Story, Volume I

by Dai Smith

  ‘Serve you right,’ said her husband angrily. ‘Haven’t I told you time after time not to come down here, meetin’ me? It’s not a place for a woman at all.’

  ‘There were other women here as well as me,’ said Mrs Reilly.

  ‘The other women are not you,’ said Reilly, more angry than ever. ‘Anyhow, here’s the bloody bag.’

  The policeman said: ‘Everything’s all right. Goodnight.’

  Mrs and Mr Reilly walked away without replying. They passed through the dock gates. The road was deserted. Suddenly the woman exclaimed: ‘Did you take those Blaud’s pills while you were away, Johnny? I’ve been wondering. How d’you feel now?’

  ‘Rotten,’ he replied.

  They walked on in silence.

  ‘Shall I get you a glass of beer for your supper?’ asked his wife.

  ‘No.’

  Again silence.

  ‘Mary’s husband got washed overboard,’ said Mrs Reilly quite casually. ‘Of course, I wrote to you about it.’

  ‘Jesus Christ! Andy? Andy gone?’

  ‘Yes. Poor feller. He was coming down the rigging after making the ratlines fast.’

  ‘My God!’

  They reached the end of the road. Turned up Juniper Street. Reilly spoke. ‘How’s Harry? Did he get any compensation?’

  Mrs Reilly looked at her husband.

  ‘He got twenty pounds. Lovely, isn’t it? And him with his jaw gone.’

  ‘Poor Andy, poor Andy,’ Reilly kept saying to himself. ‘Poor Andy.’ And then suddenly he said aloud: ‘Holy Christ! What a life! What a lousy bloody life!’

  ‘It’s God’s Holy Will,’ said his wife. ‘You shouldn’t swear like that, Johnny.’

  ‘I dare say I shouldn’t,’ he said, and he stopped to spit savagely into the road. They reached the house. The three children, twelve, fifteen, and sixteen, all embraced him.

  To the boy, Anthony, who was sixteen, he said : ‘Well, are you workin’ yet, Anthony?’

  ‘No Dad. Not yet.’

  The father sighed. He turned to Clara, twelve years of age, and took her upon his knee. ‘How’s Clara?’ he asked her.

  She smiled up at him, and he smothered her with a passionate embrace.

  When the children had gone to bed, Mrs Reilly made the supper. They both sat down.

  ‘Eileen has to go into hospital on Wednesday,’ said Mrs Reilly.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Remember her gettin’ her arm caught in the tobacco cutting machine?’

  ‘Yes. But I thought it healed up?’

  Mrs Reilly leaned across and whispered into his ear. ‘The poor darlin’ has to have her arm off altogether. Don’t say anything, John.’

  ‘I’m sorry I came home. By God, I am. Coming and going. Coming and going. Always the same, trouble, trouble, trouble.’

  He put down his knife and fork. He could not eat any more, he said, in reply to his wife’s question. He drew a chair to the fire and sat down. Mrs Reilly began clearing the table. She talked as she gathered up the dishes.

  ‘Trouble. God love us, you don’t know what trouble is, man. How could you know? Sure you’re all right, aren’t you. Away from it all. You have your work to do. And when you’ve done it you can go to bed and sleep comfortable. You have your papers and your pipe. You have your food and your bed. Trouble. God bless me, Johnny, but you don’t know what the word means. The rent’s gone up, and then Anthony not working, and Eileen’s costing me money all the while. And she’ll end up by being a drag on me. How can the poor girl work? I get on all right for a while and then something happens. You see nothing. Nothing at all.’

  Reilly jumped up and almost flew at his wife. She dropped her hands to her side. She looked full into his face.

  ‘See nothing! Jesus Christ Almighty! You don’t know what I see. You don’t know what I have to do. What worry I have. You don’t know what I think, how I feel. No. No. God’s truth, you don’t. Me! ME! An old man. And I have to hop, skip, and jump just like the young men, and if I don’t, I’m kicked out. And where would you be then? And all the children. In the bloody workhouse. I have to put up with insults, humiliations, everything. I have to kiss the engineer’s behind to keep my job. By heavens, you’re talking through your hat, woman!’

