by Dermot Healy
So how did the glass get there?
You tell me.
Where’s your rifle?
Where it always is. There on the wall. Are you saying that I took a shot out through my own bloody window?
I’m saying nothing.
Well don’t. He turned to me and tipped his cap. You hear what he’s saying to me.
I do, I said.
This man is saying that I blew a hole in my own bloody window, and he stood and spat into the fire.
I’m not saying that.
That glass fell outside when I was taking out the pane. OK?
If you say so.
Go home with yourself, I’m going to bed and I’ll bid you goodnight if you please.
Joejoe, said my father.
I’m tired, it’s been a long day.
My father shamefaced stepped into the wind followed by myself. The door swung closed. We turned into the gale for home. Looking back I saw the oil lamp go out.
Now what, said my father, am I to do?
He folded his raincoat over the radiator and stood with his hands on the kitchen table.
A bullet no less. A bloody bullet. Jesus, he said, what next, and he hammered the table with his fists. I never in all my life met a more stubborn man. He’ll be the death of me. What the hell went on in that house last night, that’s what I’d like to know.
I don’t know Da.
And of course the Blackbird was with him.
He was.
The bloody Blackbird. Whenever he appears you can expect the worst. Anything might have happened. Anything.
Yes.
Jesus. And I suppose they had whiskey.
They had Malibu.
And who got them the confounded Malibu?
I did.
Of course you did, and he glared at me.
He asked me to.
And the worst thing is I don’t know whether someone shot in at him or he shot out. If we could tell he was shot at I could get the guards. But what does he go and do – he smashes the glass into smithereens. This is it you see, if the bullet hole was still there and I got the guards and they discovered it was him shot out the window it’d be him that would be arrested. Jesus. My own uncle, no less.
My mobile rang.
Philip?
Anna, I said. I can’t talk now.
What’s wrong?
Nothing.
You can tell her, he said.
It’s just that…that Joejoe nearly got shot, I said.
What?
Honestly.
Oh sugar –
– Don’t worry –
Look, I’m sorry, I’ll ring you later.
OK.
The phone went dead.
Dear God, said Da.
And we stopped like that a while, in silence.
Chapter Six
The Blackbird’s House
I’m going down to confront that man Tom, said the father and he put on his coat.
Can I come with you, I asked.
You might as well.
We sat into the car in the driving rain. The sky was bucketing and the car was shunted to and fro by the wind. We turned right down Cooley Lane and reached the Blackbird’s. There was one bulb lit in the kitchen. A pile of timber against the wall, and a black plastic bag blowing. Stay you in the car, said the father and he went up the path and pounded the door. He stood there drenched to the skin. The water was running down his arms and his face was grim.
He pounded the door again.
The door opened a fraction.
Who in hell is that, shouted the Blackbird from the hallway.
It’s me, Tom.
Who?
Tom Feeney, same as yourself.
Long time, no see, Mister Tom.
Tom, I need a chat.
Certainly.
What?
What do you want!
I want to talk to you!
At that the dog attacked the door from within and it closed.
The father backed away onto the street.
The lunatic has set the dog on me, he said to me then he went back to the door again.
And pounded.
Come here, he said to me. I came up beside him. Now you call him.
Tom, I said.
The kitchen window opened a fraction and the Blackbird appeared.
Yes, Mister Psyche.
Da wants to talk to ya.
Well let him behave himself.
Dad stood in front of the window, his hands on the sill and implored the Blackbird. Please, Tom, what happened last night?
Nothing happened.
Tom, I’m sorry for shouting. I just want a few words.
I can’t hear you.
It’s me!
I know that.
Open the door, Da shouted.
You can’t get in the door because of the fucking dog, roared the Blackbird.
Well then you come out.
I can’t let the dog out.
I said: you come out! screamed Da.
What?
Come out!
No. I will not.
What happened last night in Joejoe’s?
What do you mean?
I want to know what happened!
What happened! What happened? We had bacon and cabbage and that was what happened. Do you hear me?
Yes.
Bacon and cabbage!
And is that all?
We had a drink.
I can’t hear you.
We had a drink!
I know you had a fucking drink. Isn’t the drink is causing all the fucking problems.
Stop the bad language.
Stop the shite. Were you arguing?
I was not, the Blackbird thundered, but I am now.
Tom, listen to me, something happened in that house last night and I want to know what.
Come back when you’ve settled yourself.
I’ll break down the bloody door if you don’t tell me what happened.
Nothing bloody happened.
Something happened!
Nothing, I tell ya. Psyche! he roared.
Yes.
Take your father home!
The window snapped closed, the curtains went across and the light went out in the kitchen.
My father hammered the door, then he kicked it. He ran to the bedroom window as the light came on.
