by Colin McAdam
PENGUIN CANADA
SOME GREAT THING
COLIN McADAM has written for Harper’s and The Walrus. His novel Some Great Thing won the Amazon.ca/Books in Canada First Novel Award and was nominated for the Governor General’s Literary Award, the Rogers Writers’ Trust Award, the Commonwealth Writers’ Prize and the John Llewellyn Rhys Prize in the U.K. He lives in Montreal.
Also by Colin McAdam
Fall
Some Great Thing
Colin McAdam
PENGUIN CANADA
Published by the Penguin Group
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First published in hardcover in the U.K. by Jonathan Cape, 2004. Simultaneously published in the U.S. by Harcourt Inc. Published in Canada by Raincoast Books, 2005. Published in this edition, 2009.
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Copyright © Colin McAdam, 2004, 2005
Lyrics from “Cold Cold Heart” by Hank Williams reproduced with kind permission by Sony/ATV Music Publishing. “Tender” words and music by Albarn, James, Coxon and Rowntree. Copyright 1988. Reproduced by permission of EMI Music Publishing Ltd, London, WC2H OQY. “Big River” written by Johnny Cash. Copyright 1958, 1986, House of Cash, Inc. (BMI)/Administered by BUG. All rights reserved. Used by permission. Words and Music for “Ring of Fire” by Merle Kilgore and June Carter. Copyright 1962, 1963 Painted Desert Music Corporation, New York. Copyright renewed. International copyright secured. All rights reserved. Used by permission.
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Publisher’s note: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN: 978-0-14-317179-9
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Some Great Thing
Part One
1
Kathleen on Wednesday
“JERRY McGUINTY WAS my husband for fifteen years.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Twenty.”
“But Jerry McGuinty’s rich.”
“I’m rich. From a phone call, I’ll be.”
“But you weren’t really married to Jerry McGuinty.”
“Watch where you’re cuttin.”
“How come you’re not rich?”
“I am rich. Where’s Lisa anyway? It takes a phone call, like I’m, like I’m one of them people, you know, calling. Cut my hair. Where’s Lisa?!”
“I told ya. She’s sick.”
“What do ya mean, sick?”
“The clap.”
“Ohhh. Lisa?”
“Yep.”
“Who are you?”
“Joanie. I told you. See, it’s here. Look in the mirror there. Joanie.”
“Joanie.”
“So your last name’s McGuinty?”
“It is.”
“How come it’s Herlihy?”
“It’s McGuinty.”
“Says in the book, Herlihy. Mrs. Herlihy, ten o’clock, cut and set.”
“Don’t you set my hair. I won’t pay if you set me.”
“All right, Mrs. Herlihy.”
“Herlihy, eh? Haven’t heard that in a while.”
“But ya gave that as your name.”
“Herlihy’s a pretty name, too.”
“Herlihy is a pretty name.”
“A Herlihy doesn’t get the clap. Not a Kathleen Herlihy.”
“No, ma’am, not a Joanie neither.”
“McGuinty’s a name.”
“McGuinty’s a name all right.”
“My name for fifteen years or so. Smoke?”
“No thank you.”
“Give ya some cheekbones.”
“No thank you, ma’am. I got cheekbones.”
“Where?”
“I got cheekbones as much as you was married to Jerry McGuinty.”
“Where’s Lisa fer shit’s sakes? You tell me where Lisa is.”
“I told you. Lisa’s dead.”
“What?”
“She died last week.”
“Lisa?”
“Yep. Just after she married Jerry McGuinty.”
“What?”
“Lisa’s sick.”
“You tell her to get better.”
“You tell me what it was like being married to Jerry McGuinty.”
“You cut my hair.”
“I’m cuttin your hair.”
“Arse. Jerry McGuinty was the biggest . . . You mind your own biggest.”
“Business.”
“What?”
“All I know is, I wouldn’t be sittin in that chair if I was married to Jerry McGuinty. I wouldn’t be gettin my hair cut by me, that’s what I know, if I was married to Jerry friggin McGuinty.”
“I could afford! I could pay for more than this. Who are you?”
“I’m Joanie.”
“You’re not Joanie. I was married to Joanie.”
“Joanie McGuinty?”
“Jerry. Jerry McGuinty was my husband for twenty years.”
AND I GOTTA buy cheese.
I gotta buy cheese.
“Cheese?”
“Aisle three.”
“Three?”
“Three.”
I can count. I can count. Comb your freakin hair, you ugly freakin freak, is all I want, is all I want is cheese. Three cheese.
“Where’s aisle three?”
“What?”
“Aisle three fer shit’s sakes.” What do ya want with cheese? “What do ya want with cheese?”
