice. And I never laid a hand on her, that’s true as Christ.
Laughed then.
—You’re a fuckin’ little liar, Quinn. I can’t believe what a liar you are. And what a gobshite you must take me for.
For some reason I still don’t understand he tried to smile then.
—It’s as true as I’m in here. If it wasn’t for me she’d’ve got worse, I’ll tell yeh. And a lot worse, I’d say. Them fellas with me were psychos. Animals, I swear.
—Oh right, well look, can I just thank you, Mr Quinn, on behalf of the family, for all your efforts? Of course she’d thank you herself only she’s in a coma, as you know.
He said nothing for a while. Head lolling on his neck. Chin heavy with growth and dirt.
—Y’should let me out of here, man. Please. I’m not well.
—Neither am I. Neither is my daughter.
Wiped his nose on his shoulder and licked his lips.
—Look, I’m on smack. I’m on heroin, pal. Don’t do this t’me. I go spare if I don’t get a turn on, I go fuckin’ crazy altogether.
—It’s tough all over, son. Isn’t that the nineties for you. Long, tough and cruel, huh?
—Don’t bleedin’ do this to me? Please?
Too late. Was already on my way back up here and making a point of ignoring the little liar.
Friday 15 July 1994
197–169
Week 28
14th week in ordinary time.
VESTMENTS
White
HOURS
Psalter Week 3
MASS
Of choice
Ex. 2:1–15; Ps. 68; Mt. 11: 20–24
In Christ is the new Israel and the new Moses.
Patron: St Bonaventure (1221–74).
Thought for the Day: If at first you don’t succeed, pray and try again!
Low. Stayed in bed till after twelve.
Didn’t go near him today. Sometimes heard him pacing up and down in the cage and rattling the bars. Just closed the windows and laced into the drink. Only time I left the house was to get more. Whiskey and beer, gin, wine. You must be having a party, Mr Sweeney.
There’s something badly wrong.
G used to say I was weak. Unmanly, when we argued. Wasn’t she right?
The more I drink the worse it’s getting, it won’t go away. Am in big trouble. Danger. Very scared. Should have just let Sheehan beat him stupid. Beginning to feel even that was a terrible mistake. What possessed me to bring him here? Should I just let him go?
Afraid he’d kill me after what I’d done to him, either now or later. Sorry now I ever arranged things the way I did.
Have just gone over and closed the window. Do not want to hear him any more.
Do not even want to know if he is still out there.
Sunday 17 July 1994
The Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time
199–167
Week 28
VESTMENTS
Green+
HOURS
Proper; Te Deum; Psalter Week 3
MASS
Proper; Gloria; Creed; Preface: Sundays, 29–36
Amos 7: 12–15; Ps 84; Eph. 1: 3–14; Mk. 6: 7–13
He began to send them out … to preach repentance.
No masses for the dead, except funeral masses, are permitted today.
Anniversary of the episcopal ordination of His Eminence Cathal Cardinal Daly, 16 July 1967
Patron: St Declan.
Thought for the Day: If you can say nothing good, say nothing.
Very tired all day. Again, didn’t go out to him. Heard the phone ring a few times downstairs. Answering machine seems to be broken. Didn’t pick it up. Stayed in bed.
Once it rang for over five minutes.
Monday 18 July 1994
200–166
Week 29
15th Week in Ordinary Time
VESTMENTS
Green
HOURS
Psalter Week 3
MASS
Of choice
Ex. 11:10–12, 14; Ps. 115; Mt. 12: 1–8
The meaning of the Eucharist in the Christian life.
Patron: St Monnie of Killeavy.
Thought for the Day: All things are possible with prayer.
And what happened tonight.
Six hours ago, at about half-five, was watching a children’s programme on BBC 2 with a large neat vodka in my hand and another three or four in my stomach. Feeling very uptight. Suddenly heard loud shouts coming from the garden.
When I got out there he was on his back with his legs up against the bars. Naked feet sticking through them. Breath coming quick and fast through his nose. Groaning.
—Me legs. I can’t feel me fuckin’ legs, man. Help me.
Looked at him. His hair is two-tone now, red and black. Thick dirty beard.
—Stop it, Quinn.
—I’m a junkie pal, I’m tellin’ you. I’m in bits here, I can’t feel me legs!
Horrible low moan started in his throat, followed by a screech of pain. Started rolling from side to side on the floor of the aviary, kicking hard at the bars. I didn’t like this. Know I shouldn’t care, but I mean, if anything were to happen to him in there. His face dark red and completely soaked with sweat. Again the gurgling moan. His eyes screwed shut.
—What do you take me for, Quinn? Cut it out.
—I swear to Jesus, pal. I’m in bits. Help me.
—Cut it out. Or I’ll give you something to moan about.
—I’m on smack, I told you. I haven’t had a turn-on in days.
