He had left Blackrock to thwart those voices, to hide himself away in the foreign cities that he had longed to see as a boy. But the voices in his head were like a swarm of bees who found a crack in every door he ever closed over, because you cannot thwart an impulse that is stronger than life itself. For years, the voices had been plotting their survival, creeping into other people’s dreams. They had gnawed away at Shane’s father’s peace of mind, convincing him that he needed to uproot his family. They had manifested themselves into the shape of a cramp that drowned a strong swimmer at sea and left her young daughter vulnerable.
Those voices would do anything to survive. They had tempted him into revealing this well to Shane and Geraldine. He begged God that the boy would not be tempted to return, but God had little to do with this cellar. Out in the overgrown garden, a black cat was watching, a cat who once prowled the ruins of the Hellfire Club. If Shane came back, Thomas swore that he would not let him in, that he would not aid the voices who had tricked him down into this cellar seventy years ago. Closing his eyes and trying to ignore the pain, Thomas McCormack relived the consequences of that childhood morning again.
TWENTY-SIX
Thomas
August 1932
Fourteen-year-old Thomas McCormack wakes to the familiar hubbub of carts and milk churns in the yard. He gets up at once because any sign of laziness irks his mother, who believes that no honest soul should be idle after sunrise. School restarts in two weeks’ time, but for now there is still the prospect of freedom. Jack O’Driscoll will soon start his milk deliveries to houses on Carysfort Avenue and Newtownpark Avenue. As Thomas walks down to the kitchen he hatches a plan to join him. If the two friends work as a team, they will be able to find time to sneak away to smoke Woodbines and chase after imaginary Zulus through the fields behind Newtownpark House.
This plan depends on his mother letting him slip off to pursue his religious studies. Although she makes his brothers slave during every hour of daylight, she feels it her duty to allow Thomas to immerse himself in religious books that she gets on loan for him from the Holy Ghost fathers in Castledawson House in Blackrock College. Thomas dutifully tries to read them but you can only keep your mind on God for so long when there is the Booterstown shoreline to explore with Molly and Jack, if they can snatch any idle moments, or when he can walk to Dún Laoghaire pier to watch the boats departing across Dublin Bay and wonder about what type of journeys the passengers are embarking on.
In the kitchen, Molly serves him breakfast and asks for his help in rinsing out all the empty milk bottles later on.
‘I do be exhausted by the time the Missus asks me,’ she says, ‘and – no disrespect to your mother – but by the way she fusses, you’d swear they were priceless antiques.’
‘If Mammy goes out we can sit up on the landing and see who can hit the front door with a milk bottle first,’ he jokes.
Molly laughs. ‘Only ever try that if I’m safely on a boat to England. Even then I wouldn’t feel safe in case she’d unleashed a tidal wave to capsize us.’
Thomas loves to make Molly laugh, but he knows that she is in love with Jack O’Driscoll. He saw it in the way she danced with Jack to the jazz record last week. He tries to think of something else that would make Molly smile, but she leaves the kitchen to finish her other chores. Quickly, he finishes breakfast and then crosses the bustling yard in search of his mother. Loose straw blows about. There is a stench of cow dung and he has to shoo away a stray black cat who has wandered in. He pauses to stroke the old donkey harnessed to the nuns’ cart, surprised that their servant, Joseph, hasn’t already departed with the milk churns for the convent. The mute hunchback is nowhere to be seen, but then he emerges from an outhouse and limps towards the kitchen door. Glancing into the empty kitchen, Joseph turns to give a gap-toothed smile and urgently beckons Thomas towards him with his crippled hand.
Thomas is wary of Joseph. The old man is regarded as a harmless idiot, so docile that he grins even if young lads throw sods at him as he drives around the side-streets of Monkstown looking for slops for his pigs. But on several occasions Thomas has seen the donkey cart halted by the shore at Blackrock House and Joseph staring fixatedly out to sea for hours, grunting furiously as if caught up in some imaginary conversation inside his head.
