So that was the end of Nugents, for the time being anyway.
The sergeant was going on about ma in the front seat how he’d courted her years ago when she was one of the nicest women in the town only for the tribe she had to get herself in with. Thank God she’s not here to see the like of this he said.
No, I said, she’s in the lake, and it was me put her there.
By Christ if you were mine I’d break every bone in your body, he said. Then he wiped his mouth and muttered: Not that you could be any different.
We sped by the convent. There was a few of the lads from the school kicking a ball up against the wall. I gave them a big wave through the window and they waved back for a minute until they seen it was me. Then what did they do only pick the ball up as if I was going to get at it or something. I waved again but they pretended not to see me. They weren’t so keen on me after the time they had me on the school team that played Carrick. Oh now says the master you’re a wiry wee buck you’ll make a good winger. I’ve seen you you can move as fast as a March hare when you want to. I even scored two goals I don’t know what they were talking about. It was this big galoot on the other team. He says to me half-way through the match right you you shifty little fucker you’re going to get it and what does he do only cut the legs from under me I did nothing he says to the ref and gets away with it. I was all twisted up with pain and I was limping for a good twenty minutes to look at me you’d think poor Francie Brady will never play again. That must have been what he thought for the next time I had the ball he comes strolling over to me as if he’s just going to pluck it off my toe. Well he could if he wanted to he could do what he liked all I was interested in was getting him back for what he did on me so soon as he comes over I lifted the boot from behind and bang right in under between the legs and he goes down like a sack of spuds agh agh and all this. Just before the ref came over I managed to get another dig in at the butt of his back, studs and all. I was going to try the same trick what did I do but the ref took my name and put me off. The master gave out to me and wouldn’t listen to my side of the story so I says fuck youse and your football after that. But I don’t think they wanted me on the team anyway. I’d say that big Carrick bastard would be glad to hear that. He was so big I could nearly run in between his legs. Before I kicked the crigs off him that is.
The sergeant reminded me of the clown in Duffy’s circus not the way he looked but when he talked. Especially when he was telling you all the terrible things were going to happen to you now. H’ho! he’d say. And H’haw! Just the same as Sausage the clown. H’ho yewer an awfill man altogedder, Sausage’d say and away off round the ring with his stripey legs flying. Him and the sergeant must have been born in the same town or something.
He was off again. H’ho when the priests get their hands on you there won’t be so much guff outa ye h’ho. I said I’m sorry Sergeant Sausage but he stubbed the fag excitedly in the ashtray and said its too late for that me buck you shoulda thoughta that when you were in Nugents up to your tricks! H’ho aye!
Boo hoo, Sergeant Sausage, I said.
He was so excited he didn’t even notice I had called him Sergeant Sausage. There were laurel bushes all along the avenue and a gardener forking manure and muttering to himself. When we went past in the car he stood looking after us with one hand on his hip and tipping his cap back. I made a face at him through the back window and he nearly fell into the manure heap. Up she rose out of nowhere the house of a hundred windows. This is a grand spot I said. H’ho says the sergeant we’ll see if you say that in six months’ time! H’ha.
A man made of bubbles in charge of a school for bad boys it was hard to believe but it was true for there he was at the window his big bubble head and out he comes bouncing bounce bounce ah Howareye! he says to the sergeant, I never saw such a big bright white polished head as that old Father Bubble had. Howareye at all! he says again and the sergeant starts to huff and puff and try to dicky up his uniform. Oh not too bad now Father did ye have a nice trip not too bad eh Father thanks.
Ah that’s grand said Bubble.
Then he looks over at me. So this is the famous Francie Brady, he says, doing tricks with his fingers and saying hmm hmm.
Yes Father, I said, Its the one and only Francie Brady.
You speak when you’re spoken to says Sausage but Bubble raised his hand and said no problem Father.
I gave Bubble a big wink good man yourself Father I said and next thing his face goes all cloudy. He’s a bad article says the sergeant and I thought he was going to make a go at me.
