The Blackwater Lightship

by Colm Toibin

  ‘I went out to Bree. I left your grandfather in the car and I talked to Statia, and Statia understood, and even if she hadn’t understood she would have done what I asked. And I asked her to take Lily for the time after Christmas and let her loose with the Bolgers. So we left her in there on St Stephen’s Day. She was a bit surprised but she suspected nothing, and we didn’t collect her until the day before she was due back in school. And Statia let her go to every dance and hop. She flew around the country in cars and vans, wearing clothes she borrowed from one of the Bolger cousins. She was as mad as a cat, Statia told me. She had them in stitches describing oul’ farmers who came to the dances. She was the best dancer and she was a great goer. Her cousins knew everyone, and their cousins knew everyone else. Soon then Lily knew everyone too. It was the same as the nuns. She wanted to be one of them, except that now she wanted to be at the dance in Ballindaggin or the dance in Adamstown. When we didn’t hear from her, we knew it was working.’

  ‘Granny, were you not afraid that she’d get into trouble?’ Declan asked.

  ‘They were different times, Declan. Her cousins were looking out for her. And she wasn’t the sort of girl you could take advantage of.’

  ‘I’m sure she wasn’t,’ Helen said as she began to pour the tea.

  ‘So she went back to the FCJ, and spent her time sneaking out letters to fellows with the day-girls and keeping the other girls up late on the dormitory. She must have studied as well, because she got her scholarship, but her head was turned and we were called in before we took her home for Easter, and we were told that she was becoming a bad example to the other girls, and she had changed completely. Oh, I said to Mother Emmanuelle, I said, we haven’t noticed any change. It must be something in the convent, I said. Oh, she gave me a look, and I looked back at her. And she knew she’d met her match. And that’s how we stopped Lily becoming a nun.’

  ‘And wasn’t that lucky for all of us?’ Helen asked.

  ‘It must have seemed like that at the time, anyway,’ Declan said.

  SIX

  In the morning Helen found her mother in Declan’s room, cradling his head in her hand.

  ‘You must have come back very early,’ she said, and immediately realised that she sounded as though she were accusing her mother. ‘You look tired,’ she said then, trying to soften her tone.

  ‘Declan wasn’t well again this morning,’ her mother said coldly.

  Declan stared at her. The bruising on his nose had become darker, almost purple, and seemed to have spread; yet there was a strange contentment in the way he lay without moving. He did not appear to be in any pain.

  ‘Are the boys up yet?’ she asked.

  ‘They’re being fed by your granny,’ her mother said. ‘She’s in her element – she thinks she’s running a guesthouse again. It’s rashers and sausages and how would you like your eggs?’

  ‘If we had rashers,’ Declan said hoarsely, ‘we could have rashers and eggs, only we’ve no eggs.’

  ‘You’ve been saying that since you were about five,’ Helen said, laughing, ‘and I’ve never thought it was funny.’

  ‘Go in and have your breakfast before they eat it all,’ her mother said.

  When Helen went into the kitchen, Larry was talking and her grandmother was giving him her full attention. Paul acknowledged her arrival, but the other two ignored her.

  ‘No, Mrs Devereux,’ Larry was saying, ‘no, knocking down a wall costs nothing, and widening a door costs nothing. You could do the whole thing for a thousand pounds, but if I were you I’d put in the anti-damp system too and an oak floor, or at least a pine floor . . .’

  ‘Is that fellow still talking?’ Helen asked.

  ‘Your breakfast is in the Aga, Helen,’ her grandmother said.

  ‘Granny, I hope you’re not listening to him,’ Helen said.

  ‘But where would I put the kitchen?’ her grandmother asked Larry.

  ‘No,’ Larry said, ‘leave the kitchen where it is, but put in a ramp and a rail.’

  ‘We’re talking about if I fell, Helen,’ her grandmother said. ‘Or if I was in a wheelchair. And, anyway, I can’t be going up and down the stairs much longer.’

  ‘No,’ Larry continued as though no one else had spoken, ‘put the bedroom and the bathroom where Helen and Declan are sleeping, with a big, wide door between them, but make them both much bigger by using some of the dining-room. Sure I bet you never use that.’