Joseph now strides into the kitchen, even though he is not allowed near the house. Thomas doesn’t want Molly to find herself alone with him if she returns. He follows Joseph into the kitchen and orders the man out. Normally Joseph is timid, but this morning there is something different about him. Instead of leaving, he grips Thomas’s jacket with a brute strength. Joseph’s eyes look bloodshot and unnaturally large. His skin is blotched and his breath stinks. The nuns boast about him being the neatest slaughterer of pigs in the district. Pigs trust him. They willingly enter the pen, thinking he is going to give them a special treat. And he has a tender way of gazing into their eyes before cutting their throats with the black-handled knife he always keeps wrapped in a rag inside his coat. Joseph can barely recognise the letters of the alphabet, but nobody knows more about gaining the trust of animals. Suddenly, Thomas knows how those pigs must feel, because there is something hypnotic in the man’s gaze as he makes soothing grunts as if to reassure him.
Thomas finds himself pushed down a passageway towards the tiny cellar. He feels powerless and tries to pray. If Joseph cuts his throat the man will hang for it in Mountjoy Jail. Thomas can imagine him refusing to let the hangman place a black sack over his head, fixing him with a stupefied gaze as the trapdoor opens.
They enter the tiny cellar, which acts as a store for broken machinery. This is the last place where anyone would look for him. As Joseph unwraps his black-handled knife Thomas tries to scream but no sound comes. The man kneels and beckons the boy to do likewise. His manic grin is hypnotic. Thomas sinks down, expecting to feel a stab when Joseph raises the knife. Instead the blade plunges downwards, dislodging some cement from around the largest flagstone.
The man works frantically, occasionally glancing up to grin at the boy. What is underneath the flagstone, Thomas wonders – maybe a deeper cellar, unknown to anyone? Has Joseph killed other children and hidden them in this black hole? The prospect that his body might never be found is more chilling than death itself. Joseph wedges his fingers under the heavy flagstone and, grunting, manages to drag it to one side. Thomas leans forward to stare into the abyss. He gasps when he sees his own reflection staring back up at him.
He is looking down into a well that looks no more than two or three feet deep. But Thomas senses that if he were to place his weight on the loose stones at the bottom they would give way beneath him, causing him to keep falling downwards. Joseph is mumbling, a strangulated babble, as he points towards two tiny dice lying on the loose stones. The man no longer seems threatening as he guides Thomas’s hand towards the ice-cold water. The boy wonders who else knows about this well. It is impossible to guess at the secrets that Joseph must know. Even the nuns have no idea how old he is. Nobody in Blackrock could remember a time when he wasn’t around and everyone talks openly in front of him because they know that he can repeat nothing.
Thomas reaches down and manages to retrieve the dice with his fingertips. They are made of something peculiar that he cannot place. There is a novelty in holding dice because his mother refuses to allow gambling or card games in the house. Joseph is gesturing for him to throw them back into the water. Instead Thomas tosses them onto the flagstones and, to his delight, rolls a double six. He tosses them a second time and his luck is still in, because once again he rolls the same number. ‘I should win something,’ he says half-jokingly to Joseph. ‘What do I win?’
The mute grunts again but this time the boy instinctively senses what he is trying to express.
‘Are you saying I win the right to make a wish?’
The grunting stops. Thomas has never known any expression to be so serious. Joseph nods towards the water. The boy is tempted to laugh because
the notion is ridiculous, but Joseph looks so earnest that Thomas decides to keep him happy. He leans forward. As he stares down he can see both their reflections. But Joseph’s reflection looks different in the water, as if all the deformities of birth have been smoothed away. Thomas gazes deeper into the well, overcome by the idea that unseen faces are lurking there. The further the bricks in the wall of the well sink down, the less they resemble bricks. Instead, they shimmer like the rough outline of distant cities. This is my wish, Thomas thinks. I wish to travel the world. He is about to toss the dice into the water when Joseph grips his fingers, grunting frantically.
‘What is it?’ Thomas asks. ‘Do you want to hear my wish? I don’t want to be a priest, ordered to go only where my bishop commands. I wish to be free to travel through all the foreign cities on this earth.’