  ‘Am I? How do you know I’m talking through my hat? Was I talking through my hat that time you fell twenty-five feet down the iron ladder into the engine room? Was I? Was I? Was I talking through my hat when I made you come away from the doctor who examined you? Was I daft? You with a piece of your skull sticking in your brain, and no jaw, and all your teeth knocked out, and three ribs broken. And you actually wanted to take a lousy twenty-three pounds from the shipping company’s compensation doctor. The dirty blackguards! You tried to kiss his behind. That I do know.’

  ‘Look here, woman. I’ll cut your throat if you torment me much longer. You don’t know what I have on my mind. God! You don’t. Kiss his backside. I had to. Supposing I had done as you say. Asked for a hundred pounds’ compensation. I know it would have been all right if we had got it, but we didn’t get it, did we? And I knew we couldn’t. So I took what they offered – twenty-three pounds, and my job back.’

  ‘Did that pay the doctor’s bill and rent and food, for all the eleven weeks you were ill in bed on me? Did it? No. You had a right to ask for the hundred pounds. It’s too late now.’

  ‘I had no right.’

  ‘You had. Good God! You know you had.’

  ‘Damn and blast you, I tell you I had no right. I could never have got it. Didn’t the union try? Didn’t everybody try? It was no use. I got off lucky. I got my job back anyhow, didn’t I?’

  ‘Your job,’ said Mrs Reilly, sarcastically.

  ‘My job! My job! My job!’ he screamed down the woman’s ear. ‘My job!’

  ‘The people next door are in bed,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t care a damn where they are.’

  ‘I do,’ said his wife.

  ‘Christ, you’d aggravate a saint out of heaven. I feel like chokin’ you.’

  ‘Go ahead then. You hard-faced pig. That’s what you are.’

  ‘Oh, go to hell,’ said Reilly. He walked out of the kitchen. Went upstairs. He undressed and got into bed. He lay for a while. Suddenly he got up again. He went into the children’s room. They were sleeping. He went up to each one. He kissed them upon the forehead and upon the lips. He kissed Clara, murmuring: ‘Oh, dear little Clara. Dear little Clara. I wonder what you’ll do. I wonder how you’ll manage.’ Then he kissed Eileen.

  ‘Poor Eileen. Poor darlin’. Losing your little arm. Your poor little arm. And nothing – NOTHING can save it.’

  He kissed Anthony and murmured: ‘Poor lad. God help you. I don’t know how you’ll face life. No, I do not know. Poor boy.’

  Then he tiptoed out of the room and returned to his bed. All was silent in that house now. Below, Mrs Reilly was sitting in the chair just vacated by her husband. She was weeping into her apron. Above, he lay.

  He thought. ‘First night home. Good Lord. Always trouble. Always something. And me – me defending my job, and I haven’t got one after this trip. Finished now. All ended now.’

  Mrs Reilly came up to bed. Neither spoke. She got into bed. Lay silent. No stir in that room. All dark outside. Roars of winches and shouting of men they could hear through the window. Mrs Reilly slept. The husband could not sleep. He got out of bed again, and went into the children’s room. Anthony was in one bed. Clara and Eileen in the other. He lay down on the edge of the boy’s bed.

  ‘Nothing. Nothing now,’ he said. ‘Things I’ve done. All these years. Nothing now. How useless I am. Poor children. If only I had been all right. Oh, I wonder where you’ll all be this time next year. I wonder.’ He closed his eyes but could not sleep. Was nothing now, he felt. Nuisance. And young men coming along all the time. Young men from same street. Street that was narrow, and at the back high walls so that sun could not come in. ‘No sun in one’s life,’ he thou
ght.

  Mrs Reilly woke. Felt for her husband. Not there.

  ‘O Lord!’ she exclaimed. ‘Where is he? Surely he hasn’t gone.’

  She called. And her voice was thin and cracked and outraged silence of that room. ‘Johnny, are you there?’ she called.

  He heard. He would not reply. Was crying quietly, and one long arm like piece of dried stick was across Anthony’s neck. She called again.

  ‘Oh my God! Where are you, Johnny?’

  He did not answer. Were now strange feelings in him. Heart was not there. Was an engine in its place. Ship’s engine. Huge pistons rose and fell. He was beneath these pistons. His body was being hammered by them. All his inside was gone now and was only wind there. Wind seemed to blow round and round all through his frame. Gusts of wind. Were smothering him. Many figures were tramping in him. Voices. All shouting. All talking together. He could hear them. They were walking through him. Third engineer was one.

  ‘You soft old bastard. Didn’t I tell you to watch the gauge?’

  Chief engineer was another.