  ‘Have you brought your measuring tape, Larry?’ Helen asked as she sat down.

  Larry ignored her. ‘I checked those walls,’ he went on. ‘It would take half a day to knock them down. It would be like a new house. You wouldn’t know yourself.’

  By the time Helen had returned from the village, having bought groceries and the newspaper, and phoned Hugh, Larry was making drawings to scale in a large sketch pad on the kitchen table. He had the measuring tape beside him.

  ‘There’s no talking to him,’ Paul said. ‘He’s a maniac.’

  ‘Where would the bed be, though?’ her grandmother asked, turning away from her washing-up. ‘I don’t want it against the window.’

  ‘Is it a double bed or a single bed?’ Larry asked.

  ‘That’s a very personal question,’ Helen said.

  ‘What sort of bed do you think I should get?’ her grandmother asked, turning again, her hands covered in suds.

  ‘Oh, that’s up to you now,’ Larry said.

  As soon as the sun came out from the clouds, Helen took a chair to the front of the house and sat there reading the Irish Times. She would wait, she thought, until her mother left Declan’s room, and try to see him on his own. If Cathal were sick like this, or Manus, she thought she would want to do as her mother was doing, but she was unsure if it was what they would want.

  Paul came and sat on the ground beside her, his back against the house.

  ‘Do you think Declan is all right?’ she asked.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I think my mother has been with him since the dawn.’

  ‘No, she hasn’t. She arrived just before you got up,’ he said. ‘But she seems to be guarding the room, keeping his evil friends away from him.’

  ‘And his evil sister,’ Helen said.

  ‘And her evil granny,’ Paul added, laughing.

  ‘No, I wouldn’t call her evil. “Bad” is the word I’d use.’

  ‘You’re in good form this morning,’ Paul said.

  ‘Years ago,’ Helen said, ‘when we were children and my parents were away somewhere and my grandfather was out, my grandmother caught her hand in the window and she couldn’t lift the sash. I don’t know what age I was, six or seven I suppose. Anyway, she says, and she loved telling the story, that I used the occasion to go through every drawer in the house, rummaging freely, while Declan sat close to her, crying and trying to comfort her. I, of course, don’t remember doing that at all. And I’m sure I didn’t take advantage of the situation like that. But that’s what she’s doing now, what she accused me of doing when I was six or seven: she’s rummaging in the drawers with your friend Larry.’

  ‘Oh come on, give her a break,’ Paul said. ‘She lives on her own. It isn’t often that she meets a real live architect. And Larry can never go into anyone’s house without suggesting that they plant a bathroom somewhere entirely unsuitable.’

  ‘What are you saying about me?’ Larry came out and stood in the sun.

  ‘I was telling Helen that your middle name is Frank Lloyd Wright,’ Paul said.

  ‘Your granny says that we’re all to go for a swim,’ Larry said. ‘She gave me these.’ He held up two pairs of black nylon swimming togs.

  ‘God, I wouldn’t wear one of those,’ Paul said.

  ‘I brought my own,’ Helen said.

  ‘Where did she get them?’ Paul asked.

  ‘ “Left behind by bathers”, she said.’

  ‘She calls outsiders “bathers”,’ Helen said.

  ‘God, they are ski
mpy,’ Larry said, holding up the togs. ‘They must have had fierce small mickeys in the nineteen-forties.’

  ‘They’re from the sixties,’ Paul said, ‘when blokes didn’t mind having their mickeys squashed.’

  ‘Do you think we should ask Declan if he wants to come with us?’ Larry asked.

  ‘Go in and find out,’ Helen said.

  They waited in silence until he came back.

  ‘He’s asleep now,’ Larry said. ‘I didn’t even ask. I said I’d get your mother a cup of tea.’

  ‘We’ll wait,’ Helen said. ‘Get towels.’

  Helen took her swimsuit from a bag in the boot of Declan’s car, and all three of them walked down towards the cliff. If these men were not gay, she thought, she would have found an excuse not to go down to the strand with them. There would be too much tension and uncertainty. She would not have known how to behave unless Hugh were in the company as well, and then she would keep close to him. It was only when they were on the strand and Paul took off his shirt, and she saw the pale, smooth skin on his long back, that she realised how strange and new this was for her. If he saw her undressing, she thought, it would mean nothing to him. Maybe he would be curious, but he would not feel what she felt when she saw him now standing up in the black nylon togs.