Come out, shouted me father, you long black bastard.
The curtains were pulled and the light went out.
Come out, I say.
He came back and kicked the door.
Jesus Christ!
He drew back and stood in the middle of the street and stood looking at the darkened house in the rain-split lights of the car.
Blackbird! he yelled.
Blackbird, he yelled again.
Yes, came a quiet voice.
Where the hell are you?
I’m in the letter box.
Oh.
My father leaned down and spoke into the opening.
Come out a minute for a chat, he said quietly.
No.
Just a few words.
No.
I just need to know a few things.
No. Say what you have to say then be on the road.
What I want to know is –
Yes –
How come there’s a bullet hole in Joejoe’s window.
A what?
A bullet hole.
The door of the letter box slapped shut.
Do hear me in there, roared the father.
The box opened.
There’s a bullet hole? asked the Blackbird.
Yes there is.
Did you see it Psyche?
I leaned down.
Yes, sir.
Now begod.
Then the father’s roared: And I want to know how that bullet hole came to be in Joejoe’s window.
I wouldn’t know about that, the Blackbird said. That’s beyond me.
Well, sai
d my father quietly into the letter box, we need to talk about this. This is serious.
The dog suddenly crashed up against the window raging.
You better go away. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.
I’ll stop here till I find out what happened.
Suit yourself.
Open the shagging door.
No, he said, the dog might ate you. And you should be ashamed of yourself annoying an old man at dead of night.
Jesus help me, said my father. Have you a gun in the house Tom?
No.
No?
Take him home, Mister Psyche!
The letter box slapped shut.
Blackbird, yelled my father.
He slapped the door.
Blackbird!
The place went quiet. Da looked at me fiercely, then we climbed back into the car, closed the door and we sat there with the headlights on for all 60 seconds watching the rain fall through the beams onto the roadway, then he hit the ignition and with a giant rev he pulled out, and turned, and shot down the road like what he would have called a boy racer. A hundred yards down he cut the lights and coasted in outside Mary Joe’s, and sat with his hands gripping the steering wheel.
Right, he said.
He raised a finger to his lips.
You stay here.
Right Da.
I’ll be back.
He cracked up his mouth and opened his door, and closed it with a little click. I could see the rain tumbling down on him as he turned back towards the Blackbird’s. I sat there waiting. I’d been here before. The rain drummed on the roof and away off in the distance was the sound of the sea. I snuggled in tight against the belt. I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw the same darkness that was in front of me. I might have turned the radio on without knowing, but I remember turning it off. There was no sign of Da. I began to feel afraid of what was happening up the road.
I got out and looked, and closed the door quietly.
I stepped out onto the tarmacadam and saw nothing but the rain blowing towards me.
I skated along the hedge on the edge of the road back towards the Blackbird’s. Stopped, and listened, and went on. Above my head were great black boulders of rain. All was black ahead of me. Then suddenly in the distance the Blackbird’s chimney spat sparks and my heart went crossways. I ran like mad along the drain and the muck, then reached the low pebble-dashed wall at the front of the house. The cottage sat there idling in the dark. There was no light, and no sign of anybody.
I crouched a while there in the rain then got on my hunkers and moved along the wall as far as the gate, and found the father sitting against the further pier, with his back to it, out of the wind.
Da, I whispered.
What?
Come on home.
The bastard is hiding on me, he said.
He peered over the stone wall, then settled down again. We waited. There was no stir. The rain grew more fierce.
Please Da.
I could not see his face.
Please, I said.
Just call him, again, the once…for me.
I went to the door and knocked it quietly.
Tom, I said.
There was silence.
Tom, I said.
Yes, came a faraway answer that at the same time drew nearer, as if the Blackbird was approaching the door.
It’s just that Da is worried.
Mister Psyche, take him home. He’s wrong.
I walked down to the father.
Please Da, let’s go.
Yes. OK. You’re right.
He touched my shoulder, and went by me. Bending low I followed him along the wall, then he stepped onto the street and we walked back down to the car. I saw someone swinging a torch ahead of us outside Mary Joe’s and as we came forward the light caught us both.
Hallo! shouted a voice. Who’s there?
It’s just us.
The light went up and down each of our faces.
You gave me a fright.
Sorry Mary, said my father.
I saw the car, and she shook her head, I saw the car outside the house and didn’t know what to make of it.
We were chasing a beast, explained my father.
Oh, and she shone a light up the road.
It’s all right. We got him. We put him in behind the Bird’s.
Ah very good, very good.
Mary Joe swung her torch around to light us up as we got into the car. Then as my father started the engine she ran the torch from my father’s face to mine, and back again. Da let down his window.
Sorry for the inconvenience.
Oh think nothing of it. You gave me a hop. Wild night.
Tis.