  ‘Watch yourself, Reilly. You’re getting old now. Be careful. We’ll do what we can for you. We won’t forget you.’

  Was another. And him a greaser. His name was Farrell

  ‘You sucker. Working longer than anybody else in port. Go and get me some cotton waste. And shift your bloody old legs.’

  ‘I have to keep my job.’

  All voices spoke as one now. He could not understand their words. And always this engine was moving, these pistons crushing him. Three o’clock in the morning and no sleep yet.

  Mrs Reilly was out of bed. She was downstairs. She looked in the back kitchen, in the yard and closet. Her husband was not there.

  ‘What a worry he is,’ she said, and came upstairs again. And there he was in the bed. He looked up at her. She smiled. He did not smile, but closed his eyes. She spoke to him.

  ‘Where were you, Johnny. I thought you had gone down to the yard. Didn’t you hear me calling you?’

  ‘No. Was with children,’ he said.

  ‘Are you hungry? Would you like that glass of bitter? You had no supper,’ she said, and there was a kindness in her voice, and in the tired eyes.

  ‘Not now. Am tired,’ he replied.

  ‘Oh, Johnny. If only you’d stuck out for the hundred pounds. It would have been lovely. I was only thinking just now. We could have opened that greengrocer’s shop. An’ Eileen could have served in it. It would have been grand. We could have got her an artificial arm. They’re so wonderful now, these doctors. Artificial arms are just like ordinary ones. You can use a knife and fork with them. If only you’d stuck out, Johnny. And Anthony could have taken out the orders.’

  ‘Shut your mouth, for Christ’s sake!’ he growled.

  Was a silence. Reilly breathed heavily. Light of candle fell upon his face. Was thin and worn. Yellow like colour of flypaper. Hands were hard. White like coral.

  ‘Johnny, what’s the matter, darlin’? Aren’t you well?’

  ‘I’m all right,’ he said. ‘It’s this rheumatism, and then I’m thinking of Andy. Lord have mercy on him.’

  ‘Poor Andy,’ she said, ‘was a lovely lad, wasn’t he?’

  ‘It’s awful about Eileen,’ said Reilly. ‘Does she get no compo?’

  ‘Not yet. Company said it was her own fault. If comb fell out of her hair and on to machine she had no right to put out her hand for it. Was an accident, they said. Would give her light job just now brushing rooms.’

  ‘And her with her arm off. The soft sons of bitches,’ he growled.

  ‘I had an idea,’ she said to him, and stroked his forehead.

  ‘Idea,’ he said, and sighed.

  ‘Yes. Couldn’t you get Anthony away with you as a trimmer?’

  ‘What for?’ he asked. And was a strange look in his eyes.

  ‘To help us, of course,’ she said; ‘we have to get money somehow or other. We have to live.’

  ‘Don’t you get mine?’

  ‘Yes. But it’s not enough, Johnny,’ she pleaded. ‘You know Anthony is a strong lad. He would be all right as a trimmer.’

  ‘I don’t want any of my children to go to sea,’ he said.

  ‘’You’re very particular in your old age,’ she said, with sarcasm.

  ‘In my old age! Particular! Christ! Shut it.’

  ‘Anyhow he wants to go,’ she said. ‘Is tired being at home. No work for him. Poor lad. Other lads working and money for cigarettes and pictures. None for him.’

  ‘We’re a lucky bloody family,’ said Reilly angrily.

  ‘Won’t you try?’ she asked. ‘Will help us all this getting him away as trimmer. Will make a man of him. He wants to go.’

  ‘Make a man of him,’ said Reilly, and he laughed.

  ‘Yes. Will make a man of him,’ she said, and was angry, for colour had come into her cheeks that looked like taut drum skins. ‘How bloody funny you are.’

  ‘Me funny. Don’t kid yourself, woman. I have to see the doctor in the morning. Nothing funny in that. For the love of Jesus shut up about Anthony and everybody else. Why don’t you go to sleep?’

  He was angry too, for eyes were burning with strange fire. He turned over on his side. Mrs Reilly mumbled to herself. They both lay on their sides with their backs to each other. He thought.

  Bring Anthony with him? No. How funny. What made her suggest that? Especially this next trip. No. He would not.

  ‘Are you awake, Johnny?’ she asked him.

  ‘I am,’ he replied.

  ‘Are you all right? I’m worried about you. Won’t you have that glass of bitter that’s downstairs?’

