Long Time, No See

by Dermot Healy

  They did. Are we finished the joking now?

  We are.

  I’m only saying, said the Blackbird, and he bared his teeth imitating Frosty. Good luck.

  Good luck, said Joejoe. I like Malibu I do.

  Chapter Three

  The Rooster

  Is the Bird below? my mother asked.

  He is.

  Dear God. I thought I saw him.

  She was nibbling a cheese-cracker at the kitchen table and going through a photograph album. All this week she was working nights.

  You better keep an eye on them.

  I will.

  You see in this house they always leave it up to the nurse. I need a break. Look at your Aunty Eilish. Isn’t she something else?

  She is Ma.

  Oh beautiful. But will you look at the hat. Who in their right senses would be seen in such an outfit. And that’s George Wilson behind. George was gamey. A coy boy I may tell you. What was it I wanted to tell you?

  I don’t know.

  It’ll come to me. And I don’t know what became of George. She flipped a page. There’s Gerty.

  And Da.

  And did you hear?

  Hear what Ma?

  There was a robbery last night in Flynn’s. They came in with a gun and emptied the till. They put the gun to Sara’s head. And said: The lot. Do you hear me we want the lot.

  Christ.

  The lot, they said. She was taken into emergency about twelve. Shaking like a leaf. Wild-eyed. I held her hand till the sedation took. And she kept saying Bridie, Bridie, don’t go. She was so shattered she’d forgotten my name.

  Ma stood.

  I’m going up to lie down for a while. You keep an eye on those boys below. And will you put the poor cat out please.

  I went out to the shed for turf and when I came in the Blackbird turned his troubled eyes on me.

  Just before you came in, he said, the room was full.

  Full of what, I asked.

  Why, he says, the ghosts of hens. Did you ever get that?

  Never.

  Nor me, said my granduncle. I saw no bucking hens.

  Well they were here.

  More fucking madness.

  Well let me see – the Blackbird explained, sitting up. The rooster, he said, comes first cockadoodleooing and screeching with no sound. It’s a terror to hear a sound that is not there. Have you ever heard a sound that is not there?

  No, I said.

  Well you will. In time.

  Definitely, nodded Joejoe and he rose his eyes to heaven.

  Now, the Blackbird explained, he – the rooster – stands over there – and he indicated the far corner of the room. On the bookstand that has no books. That’s where the rooster stands – you know – cockadoodling. With the neck back. And a run of blue temper from his bill to his head feathers – the comb on the top of his skull oh bristling, and dreadful black eyes I can tell you. Cockadoodleooing. Say cockadoodle!

  Cockadoodle.

  Say it louder.

  Cockadoodle! Cockadoodle!

  Very good. Now you have it.

  Now you’re cockadoodleooing, said Joejoe.

  I am.

  You are, and you’re listening to a mad man.

  Cockadoodle!

  And I can hear you, said the Blackbird –

  That’s right.

  – But I can’t hear him you see. That’s the problem.

  Oh.

  And there – over there – he stands raising one claw a little, just very slightly – and the Blackbird stood and raised his right foot ever so quietly just a fraction off the floor, and then he put it down and then he lifted it again like the rooster did, and he held back his head and said to me – Go cockadoodle!

  Cockadoodle! said Joejoe and me together.

  He straightened up.

  Then do you know what happens?

  No.

  In come the ghost hens.

  Indeed they do, said Joejoe, and it’s something shocking.

  They come flocking from everywhere. Through the walls, the doors the windows the ceiling the fireplace. And are they busy?

  They are very busy, said Joejoe.

  And what do they start doing sir? – and the Blackbird signalled in my direction.

  Cockadoodleooing!

  No.

  So what do they do?

  They go chuckawkchuckawkha!

  Oh.

  Right, said Joejoe, the birds have changed their tune.

  Dead on. But they’re not, no, not as loud as the rooster when I think of it, but loud nevertheless. Then all these ghost hens start their chanting. A chanting you can’t hear. Flocking round. Raising their wings. Then the rooster jumps down out of his perch and starts chasing them round the room. The hens go mad.

  Then what happens?

  Well they are likely to land anywhere. On your head. Anywhere to get away from him. And he chases them faster and faster. Faster and faster.

  And then?

  And then faster.

  Yes.

  Then – bang!– one of them lands in my pocket.

  He clapped his pocket.

  Then another.

  And he clapped his pocket.

  Then another.

  No.

  Yes.

  Jeepers.

  And once this happens the next hen jumps into my pocket. And another and another. Till there’s only one left. Just the one. And the rooster is left chasing the last hen round the room and what does she do? She jumps into my pocket with a screech and now there is no one but himself and what does he do? He lets one last –

  Cockadoodledo! said my granduncle.

  And – bang! – he goes into my pocket.

  And then what happens?

  You came into the room, and he wiped away a tear that was not there.

  Oh.

  And so here I am, he said, and he pulled out the lining out of his pocket, shook it and pushed it back in, left with a pocketful of ghost hens.