Shocked by the vehemence of his own desire, Thomas tosses the dice into the well and watches them descend slowly through the water. They settle on the stones in two perfect sixes. With a shudder of horror he realises what they are made out of: bone. Something makes him think it’s human bone.
‘What would you wish for, Joseph?’ he asks.
Joseph rocks back and forth, too tongue-tied to speak. Then his finger frantically stabs at the small pile of cement dirt. Thomas realises that he is shaping a crude outline of the numeral 2.
‘2?’ Thomas asks.
Joseph nods fiercely, scattering the dirt again to draw another shape. It looks like a crooked squiggle until Thomas makes out the shape of the letter B.
‘B?’ he asks. ‘2B?’
Froth coats Joseph’s lips, but his eyes are ecstatic. Then they grow weary as he smoothes out the dirt. He appears confused. To be what: to be able to speak, to ride in a motorcar, to sleep in a bed with clean sheets? Thomas feels that he will never know Joseph’s wish because the man slumps down, defeated. This is his chance to flee, but he has only taken one step towards the door when Joseph’s left hand grips his jacket. Thomas looks down to see Joseph’s right hand drawing the shape of a bowl in the dust. Then Thomas realises it is the letter U.
‘2 B U?’ Thomas asks. He feels uneasy. ‘You want to be me?’
Joseph nods and drags the boy down beside him. Producing the black-handled knife, he nicks Thomas’s palm and then slices open his own flesh. Disgusted, Thomas tries to break free but Joseph grips his hand so tight that blood from the two wounds mingles as he plunges their hands towards the dice in the well. Thomas closes his eyes, shocked at how the cold water stings the wound and then stunned because the wound seems to suddenly heal.
He feels swamped by so many new emotions that he needs to keep his eyes closed while he tries to understand the sudden onslaught of strange memories – memories he could not possibly possess. Suddenly he knows what it feels like to toast the devil with drunken rakes in the mountains; to kneel among cholera victims, holding water to their dying lips; to gamble with crooked dice as an upstart; to be starved and eat berries on a mountainside; to be trapped inside the hold of a transport ship in a storm at sea. He can recall so many strange things that his brain feels like it has been invaded by an incessant swarm of voices.
He wants to ask Joseph what has happened, but of course Joseph cannot speak. However, now when Thomas tries to form words, he finds that it is he who cannot speak. Only grunts emerge. He hears Joseph drag the flagstone back into place, but he is still too afraid to open his eyes, unsure of what face will greet him. Then he is hauled to his feet and shoved back into the passageway. It is only when he bumps into the wall that he is forced to finally open his eyes and confront his own face which is staring back at him.
In the kitchen Molly looks up as two figures emerge from the passageway. ‘What is Joseph doing in the house?’ she asks. ‘The missus will be furious.’ Then she stops and stares at Thomas. ‘Are you all right?’
His eyes look different to her, like an old man’s eyes, like eyes that have just seen a procession of ghosts.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Joey
November 2009
Ileft Bongo Drums in the yard and entered the science lab. Shakes was so involved in an experiment that he barely looked up. The class was engrossed, like they always were when the science teacher started messing with test tubes and heaters. It seemed impossible that any hand with such a tremor could safely transfer a bubbling concoction between test tubes. Tales of Shakes’s eyebrows being burned off in explosions in previous experiments were too legendary to be true. But silence always reigned in the lab when he uttered the words, ‘this is highly dangerous’ and set to work with shaking fingers. Shane sat at the back of the class. Other students squeezed up to make space, acknowledging my rightful place beside him.
‘Shakes is a showman,’ Shane observed quietly. ‘That tremor is purely to get our attention.’
‘It’s a medical condition,’ I said.
‘You only see tremors like that in alcoholics seeking a cure.’
‘How would you know?’
Shane sounded miles away. ‘I’ve seen enough alcoholics in taverns and back alleys,’ he muttered, distractedly. ‘They say my own father was an incurable drunk. Drink killed him.’
‘Alcohol didn’t kill your father,’ I said sharply. ‘He burned to death.’
Shakes looked up, annoyed by our voices.
‘Have you gentlemen a comment you wish to share with us?’