She gave a great wave as we pulled away. Sheets of water went up each side of us. I could see the rain pelting the face of my father as we took the road to the alt. He swung in front of the lane to Joejoe’s house and stopped. The shock from the sea went under our feet.
The window, Da, I said.
He went to wind up the window. Then the handle came off. He tried twice and both times it came off. On the third it took.
Round one, he said.
For three hours we sat at the gate in the rocking car, lights off. Beyond us the thrashing sea. No one came or went. Suddenly my father’s head fell onto the steering wheel.
Where are we! he shouted, wakening.
At six in the morning Da shook me.
Go down and take a look, he said. If he sees me there would only be murder.
OK.
I’m sorry for asking you to do this after what you’ve been through.
It’s all right Da.
I’m losing it – the paranoia is growing – forgive me.
See you in a few minutes, I said.
The night was not over yet. I got up and dressed and took the lantern and started walking. It was eerie. I was holding the lantern in my right hand by my thigh, and as I walked the shadows of my two legs grew huge to my left. I was taller than the hedge of tall olearia. Another huge black version of me was walking the beach like a mad colossus. The gates were frightening as they shot by, swinging in the beam.
There were a whole lot of us walking abroad by the big sea.
I reached Joejoe’s gate and saw his lamp was lit on the window.
As I came in the gate I could hear the music. I got as far as the window and there he was in his chair, hat on, playing a reel on the single accordion that was full of off-notes, as he looked into the dead grate. By his side, propped against the chair, was his rifle. I got a shock. He looked somehow like a wounded soldier. Then he suddenly turned towards the window. He seemed to be looking directly at me. He stopped playing. I backed off and went to the gable and doused the lantern. I waited. In a few minutes the music started again. I went out onto the road and stood in the dark wondering what to do.
It was not what I expected.
A rifle by his side.
I turned for home and soon the shadows were walking across the fields alongside me. The shadows seemed even darker now. I let myself into the house and found the father sitting at the bottom of the stairs.
Well, he said.
Oh, he’s there.
Is he all right?
Yes.
Is he up?
Aye, he’s sitting there playing the accordion.
At this hour?
Aye.
Christ. I do not know what to make of that man. Well I suppose we should go back to bed. Thanks Philip for that.
Next thing in bed all I saw was endless piles of naked people.
Every shape turned into naked people.
If I closed my eyes there they were.
If I opened them I was terrified.
I saw a man chasing me out of this hostel.
He snapped this buckle of his belt at my face.
Out, he shouted. Liar!
Out!
BOOK TWO
Visitors
Chapter Seven
Fixing the Window
When I woke the sun was up.
Men from Latvia, Lithuania and Poland were out the rocks fishing.
I went down the sand and nearly slipped on the seaweed. It was black wet rock after the storm. The beach was scoured clean by the high tide. The air was warm. The hawk was over Donlon’s. Mary Joe was down on her hunkers on the sea shelf picking winkles into a plastic bucket. I went on round the alt through piles of small blue mussels blown ashore at Shell Corner to find what damage had been done, I checked the lobster pots, then I came upon this old wall set into the bottom of the cliff that had not been there before. The storm had dragged down the boulder clay and uncovered this ancient stone wall, about twenty foot long, cemented with sandy clay.
It was the same rock that built our house and built the walls in the fields. It was everywhere around me, but had never been there, under the cliff, stone on stone, until the sea hoked it out.
I said to myself have I seen you before, but I hadn’t. It was a wonder, about four foot high, hidden for maybe centuries. Who was the man that built that? And why? It formed a kind of half circle then stopped at both ends in clumps of sea thrift. I sat in against the wall and looked out to the sea. Now, beyond me the island was floating in sunshine and I said to myself this must have been a look-out. If a monk got sick beyond they’d light a fire and the man in the look-out would see the smoke from the island and send out a boat. The monks were not oarsmen.
No, said my father.
They were not, said Joejoe.
I often heard them talking about the monks. I was a happy man to have found something that no one else had seen in years. That was a good start to the day. I came back up to the house, went into the studio and started drawing from memory the fish I’d seen in Anna’s book.
Myself and Da carried water in a tall milk can into the North meadow. We poured a few drops onto the lips of a sick cow. Then filled the stone basin. Lying on her stomach with her hooves to the side she looked off into the distance. He patted her down.
I like that animal.
The cow continued to stare ahead.
He stared into her eyes.
Get better soon, he said.
We took off down the field.
Da, I said.
Yes.
He keeps saying it’s the General shot at him.
Ah come on, come on.
That’s what he says.
That’s madness. Why in fuck’s name would he take a shot at Joejoe?
Because of a woman.
Oh yeh? He sat on a stone by the sheugh. Tell me another one. Who pray?