  Chapter Four

  The Shot

  Sunday morning I got up at seven with a shot of pain across my eye. I thought if I can get out from under the thump I’d be all right. In some sort-of bad humour that comes with repentance I stole through the sleeping house and found myself eating porridge and banana at the window.

  By me was the ticking clock and a glass bottle of shells I had collected down at Shell Corner when I was young. Then Ma came down the stairs paddling in her pyjamas. I saw her feet, then the middle of her body and finally I saw her head come below the ceiling. She stopped suddenly on the steps and looked at me, I might have waved, but she didn’t notice, just stood with her hand on the railing.

  It was like as if she had heard something in the distance and was waiting to hear it again. To identify it. So we both waited. A long time, then once again she continued on down the steps in her bare feet, and seemed to walk by me or into me, looking at me she moved slow toward the kitchen at the back.

  I heard nothing for a while but I could feel her in there mooching around.

  And then she reappeared with a banana and she sat down opposite me, just eating, slowly.

  I waited. Nothing. She floated there taking small bites, and all the time her eyes never left mine. Then she looked to where she had been standing on the stairs and gave this quaint satisfied nod to herself. Then she swung her head round to find me there, and she got up and carefully folded her banana skin and placed it by mine and went up the stairs looking back at me.

  It’s the work, she said.

  *

  First I fed the donkey and the horse, then at nine I headed down the road and stepped out onto our boat, then across to Conan’s. Anna was sitting by the table reading a book on cats. Every Sunday and whenever she had a day off there she was, if she wasn’t off running, she was in the boat looking through a magnifying glass at wildflowers. She’d left school to work in a garden centre.

  Philip!

  Girl.

  What do you mea
n you saved my life?

  Do you see that rope on the top of the ladder, well it was untied by a certain lady.

  Jesus.

  Aye. And I near took a bad fall.

  She gave me a hug. Thank you Philip. You look moidered.

  I had a bad night.

  You should come out and join the gang sometime.

  Maybe.

  Ah Jeremiah, please.

  In time, Lala.

  OK. Are we going for a walk?

  We are.

  Just a minute. Did you know that cats were first domesticated in Egypt around 2000 BC. The export of domestic cats was prohibited by Egyptians because they were worshipped as goddesses. Now for you.

  You should give that book to my mother to read.

  I will.

  And we headed off across the boats, up the ladder and down the shore.

  At eleven I went to Joejoe’s to light the fire. I knocked on the door.

  Who’s that, he called out.

  It’s me, I shouted.

  Be careful! he screamed.

  The door opened a fraction, I came in, he slammed it shut, turned the key and crawled over behind his armchair.

  Get down, he said.

  What do you mean?

  Get down I said!

  So I got in behind the other armchair and squatted there.

  What’s wrong?

  Sh!

  I looked up.

  Keep your fecking head down!

  A few minutes passed.

  Do you hear anything?

  No.

  Go over easy and look out the window. The front window. Just take a dekko and drop.

  I crawled over to the window, looked out and dropped.

  Anyone?

  No.

  You sure.

  Yes Grandda.

  All right.

  He moved his armchair back a few feet out of the trajectory of the window.

  Quiet Timmy, he said to the dog. Now look at that window again. Closely.

  I looked.

  Do you see top right?

  Yes.

  Do you see a hole by any chance?

  I do, I said looking at the small star-shaped hole.

  Well that’s a bullet hole.

  Jesus.

  Now do you see!

  You mean someone shot through the window.

  Amn’t I telling you! At seven this morning. I was pulling on my trousers when fuck me – ping! It winged by me. The dog leaped out of his skin. And I’ve been here since afraid to move.

  It must have been someone out hunting.

  Like fuck. It was the General. He’s had it in for me since we were young.

  Ah Jazus Joejoe.

  After a while I got him back into his armchair, went out looked around, saw no one, reported back, and then he made me to search for the bullet. I searched the entire kitchen but found none.

  It has to be there somewhere, he said.

  I started all over again, inched across the carpet, emptied the grate, went through his dresser, his boxes of clothes, the trunk, felt across the beauty board, opened the shoe box, searched the bucket of turf, the woodpile, emptied his cutlery, felt the armchairs, looked at the holy pictures, but found nothing.

  Anything?

  No.

  Is there a dent in the wall itself?

  No.

  It would make a dog think.

  It would.

  He went quiet a while.

  Well tell me this, he asked, is there a hole in the window?

  There is.

  And how did the hole get there.

  I don’t know.

  Well I do – the General took a pot shot at me, and missed me. The fucker. He head-butted me once above in Nancy’s because I asked Theresa Cawley out. He waited for me outside to knock the shit out of me but I sprinted by him. That’s all of fifty years ago. And he’s still trying to catch up with me. Can you imagine that?

  It’s hard to believe.

  Well there you are – he’s still gunning for me. Men like that never forget. You’ll find one like that on your way through life. You will surely. Yes. They’ll haunt you for something you didn’t do.

  He stared into my eyes.