‘I was remarking that your perseverance in the face of physical disability is an inspiration to us all, sir.’
There was no trace of sarcasm in Shane’s voice as he spoke. His tone was sanctimonious and inscrutable: a voice to hide behind. The golden rule in science was never to mention Shakes’s tremor. But Shane’s mask of absolute sincerity left the teacher with no option but to resume the experiment.
‘You’re pushing your luck,’ I whispered.
Shane shrugged. ‘At least I showed up for his class. What kept you this late?’
‘I met a crazy old man.’
‘That only rules out the female teachers.’
‘He was no teacher. The one thing keeping him alive was anger and all his anger was directed at you.’
‘Me?’ Shane glanced up with guarded eyes. ‘Why me?’
‘He claims you have something belonging to him. Whatever it is, he wants it back.’
Shane made no reply, but stared up at Shakes who had concluded the experiment. I saw that Shane was rattled. He raised a hand to ask Shakes a complex question. The teacher had been annoyed, but now he was flattered by Shane, expressing delight that at least one person in class had fully grasped the principles. But I knew that Shane had no interest in the experiment. He was buying himself time before having to reply to me.
Eventually the bell went for lunch and I followed Shane through the bustling corridor. We went out into the yard and sat on the steps, away from most people.
‘Talk to me, Shane,’ I said. ‘That old guy scared the wits out of me.’
‘What does he want back?’
‘He didn’t say. He said you were related through bad blood.’
Shane gave a quiet, bitter laugh. ‘Yeah, we’re twins.’
‘It’s not funny, Shane. Who the hell is he?’
Shane took out a sandwich. ‘His name is Thomas McCormack. He’s a paranoid schizophrenic who was a tramp in America before he inherited a run-down house on Castledawson Avenue. Geraldine and I made the mistake of breaking in there one night. Not to rob him or anything. We thought the gaff was deserted. He fed us a sob story about being at death’s door. I only called to see him two other times, but he made my life hell in the months afterwards, turning up at my house and shouting that I’d stolen something.’
‘Stolen what?’
‘I have no idea. I wouldn’t mind but there was nothing worth stealing in his gaff. Never befriend a loner, Joey, because they grow obsessed with you. They have no one else to blame, so they blame you for everything. I’m not saying he caused the fire in which my folks died. But he got my
mum so paranoid that she couldn’t sleep. Anyone can forget to switch off a chip pan, but maybe the fire wouldn’t have happened if she wasn’t chewing tranquillisers to cope with him always turning up and wrecking her head with lies.’
Geraldine was sitting nearby with two girls. I glanced over, but she always refused to look in my direction when I was with Shane.
‘So why is he hassling me?’ I asked.
‘He has this notion that only he can be my true friend. He hates when I get close to anyone else. I have a laugh here with folk at school but I never make close friends because I know that old man will try to poison them against me.’
‘Have you not gone to the police?’
Shane snorted. ‘My dad used to call the cops when he’d turn up. They even locked Thomas up in John of God’s until he fooled them into thinking he was sane again so he could get back to his pigsty of a house. I hoped that when I returned from England he would be dead, but he has been stalking me since my return.’
‘What do I do about him?’
‘Ignore him, Joey. Trust me; that man is due a blind date with death soon. He has no right to still be alive.’
The bell went for the end of lunch break. Lads were kicking a tennis ball. It flew in our direction. Shane caught it. ‘Next goal the winner,’ he shouted, lunging into them. Dribbling past two players, he aimed a shot at the bin that the lads were using as a makeshift goal. Some lads claimed the goal didn’t count; others tipped off quickly to get an equaliser before a teacher broke up the game. Shane chased after the ball, looking carefree – utterly different from the person I had been talking to a moment before.
Trust me, Shane had said. I didn’t know which Shane to trust anymore because there seemed to be so many of them. Geraldine passed by. I wanted to ask her advice, but mentioning Shane would only drive her further away, when what I most wanted was to get to know her. Because I knew by how she occupied my every waking thought and by how her presence made any classroom or corridor special, that I was in love with her.
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