Bubble was staring at me with these two eyes like a pair of screwdrivers. You’d do well to keep a civil tongue in your head, Mr Brady, that’s what I’d say to you now. The sergeant liked that he started rubbing his hands and going six months’ time six months’ time!
Then the two of them just stood there glaring at me for a minute I thought they were going to light on me and start kicking me down the avenue with these mad let’s batter Francie Brady! eyes on them. But they didn’t. You just heed my advice, says Bubble, and then he sank his arms deep into these slits in his soutane and smiled at Sausage and away off talking then about football and the weather. Sausage thought the town might win the county championship oh I don’t know about that says Bubble. Neither did I but I thought a good result would be: The other team – 100 goals. The town – 0. I was going to say that to see what they’d say but then I says ah I’ll not bother my arse. They went on jabbering for over half an hour and left me standing there like a gawk. Then Sausage says: Well I’ll be off so. He looked over at me: I’ll be keeping tabs on you, he says.
Yes, Sergeant, I said.
He backed off slowly as if I was going to pull out a revolver blam blam him and Bubble one in the head apiece but I wasn’t then brrm brrm phut phut and h’ho that was the end of him.
Now, says Bubble stroking his chin and staring right at me, maybe we understand each other a little bit better. What do you make of your new home, Mr Brady?
Its grand says I, good enough for pigs.
What did you say?, says Bubble and he didn’t like that either.
He gave my jumper a chuck.
You’ll find no pigs here!, he says. But he could say what he liked I knew well it was a school for pigs.
The Incredible School for Pigs!, I said in my telly voice.
Did you hear what I said says Bubble there’s no pigs! This is a school.
Indeed it is, I said – A school for pigs!
There’s no pigs! he said and his voice squeaked a bit at the end it was a good laugh.
Welcome to the school for pigs, I said and pulled away from him.
Don’t worry, he says, you’re not the first and you won’t be the last!
He was rolling up his sleeves. He didn’t say the first what. I cupped my hand and the echo glided in low under the laurels.
Little pigs! Little pigs! Open up! I cried.
He tried to get a hold of me but I was too slippery for him and when I went down on all fours he couldn’t manage it at all. I crawled around him and that near drove him mad. I let a few snorts out of me. There was an old priest above at a window. I went up on my hind legs and begged a bit for him. Snort I said and a big grin.
Then Bubble caught me a rap on the side of the head and I saw stars. That’s nothing to what you’ll get, he said. I was glad he did it. I wanted him to give me a proper hiding.
I said all sorts of things to get him to do it. I said welcome to the pig school. I stuck my face right up to his and scrunched it up into a snout. I snorted. Go on, I said and I stuck my chin out. But instead of laying into me he backed off and just looked at me with the screwdriver eyes. He wasn’t afraid or anything. He was just looking and taking it all in so then I stopped. Are you quite finished now he said and I said I was. I was exhausted and I had a headache. All these crows on the telephone wires. What are you looking at cunts, I thought. Then he says get inside out of that and no more of your lip. I went upstairs to
the dormitory where there was a saint on every window-sill, such a shower of dying-looking bastards I never seen. Bubble was right behind me as I humped the case. I pointed to Our Lady. She’s in a bad way I said to him, she needs to suck a zube. He said nothing only to be down at Benediction in half an hour and up at six the next morning for footing turf in the bog. There was a little Jesus over on the window across from my bed. He was looking over at me. Poor poor Francie Brady he was saying: Isn’t it a terrible pity too? I went over to him and says: Isn’t what a terrible pity?
Oh oh er er I’m only saying he says. No, I says, you didn’t answer me – Isn’t what a terrible pity?