  Can I tell you something for nothing?

  Do.

  He looked out the window gathering himself.

  There’s a lot of spite on this planet, he said.

  Right, Joejoe.

  He continued to look out.

  And Theresa went off with Hughie and had no time for the General. And the fucker is over there feeding on his hurt the best part of his life.

  That’s bad.

  There’s worse.

  He brought his eyes again indoors.

  Last thing last night I set up my saucer and went for the fat. And was there fat? There was not. The Blackbird ate my rat trap. I let him out the door last night after feeding him bacon and cabbage and found the fucker had ate the uncooked fat while I had my back turned. While I was in the scullery he was helping himself. Do you understand – how could a man do that? My own neighbour ate my rat trap – Jesus!

  I dropped down onto The Ostrich – Conan’s boat – after stepping across The Oyster – our boat – and made my way down into the cabin where Anna had moved on from the cats to a book on fish.

  You will have to paint me a fish, she said sometime.

  I will, Anna.

  She turned pages and pages of photographs.

  The fish, said she, gave his name to Jesus.

  I didn’t know that.

  There you go. She tapped the book. I’m learning, she said. These books bring me abroad. The cat brought me to Egypt, the fish to biblical times. You see Jerusalem is an oasis in the desert. What are shrines now were wells back then, and what are holy places now are where the wells have gone dry.

  Wow.

  Water was sacred; it saved life. We don’t know what the people there go through, even today. And so each tribe had their well, and that’s how the fighting started. And when they reached the rivers and the sea the fish saved their lives. And now here we are centuries later fighting over dry wells.

  When you mention the words fighting I better tell you that something happened in Uncle Joejoe’s last night, I said.

  Something bad?

  I think so.

  I dabbed my finger onto the blue of a tropical fin.

  You don’t have to tell me, she said.

  I should tell my Da.

  Do.

  The boat rocked.

  It’ll cause hell, I said.

  Do, she said, what you have to do. She turned the pages, then stopped out in the tropics. I began working my way into a fish’s eye on the page. The fins spun each side of the face to form a shape I recognised. I stopped, and all of a sudden I was looking for a second at the star-shaped hole in Joejoe’s window.

  Philip!

  Yeh.

  Are you all right?

  I am, I am, I said.

  Chapter Five

  When Whack!

  When the father came in late that evening and was halfway through his dinner I told him that someone had shot a bullet through Joejoe’s front window.

  He said, you’re joking.

  I am not, I said.

  God above! Why was I not told this before.

  He jumped up and we went down the road in blinding hail. Night had fallen. The globe was lit on the sill. And the window pane that the bullet hit had been taken out. The fire was burning and the dog in his chair. Then my granduncle let us in and the father ran to the window.

  Jesus, he said, Joejoe.

  First thing this morning, bang! and he sat.

  Where is the window pane?

  I took it out.

  Why did you take it out for Christ’s sake?

  Cause I could not stand looking at it.

  Where is it?

  In that box over there.

  We looked into the cardboard box that once held Chiquita bananas. Inside the pane of glass
was in smithereens.

  You’ve broken it up.

  Yes. I had to when I was taking it out.

  Jesus Christ. How are we now going to see the bullet hole?

  Why do you want to see the bullet hole?

  To know it was there.

  So you don’t believe me. Well ask Mister Psyche. Did you see a bullet hole?

  Yes.

  So you see it was a fucking bullet hole.

  What are we to do?

  You tell me.

  Is all this really happening?

  I think so son.

  You better come up with us to the house.

  I will not.

  Get his things, he said to me.

  Touch nothing I say, nothing!

  You’ll have to go up to us Joejoe.

  No.

  You can’t stay here.

  I’m not budging.

  Christ! Should I get the guards?

  Let the guards be. But you know what you can do?

  What’s that?

  Would you put in a new pane of glass, I’m sitting here with the wind whistling through me.

  The father went over and lifted the oil lamp and moved it over and back looking.

  I can see no glass on the sill.

  He shot clean whoever he was, said Joejoe.

  There should be glass. Shards and splinters of glass.

  I cleaned them up.

  Where’s the torch?

  It’s in the drawer.

  Get the torch, the father said to me.

  I got it.

  Hold that door, I’m going outside.

  I held the door against the wind, and he darted out with the torch.

  Now what is the fucker at? snarled Joejoe.

  We saw the father going to and fro outside the window. He shone the torch this way, that way, then he went out of view, reappeared again, studied the sill in the light. He stood there like some sort of illuminated spirit then he thumped on the door.

  I let him in.

  He set the torch on the table, sat down on the armchair opposite Joejoe and looked at him.

  What happened Joejoe?

  I told you what happened.

  Tell us what really happened.

  I’ll say it again and I’ll say it no more. I was pulling on my bucking trousers be the remains of the fire at the crack of dawn when whack!

  Whack.

  Yes whack! he shouted, and he slapped one hand onto the palm of the other.

  And how come I found glass outside?

  Did you now?

  Yes, I did.

  So what?