“What?”
“I’m so fuckin thirsty.”
“Do you need help?”
“I want some fuckin cheese.”
“Aisle three, ma’am. That way,
ma’am.”
“What?”
“That way, ma’am.”
He was sweet, that boy. That way, ma’am, that way. Cheese? Over there, over there by that way, ma’am, ya grubby little freak. “Which way?”
“Pardon?”
“Where’d he go?”
“Who, ma’am?”
“The grocery boy. He’ll bring me a stick of cheese.” That’s it, that’s right. Run away.
“DRINK?”
“Ya can’t drink here, ma’am. This is a hairdresser’s.”
“I’ll just have a drink.”
“Ya can’t, Mrs. Herlihy. This is a salon. Put that away now.”
“I’ll just put it down here.”
“Put the flask back in your pocket, ma’am. I’m not kidding ma’am.”
“I’ll just put it down here.”
“Ma’am.”
“I saw your cheekbones.”
“You see anyone else drinking?”
“There’s no one in here.”
“Right.”
“There’s no one in here, and you’re trying to trick me.”
“I’m not tricking you, Jerry.”
“Jerry?”
“Joanie.”
“It’s Kathleen.”
“Your name’s Kathleen. Put the flask away, Kathleen.”
“No one else is drinkin cause you’re trickin everyone.”
“Just put the flask away. There. In your pocket. You want me to finish your hair, don’t ya?”
“Eh?”
“Mrs. Herlihy, ten o’clock, cut and set.”
“I won’t have a set today thanks.”
“So you say.”
“So says the Lord.”
“Put the flask away now, Kathleen.”
“Smoke?”
“No.”
“I’ll just have a smoke to help your cheekbones along.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“You confuse the shit out of me, Lisa.”
“Do I? I’m Joanie. Would you like a drink, ma’am?”
“You’re feckin right I would.”
“Cause this is a saloon.”
“Right.”
“Put that away, ma’am. Put your head back there. Have a rest. Have a rest while I set your hair.”
“GET YOUR FECKIN hands off me, is all I’m sayin.”
“And all I’m saying is you should do your shopping elsewhere.”
“Security!”
“I am security, ma’am.”
“Security!”
“Come on outside, ma’am. Finish your shopping outside.”
“Get your hands off me, and I won’t kill you.”
“You won’t kill me?”
“Get your hands off me.”
“Please keep your voice down.”
“I want some flippin cheese!”
“You’ll get some outside.”
“Why?!”
“What?”
“Where the fuck is aisle three?”
“MRS. HERLIHY? MRS. HERLIHY? Wake up, Mrs. Herlihy. Wake up now, Kathleen. Wake up, ya friggin drunk. Mrs. Herlihy?”
“Yes?”
“You fell asleep.”
“I fell asleep.”
“I’ve done your hair, Mrs. Herlihy.”
“Where?”
“Just on top of your head, ma’am.”
“That’s very kind.”
“Are you all right?”
Kathleen on Thursday
“IT’S HERLIHY.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Herlihy. Could you hold for one moment?”
“What?”
“Hold please.”
Hold hold hold hold old hold old old.
“Mrs. Herlihy?”
“Eh?”
“What can we do for you today? The usual?”
“Quick.”
“GOOD MORNING, Mrs. Herlihy.”
“Robert, is it? Come in come in.”
“Just on the counter, ma’am?”
“Eh?”
“I’ll just put it on the counter. I have bad news, Mrs. Herlihy.”
“Give us a drink.”
“It’s about the drink, ma’am.”
“What is it?” Itchy, itchy bastard.
“Our supplier had no Dewar’s. It’s Bell’s today, I’m afraid.”
“Right.”
“I thought you hated Bell’s.”
“Not just now. Hurry.”
“I was worried.”
“No ya weren’t.”
“Pardon?”
“I suppose you want some.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Herlihy. Just a quick one. I’ve got four more deliveries this morning.”
“Dewar’s or Bell’s?”
“You don’t have Dewar’s today, ma’am. I’ll have Bell’s.”
“You’ll have Bell’s. I’ll have Bell’s. I’ll have more Bell’s than you cause you’re driving.”
“That’s only fair.”
“Where’d ya put it?”
“Just on the counter, ma’am.”
“I’ll just . . . I can pour the feckin thing . . . Here we go.”
“Thank you very much.”
“Give that back for a second, Robert, is it.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll just have a little sip of yours.”
“I wish you wouldn’t do that, ma’am.”
“More tomorrow. I’ll give yiz.”
“Can’t I just have a bit?”
Fucker. “Here. One finger. One and a half fingers.”
“Thanks.”