This wasn’t in the plan. Unpredictable. I don’t know what is going to happen here.
—We wouldn’t be in this situation, Quinn, if it wasn’t for you.
—Shut up for a second, he says. Please. Just say nothin’.
Fell to his knees and started to shake. Looked like he was beginning to lose control of his movements. Dry-retching again and again. After a while began to cry.
—At least take the bleedin’ cuffs off me. Please, man.
Got the handcuff keys out of my pocket.
—Come over to the bars. And keep your back to me, I’m warning you.
On his backside and hunkers he manoeuvred himself over to the bars. Unlocked the handcuffs and took them off him. He winced with the pain, massaged his bloodied wrists. Then opened his mouth wide
and pushed his fingers down his throat. Leaned forward and retched again.
—Do you want water?
Shook his head, started sneezing uncontrollably. All he did for a couple of minutes, just sneezed, great violent sneezes that jerked his head back and forward.
—There’s water there in the trough.
He started to sway from side to side. Hands to his temples. Looked up at me.
—You’ll have to get me some gear, he says, please?
—What are you talking about? I can’t do that.
A tremor seemed to run through him. He collapsed. Legs twitching and thrashing more violently. He looked terrified. Eyes and nose streaming badly. His arms jerking. Pulled his trousers down. Diarrhoea.
Started sobbing.
—Please. Look please, man. If yer gonna keep me here, y’ll have to get me some skag or some methadone. I’ll tell y’where to go. I’ll fuckin’ die if y’ don’t help me. Please. Don’t let me die, pal. I’m sorry for what I done on you.
Fell in a heap and retched again. Reached his hand out through the bars.
—Just don’t let me die, man. I’m beggin’ you. Please. I’m sorry.
Red and black hair, red tortured eyes, streaming nose, smell of shit. Looked like some creature out of hell. His fingers grasping at my shirt.
—Help me, man. For Jesus’ sake, man. Help me.
Felt something inside me cave in.
Ran up here and got him a blanket and a change of clothes. Pushed them in through the bars. He took the blanket, wrapped it around himself, still shaking and retching. Teeth chattering. Lay down on the floor of the aviary. Muttering.
—Please man, help me, I’m beggin’ you. I’ll tell y’where to go.
—I can’t do that. You know I can’t.
Another tremor in his upper chest. Terrified bloodshot eyes. Opens his mouth and screams in pain.
Next thing I know I’m downstairs in the kitchen with my head under the tap, pouring coffee into myself to try to sober up enough to drive. Emptied all the opened bottles down the sink. Shaking. Scared.
Truth is he reminded me of myself.
I must be mad, I know that. Know I am stone mad now but don’t care any more. Knew that already. Billy Sweeney, you are mad.
Parked the car on Parnell Square. Walked over to O’Connell Street and down Sheriff Street, like he told me. Young guy in a wheelchair outside the rear entrance to the Savoy cinema, pushing himself backwards and forwards. Purple wine-stain mark all around his mouth. That was him. Went over. Watched me coming.
—I want to buy some methadone.
Looked at me. Fish’s dead eyes.
—You don’t look like the type.
—It’s for my son.
—Fuck away off and don’t be annoyin’ would yeh?
—He’s in college. We’ve only just found out about all this. This drugs business. We don’t want to be going through the official channels.
Always be closing. Always be closing. Good salesman only as good as his last sale.
—You couldn’t just swill methadone into him like lemonade. It’s dangerous.
—My wife is a doctor.
—Then why the fuck don’t you get it off her?
—She’s a heart specialist. What’s this anyway, twenty questions? I’ve got the money.
Down at the far corner children playing tag. Squeals of pleasure and excitement. Apart from that, the street is empty.
—Gimme your wallet.
—I can’t do that.
Parts his lips and lets a piercing whistle through his teeth. Two men jump the wall and over to us. One of them with a wheel brace. Looks like a slab of meat with mittens on. The other takes a short fat cosh out of his pocket.
He reaches into my jacket and takes out my wallet. Opens it and flicks through. Looks at my driver’s licence and my business card. Gives them to your man in the chair.
—I thought you might be drug squad.
—I’m sure they wouldn’t be that stupid. Sending someone like me.
—You’d be surprised how stupid some people are.
—I said I’d get methadone. Can you help me?
Looks into my eyes. – I’d say now you say more than your fuckin’ prayers, pal, do you?
—I need methadone.
He opens the wallet again. – I’m takin thirty.
—Where’s the methadone?
—You’ll be all right. Gwon back to your motor.
—Well look, I can’t go without the methadone. Please.
—There’s ways of doing things. Gwon back to your motor and don’t be annoyin’ me. It’ll be there.
—How will you know my car?