  ‘Last in is a sissy,’ Larry shouted and began to wade fearlessly into the water until he suddenly stopped and jumped in the air as though he had been hit by an electric current. ‘It’s freezing, oh Jesus, it’s freezing!’ he roared.

  Paul walked casually into the water, but he too stopped and wrapped his arms around his torso as though protecting himself from the cold. Helen realised that she would have to resist the temptation to splash him as she passed. He was too serious and distant for teasing. She thought of whispering the word ‘sissy’ into his ear, but she thought he would be offended.

  ‘Come on, Paul,’ she said, ‘you’re a big boy.’

  ‘Don’t even speak to me,’ he said, shivering. ‘You never told me it was this cold.’

  By now, Larry was swimming out to sea, and as soon as it was deep enough, and with as much effort and determination as she could muster, Helen dived in as well. When she surfaced, knowing that Paul was watching her, she nonchalantly tossed the seawater out of her hair.

  Afterwards, they dried themselves and lay on their towels in the sun.

  ‘Your granny says’, Larry began, ‘that if she broke her leg or got sick, they’d sort of capture her and keep her, and she’d never get home. She was in hospital once and the old woman in the bed opposite thought everyone was a priest, even the nurses, and was all father this and father that, and your granny says she couldn’t bear it. They started to treat her like she was demented as well.’

  ‘She is demented,’ Helen said.

  ‘God, it’d be awful, though, when you think about it,’ Larry said.

  ‘Shut up, Larry,’ Paul said.

  ‘No, seriously,’ Larry said.

  ‘I don’t care about Granny,’ Helen said. ‘I mean, I do care about her, but not now. Now, I’d like to get Declan out of that room.’

  ‘I think maybe he wants to be there with your mother like that,’ Paul said.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Helen asked.

  ‘I think he was so afraid that your mother would refuse to see him or something,’ Paul said. ‘I think he desperately wanted her to know and help him and yet he couldn’t tell her, and now he’s told her and he has her there and she’s trying to help him.’

  ‘It might be better in small doses,’ Helen said drily.

  ‘It might also be exactly what he wants,’ Paul said. ‘He talked about it so much.’

  ‘Imagine being locked up in a room like that with your mother,’ Larry said. ‘I’d sooner be taken hostage by the Hizbollah.’

  ‘Shut up, Larry, you told us your mother was nice,’ Paul said.

  ‘I suppose if I was sick, it would be different,’ Larry said.

  ‘Stop telling Larry to shut up,’ Helen said.

  Paul stood up and walked towards the shoreline and then began to wade fearlessly into the water.

  ‘Maybe he’ll cool off in there,’ Larry said.

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ Helen asked.

  ‘He has his own problems,’ Larry said.

  ‘Is he sick?’ she asked hesitandy.

  ‘No, not that. Boyfriend problems. Can you imagine trying to be his boyfriend?’

  ‘I’m sure he’s very nice.’

  ‘Oh, a bundle of laughs, our Paul. He reads books about relationships.’

  ‘And that’s the limit, I suppose?’

  ‘Well, it would be for me, big-time,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, it would be for me too,’ Helen sighed.

  Later, Larry went back to the house and Helen and Paul walked south along the strand towards Ballyconnigar and Ballyvaloo. The day was hazy, but the sun was strong and warm.

  ‘Do you live alone?’ she asked him.

  He looked at her sharply. They both knew that the question had been rehearsed.

  ‘No, I live with my boyfriend in Brussels,’ he said. He sounded bored.

  ‘Sorry, I should mind my own business,’ she said.

  ‘No, it’s OK,’ he said.

  They walked in silence until they came to the Keatings’ house, where she began to explain the erosion. He seemed interested in it, asked questions about who had lived in the house and how long it had taken this part of it to fall over the cliff.

  They crossed the stream at Ballyconnigar and continued walking. Without thinking, she asked another question. ‘Is your boyfriend Irish?’