“Pass that back for a minute. I’ll just drink half a finger. There. You’re driving.”
“Thanks.”
“Sit, Robert, is it.”
“Thank you very much. Thank you. I like this couch.”
“Fortune.”
“Yeah?”
“Flippin right. I remember.”
“I’ll bet. How are you today, anyways, Mrs. Herlihy?”
“I want you to leave, Robert.”
“Sure. I’ll just knock that back.”
JUST KNOCK it back goodbye son. Off then, ya freakin sponge? I’ll just slip over here and ring the Bell’s and call ya back for more. No? Tomorrow then. Come on back tomorrow.
“GOODBYE.”
GOOD MORNING and goodbye to you Robert, ugly face, freakin mole, strawberry pus on chin.
Smell of old teeth. So old in my mouth, and look at yourself Look at above the couch, dirty freakin mirror, lookin at yourself. Get yourself up for another, and for anyone else? Blinds down behind the eyes. Older than you look. Nothing like you look. Get yourself another. Goddamn couch cost a fortune, might as well enjoy life.
Feet!
Get a man to lay a carpet just as soon as I finish this here, this drink here cost a fortune. Three fingers at noon, get me through the lunchtime quiet. Half a glass, fat fingers today thank God. There’s a toast to all my friends, I wanna thank you all for comin. Get a man to lay me down, three fingers behind the truck.
Feet! God damn the knees. Cover your knees ya freakin hag and lie down there on the couch. There ya go. There ya go. Peace and freakin quiet. I’ll just have a quick cigarette, if that’s all right with you, Robert.
Robert?
“IT’S HERLIHY.”
“Hello, Mrs. Herlihy. What can we do for you?”
“Don’t put me on hold.”
“No need, ma’am.”
“No need?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I didn’t . . . I need my cigarettes. Robert didn’t deliver my goddamn cigarettes.”
2
Jerry
WHAT I SHOULD say is my name is Jerry and I built this house. Four-square, plaster walls, buttressed from toe to tip with an iron goddamn will, my friend, standing proud proud proud. I hammered it into the ground and I pushed it up to the sky, and with the grace of God and the sweat of men I will build a thousand more.
All these houses you see around you I
built, and neither you nor the grown-up child of your grandchild’s grandchild is going to see them crumble.
I build, my friend, and up yours if you think me common. I challenge you to build something, and I defy the fist of time to touch what I have done. I challenge you to build a matchstick outhouse in the time it takes me to tell an endless tale. See if you have the will; then wipe that smirk off your flabby pink chops and listen.
It is endless. And I am worn.
My name is Jerry and my son’s name is Jerry, and that’s because my imagination was always saved for my work. And Jerry, my son my son, is the life hope love and death of me.
Please tell me if you see him.
A plague of years ago I put a cigar between my teeth and reckoned myself the greatest man on earth. For there in her hands, careful of the ashes Jer, was the pinkest thing I ever made. Flesh and wrinkles and a boneless chicken in the palm of my hand, screaming in a purple dribbling rage, my boy. My chest, my boy, as swollen as the proud blue sea.
But where do I begin?
He had a grip as sharp as needle-nosed pliers. And he grew up smart.
3
Simon
SO I SAID TO HER, I said, listen, I said, Kwyet, I said, Kwyet, I said (the eager chasseur), I want, I said, to run. My little humming Quiet, my little thread of Kwyet, a birdbreeze lower than a breath said Come, she said, or so I had imagined, Come she said, Here I am.
She said nothing, but I took her to mean much, as she ran more than walked, cowered more than curved up the stairs through the door by the window.
I want to run, I said, but None, I said, of this Come here. My goose was bumped all over from the breeze of disquieting breath; to run was my need, not my wish. I was prepared to get song-of-songsy, all hinds and harts and panting, to sing with her as we ran. But when I was there, when I was right there with her, there was nothing but quiet: an open window and an invitation. Come, she says, here I am.
What a long way to the ground.
HE IS A FASCINATING man, awful, handsome, disgraceful, a subject of great interest for many and the subtlest beast of The Glebe. You have to search to find him but we know exactly where he is: Number Fifteen, Cowslip Crescent, Not Far From Here At All If You Know The Roads.
Twenty years ago he had twenty years stretched out before him, as they say, although he constantly searched for them and has found them only now that he looks back.
His name is Simon.
KWYET HAD a bottom like a pillow, where I rested my head to consider what I looked like from above. I sent my soul up there to have a look. Kwyet on the bottom, me on hers, my graceful raffish soul tilting his head in Botticellian pose above my grateful rakish body (recently sated on Kwyet’s adaptable bottom). I smiled and my soul winked back at me. I looked good, I should say.