All right then I says have it your way so crack, off the side of the washbasin and down into the plughole goes his little head just sitting there sideways looking up glug glug. There was a gaping hole in my stomach for I knew Joe would have heard all about Nugents by now. I had let him down. I had nobody now that was for sure and it was all my own fault. I wouldn’t blame him for not writing to me, why should he after what I’d done on him? I broke my promise and that was that. I tried to get at my wrists with the jaggy bit of the statue. I managed to get at bits but it was doing no damage you could still be at it in a hundred years’ time the way it was going. Then over comes this bogman fellow here’s my head and my arse is coming. What are you doing oh my God luck he’s broke Our Lord if the priest sees you with that he’ll kill you! I looked at him with the statue in my hand. There was a little red Elizabethan collar round the neck of it where I’d been hacking with it. I never seen the like of that bogman. He had this big tuft of hair sticking up and two other bits like indicators on either side. O you’re goanta bee in terrible trubble he says. His scarecrow trousers stopped at the ankles and he stood there hunched up with his bony arse cocked in the air like he was carrying an invisible bag of spuds on his back. I wouldn’t like to be you he said again but I was fed up of him by then so I made a go at him with what was left of the statue and off he went as white as a ghost nearly skittering himself. Then I threw No-Head in the bin and lay down on the bed.
Whee-hoo said Joe and the toboggan came thundering down the white blanket of the fairgreen. Them was the days, I said to Joe, we had peace then. The coloured orb of the marble sat in the cradle of his thumb. He looked at me puzzled. Whose turn is it Francie? Is it my turn? I said it was, even if it wasn’t.
The marble rolled along the hard clay in a trail of light.
That old Joe. I didn’t know what to do when the letter came. I told everyone about it. All they said was: Huh? but I didn’t care. I was speechless. But one thing was for sure. I wasn’t going to be getting in trouble ever again. From now on I would be studying for the Francie Brady Not a Bad Bastard Any More Diploma so I could get out of the school for pigs and bogmen. Me and Joe would ride out to the river and there we’d stay. I had found a good place for myself when I wanted to be away from the bony arses following you around and asking questions, it was the boilerhouse down behind the kitchens, and I went in there and read the letter over and over. Whumph!, went the big stove, glowing away with a carnival of sparks going hell for leather in the pit of its big belly. I sat on a pile of bags, old sacks and read:
Dear Francie you eejit what are you doing. I told you about Mrs Nugent but you wouldn’t listen what were you doing in their house? Were you trying to burn it down there’s all sorts of stories Francie. I asked Philip but he won’t tell me. Philip is OK Francie if you ever touch him again you’ll put yourself in trouble bad trouble. He really is OK. He doesn’t want any trouble with anyone. He told me. We shouldn’t have robbed the comics Francie it was wrong. There’s a carnival here now it stays open till twelve. You can win all sorts of things. Bears, anything. Did you ever see Laramie Shoot-Out? You aim the rifle and up comes the sheriff. He’s made of cardboard. He draws first but if you hit him you get five more goes. We were round there last Saturday. The rifle range – its brilliant! Philip Nugent got two bullseyes so he won a goldfish. He gave it to me because they have one already. I put it in the window. We’re going round again next weekend. If I win anything I will send it on. Philip says he has a special plan to work on the slot machines so I might. Write soon Joe.
I kept thinking about the goldfish. What did Philip Nugent think he was doing? I just couldn’t believe it. He was nothing to do with us. I wished I could get the goldfish back off Joe. But what did Joe take it for? Why didn’t he say: Sorry Philip you’re nothing to do with us.
Then it came to me: he was only doing it to make peace between us all so that there would be no trouble and when I came home me and Joe would just carry on the way we always had. I just hoped that Philip Nugent didn’t think he was going to be hanging round with us just because Joe took a goldfish off him. Because if he did he was going to be sorely disappointed. Me and Joe had things to do. Tracking in the mountains, huts to build. If Philip Nugent wanted to pray to the Manitou he would have to form his own blood brother gang. For his own sake I hoped he didn’t think that he was all in with us now. But he wouldn’t. I knew Joe would put him right and there would be no problem. It was just as well it was Joe, I thought, instead of someone who would just tell him to shove off or something soon as I appeared home and make him feel real bad about it. That was the kind of Joe. He would explain it all gently and clearly to him so that he wouldn’t be hurt. He was good at that Joe, taking things easy and explaining them, just like the way he did with me after the chickenhouse and all that.