  ‘No, he’s French, but I met him in Ireland.’

  ‘How did you meet him?’

  She did not know why she was so curious, and she promised herself that, if he put her off this time, she would ask him nothing more.

  ‘We were on an exchange scheme when we were both fifteen.’

  ‘And did you . . .?’ She hesitated, and he looked at her as though he did not understand what she was asking. ‘Did you . . .?’

  ‘I think I know what you mean,’ he said. ‘No, no, not until four years later.’

  ‘But did you know?’

  ‘I knew I was, but I didn’t know he was, and vice versa.’

  ‘And what happened?’

  They sat down against one of the small sand dunes. He put his arms around his knees and stared out to sea. ‘A lot of French students came to the town,’ he said, ‘and they all joined the tennis club so we were all down there day and night. There were hops and tournaments and all sorts of things. The way all of us – I mean the Irish boys – the way we dealt with each other puzzled the French people, but I didn’t realise that until much later. We were all surprised at how they shook hands with each other and kissed each other, and they were amazed at how we slagged each other off all the time. Looking back on it, that was, I suppose, how we communicated. If anyone got a haircut, or was caught holding hands with a girl, or had any weakness, it could be anything, they’d all jeer you and slag you and it could go on for days.’

  ‘That’s what you and Declan do to Larry,’ she said.

  ‘He deserves it,’ Paul said.

  ‘Sorry, I interrupted you.’

  ‘You’d have to know my father,’ he went on. ‘He’s an engineer, and he’s really interested in problems in maths, and he’s also big into logic. All my brothers are engineers. From the time we could talk he had us solving problems. And when we were older, if we had to decide anything, like how to spend your Confirmation money, or whether to watch television or study, he’d make you write out the problem and then the pros and cons, and then the decision. We all had slips of paper for this, and he’d love if you showed him how you worked something out. So the winter before François came to stay with us I wrote on a slip of paper: “I am gay. I feel about blokes in my class the way they feel about girls.” And then I hid the piece of paper. I read an article in the Irish Times about a couple where the husba
nd was gay, but they didn’t talk about it until they had two children. They were going to try and stay together, the article said, but she knew that he didn’t really fancy her.

  ‘I used to take out the slip of paper and write down options: I could ignore it. I could try and forget about it. I wrote down the most outlandish things I won’t tell you about. One night I wrote down the option that I should look out for someone my own age who was gay too. I remember I underlined it twice because it was less drastic than some of the other options.

  ‘And very soon someone came along, or I thought he came along. I used to play rugby then, until I got sense, but our club was tiny and we had no showers or anything like that. We used to put our clothes back on after the game and then go home and shower and change. The first time I played in an away-game there was a communal shower and we all noticed that one of the guys on our team – he’s a big barrister now – got an erection in the shower. I stupidly decided that he had to be gay. He was a really good-looking guy, so I watched him, and then one night I managed to walk home with him after a debate, and I don’t know what I said to him, but whatever it was he understood my meaning. He said he would be interested, but just not tonight, and we left it like that, and I went home happy. I had met somebody. I wouldn’t need to consult the slip of paper again.

  ‘The problem was that I never got to be on my own with him properly again, even during the day, and I tried everything: waiting until he was leaving, trying to find him during the breaks in school. I even called around to his house once, and every time I was about to bring up the subject, he would do something like leave the room or zap the television. It was all hopeless. But I didn’t realise he had told everybody. I didn’t realise that until François was staying and we were sharing a room. François’ English wasn’t great then. Anyway, one night, we were all in the tennis club, it was too dark to play but too early for the dancing to start. So we were all just sitting around. And there was the usual jeering or banter going on. Somebody said that François was looking for a transfer to another house and everybody sort of cheered, including the girls who were there. Is it the food, someone mockingly asked. No, someone else said. Is it Paul’s oul’ ma? No, someone said again. It all sounded like they had planned it. What is it then, someone shouted. It’s because Paul’s a queer, one of them said, and they all laughed and cheered until one of them said to François – who hadn’t a clue what was going on – “Isn’t that right, François?” and Francois, who is very polite, said “Yes” in a French accent and they all fell around laughing.