Looks up at the sky and grins. – Silver grey Suzuki Baleno, 93D54961, car phone, stereo, scratch on the driver’s door. Parked over on the square. Needs a good bleedin’ wash.
—How did you know that?
—I told yeh. There’s ways of doin’ things.
Young kid waiting for me when I got back to the car. T-shirt that said ‘Power Rangers’. Like Erin and Conal.
—Mister, I’ve a message for you.
Reaches inside his trousers and pulls out a medicine bottle. Dark glass. Puts it on the ground beside the back left wheel. Turns and runs up the street.
Drove home as quickly as I can. Q asleep when I went down to him but still mumbling to himself. Woke him up. Gave give him in the bottle through the bars. Also, a cup of water and some bread rolls. Put the bottle to his mouth and swallowed fast.
—Are you all right?
He nodded, choking a bit.
—I thought you said we were in Glendalough.
—We are.
—We couldn’t be. Y’got in and out of town too fast.
—Never mind that.
—Lemme out of here.
Told him I couldn’t do that.
—Y’don’t have to lemme go. Just lemme out for a few minutes. To walk around the garden.
Got the hammer from downstairs. Then back out to him.
—Hold out your hands, Quinn.
Passed him in the cuffs, through the gap where he peeled back the wire mesh, told him to put them on himself and close them. Reached in through the bars and checked they were on him properly. Opened the gate. Started to climb out. Helped him. He fell to the grass. Helped him move his leg down.
Showed him the hammer. —If you try anything I’ll have to hurt you.
Shook his head. —I won’t, man. I won’t.
Up on his feet. Took a few steps and his knees buckled a bit, but then managed to steady himself. Tottered around the garden and I followed close with the hammer in my hand.
He looked up at the house.
—What d’y’do up there every night?
—Nothing.
—Y’must do somethin’.
—I write in my diary. Now shut up.
After five minutes: —Can I have a piss, man?
—Go on.
—Me fly’s closed. Could y’open it for me?
Reached down and opened his fly.
—I need a bit more help, man. I’m sorry.
Put my hand down and took it out for him. Went over to the blackthorn and pissed into it, groaning. When he’d finished, jumped up and down a bit, on the spot.
—Could y’put it back in for me? I’m sorry t’ask. I know I’m stinkin’.
—When I put you back inside I’ll take the cuffs off you again. You can do it yourself then.
—OK, man. Thanks.
—And I’ll bring you down underwear tomorrow.
—That’d be great. If y’could.
Did a few circuits of the garden. He took tiny steps, sometimes wincing when his bare feet would tread on a stone. Seemed completely exhausted. Started to get dark. Took him back in the direction of the aviary. Now we’re at the gate. He pauses. Looks down at his penis, hanging out the front of his trousers.
—Get in, I tell him.
—Please, man. Just let me go.
—Get back in. I said.
Starts to whinge again. – Please? I’m sorry.
—No. Get back in and I’ll let you out again tomorrow.
Clambered in and dropped to the floor. I locked the gate, reached in and undid the cuffs. He stuffed his penis back into his jeans. Then, before I know it, the little fucker’s lunged and grabbed my hand. Pulling hard at it, forcing my face closer to the bars. He’s gnawing his lip as he strains on my arm. He moves his face closer to mine. Through the bars he tries to bite my nose. I stab at his knuckles with the handle of the hammer and he lets me go.
Crying bitterly now. – Please. For Jesus’ sake, let me out. I’m crackin’ up, man. Please.
—You wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for what you did.
—You’re sick. You need a doctor, I’m tellin’ yeh. You’re after flippin’ your fuckin’ lid some way, man. Listen to me. For Christ’s sake listen to me.
—No, I don’t want to listen to you any more. I trusted you and you let me down. After what I did for you tonight, you let me down, Quinn. And you’ll pay for that I can tell you.
—Please.
Excuse me. Have to stop writing now. Going downstairs to turn the record up very loud. Drown out the noise of his screaming.
Tuesday 19 July 1994
201–165
Week 29
15th Week in Ordinary Time
VESTMENTS
Green, White/Green
HOURS
Psalter Week 3
MASS
Of choice
Ex. 12–37–42; Ps. 135; Mt. 12: 14–21
Night of the church’s bridal, night of new birth in baptism.
Patron: Maelruain (Maolruain).
Thought for the Day: Suffer the little children to come unto me.
Bad night last night, terrible dreams. M in coffin, triangles of mascara around her eyes. Up at dawn and down the garden to see him. Seemed to be sleeping soundly. Curled up under the blanket with his thumb in his mouth. Not sweating as much.
Went down again a few hours later with coffee and bread. Took them in through the bars with a sullen nod. Not a word. Has put on the clean clothes I gave him. Asked him to hand me out the dirty ones. Put them in a plastic bag, stepped through the stream and flung them over the back wall.
The Salesman Page 23