The main thing was for me to get out of this School For Pigs so we could get back into action. I was as light as a feather when I had all that thought out. I said hello to the bogmen and everything. That night I wrote to Joe and told him that it was all changed now. There was going to be no more trouble with Francie Brady. It was all over. I was glad to hear that he had taken the goldfish off Philip I said there was no point in us being enemies. From now on the Nugents can go where they like I said. We were going to have too many things to do and places to be. If I met them on the street I would salute them and say hello but that would be it. I would go on ahead about my business from now on. The Francie Brady trouble days with Nugent and all that, they were over. Kaput. Trouble days – all over Joe, I said.
Then I licked the envelope and sealed it. I smiled and left it on the window-sill for posting in the morning.
But the minute I left it down, I thought: But what about the goldfish? What did he have to take it for?
I woke up in the middle of the night. I had been dreaming about Mrs Nugent. She was out in the scullery baking scones. The house was full of baking smells. She called in: Is anybody ready for some more scones?
Yes I am said Philip and then he said what about you Joseph?
I felt the blood draining from my face when I saw Joe looking up. He was doing his lessons with Philip. He smiled and said: Yes please. They’re quite beautiful Mrs Nugent.
Thank you Joseph, called Mrs Nugent.
That was the end of the sleep for that night I couldn’t sleep any more thinking of what Philip was saying to Joe. It wasn’t that they were talking about me or anything. That was the funny part. In the dream they didn’t even know who I was. The next day I said to myself: I never want to dream that dream again.
In the nights I would lie there hatching all my plans and schemes for when I got out. It was hard to hatch anything with all them bogmen around me. Soon as the lights went out, wheeze wheeze. Quit breathing youse bastards!, I wanted to say but you never knew when Bubble was lurking down below with his torch. I’d build a raft that was the first thing and send her sailing down the river. Off we’d go, who knew where we’d wind up? A tree house, what about that? That was good. Joe above pacing up and down on guard blam with the Winchester Die dogs of crows! There was a warehouse up at the old railway, we could make a Nazi Headquarters there. I was as bad as the sparks in the boiler-house stove with all these notions tearing about in my head. You’d only be half-finished with one idea and the next thing here would come along another on
e, no I’m a better idea what about me it would say. One thing for sure, it would be a long time before I bothered Philip Nugent again. I was glad now that Joe had taken the goldfish. It cleared everything up and now we could all start from the beginning again. Philip could live his life and we could live ours. The beautiful things of the world, I had been wrong about them. They meant everything. They were the only things that meant anything. That was what I thought now. I fell asleep and dreamed I was Bird Who Soars gliding through the snow-covered mountains of Winter.
Every day after that off we’d tramp to the bogs with Bubble at the head throwing big cheery smiles at the people of the town standing there gawping after us like we’d marched through the streets without our trousers. The women whispered there they go the poor orphans. I had a mind to turn round and shout hey fuckface I’m no orphan but then I remembered I was studying hard to get the Francie Brady Not a Bad Bastard Any More Diploma at the end of the year so I clammed up and gave her a sad, ashamed look instead. As soon as we got out into the open countryside Bubble relaxed and started swinging his arms and singing Michael Row The Boat Ashore and the bogmen sang Allel-oo-yah! all delighted trying to get Bubble to look at them. They said to me isn’t Father such and such great. I forget his real name now but it was Bubble they were talking about. Oh yes I said he’s an absolutely wonderful singer. Yes, said the bogs, he’s my favourite priest in the whole school. Then off they’d go trying to get up to the front to talk to him. But Bubble was all right. I liked the way he always gripped the sleeve of his soutane as he jaunted on alleloooo-ya!, with a red country face on him like a Beauty of Bath apple from all the walking. We’d dig all day long and Bubble would tell us stories about the old days when he was young and the English were killing everybody and the old people used to tell stories around the fire and you were lucky if you got one slice of soda bread to feed the whole family. But what harm did it do us? That’s right, says one of the bogmen, being killed did nobody any harm. For fuck’s sake!
The Butcher Boy Page 7