  ‘No.’

  Of a sudden were strange sounds in that house. And silence was like a fast-revolving wheel that has just stopped.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked her husband.

  ‘It’s Eileen. Poor child. In the night her arm pains awful.’

  ‘Go to her.’

  His wife got up and went in to Eileen. The girl was sitting up in bed. All dark there for though moon shone light could not get in through high wall that faced window. It had a crack in it.

  ‘’What’s the matter, child?’

  ‘Oh, Mother!’ she said. ‘Oh, Mother!’ Mrs Reilly held her child to her. And in her heart a great fear arose. Could feel now tiny heart of child pulsating against her own, whose tick was slow, like little hammer taps, or like dying tick of clock that is worn out.

  ‘Oh my arm!’ sighed Eileen.

  ‘There, there,’ said the mother. ‘Don’t cry, darlin’. God’s good.’

  Was nothing but heavy breathing of mother and little sobs of Eileen in that darkness.

  Mrs Reilly shuddered. Eileen clung to her. In the other bed Anthony snored. His curly hair was a dark mass on the pillow.

  Mr Reilly turned and lay on his back. He was muttering to himself.

  ‘Tomorrow. Pay off. Go away. Pay off. Finish.’

  Was not much in life, and we are only like dirt, he felt in his heart. He fell asleep. Was morning when he woke. Nine o’clock.

  ‘I’ve fried you an egg,’ said Mrs Reilly.

  ‘Can’t eat anything now,’ said Mr Reilly. ‘Just make a cup of tea. Have to pass doctor and sign on half past ten. Where’s Eileen?’

  ‘Gone over to the chemist’s.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Well, I thought you’d want those pills again. For next trip.’

  ‘Pills. Oh yes,’ he said, and his voice seemed to be far away. He sat down and drank the tea hurriedly. Then he went into the back-kitchen. As he was closing the door he said: ‘Don’t let anybody come in here. I’m washing all over.’

  He stripped. Was very thin. And he looked at himself in the glass. Ran hands over his body. He said to himself: ‘Forty years at the one job. By God! And now finish. Well, many’s the stokehole and engine room as has drawn sweat out of you, and you’re alive yet. Many a time was ill with eyes bulgin’ out of bloody head, and yet I took my
rake and slice like a man and fired up. Many places I’ve been to. Saw many things. Not much in life.’ He began to scrub himself.

  ‘Don’t splash all over the place,’ shouted Mrs Reilly. ‘I only scrubbed that place out last night.’

  ‘All right,’ he replied.

  Was washed now. He dried himself with tablecloth that had been on table once and Anthony had spilt tea on it. Was not much of a towel, he said. Again he looked at himself in the glass.

  ‘These varicose veins,’ he murmured. ‘That’s what it is.’ And putting on the truss, he added: ‘And this. This bloody rupture.’

  Remembered fifteen years ago. Was young and strong and worked hard on Lucania when her engines broke down in the Western ocean. Heavy shafting to be lifted and he was strong. Was no thought for himself then, only for ship that had to be in New York by Wednesday 10.15p.m. Company were anxious to get passengers for Advertisers’ Convention in England, before Red Star liner got them. Remembered that. And Chief Engineer said to second: ‘Call the men for’ard, and tell the steward to give each man a tot of rum. Good job that.’

  Remembered that. Had the rum. Forgot all about strain on body. Six years later the rupture came. It was bad too. He dressed and went the kitchen.

  ‘You look all right now,’ said Mrs Reilly, and helped him to tie his boots, and fasten his collar on. He put his coat and blue serge cap on. Then he crossed to the door.

  ‘Kiss me,’ she said.

  He kissed her on cheek. The door banged. Mrs Reilly was thinking:

  ‘God help him! He does look bad this trip.’

  Reilly walked down the street. There were some people standing on their doorsteps, and children in gutters. Some women were speaking.

  ‘There’s owld Reilly home again.’

  ‘He looks bad, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Sure that owld devil’s as hard as leather.’

  Reilly passed a pub where men were standing outside. Were old seamen out of work and they were talking.

  ‘Hello, Johnny! How are you keepin’, old timer?’

  ‘Not bad,’ Reilly said.

  ‘See you coming back,’ he added, and they smiled.

  One man was small and had a face like a bird. He smacked his lips for Reilly coming back meant two rounds of drinks at Hangmans.