by Dermot Healy
I have.
You’ll tell him.
I will.
Are you threatening the young fellow, asked Joejoe.
I am.
Do you remember those hens? I asked.
What hens?
The hens that were here the other day?
Good morning yourself, he said to me then he turned to Joejoe. What’s Mister Psyche talking about?
Me not know, said Joejoe.
Well neither do I.
So I stood on one foot and went Cockadoodledo!
He looked at me astounded.
I clapped my pocket.
You have me, and he stared wide-eyed.
Cockadoodle!
What’s he at?
Cockadoodledo!
Is yon fellow all right?
Hold it, said Joejoe. Go again!
I went up on one foot and sang Cockadoodledo!
I have you, said Joejoe, and he smacked his knee, them’s those ghost hens you were talking about, you half-wit, the other day when you were out of your head.
The Blackbird watched him keenly.
Ghost hens?
That sing, I said, and you can’t hear them.
Oh, he said uncertainly, the ghost hens. Oh yes. Just give me a minute. Ghost hens? He closed his eyes, sunk his chin onto his chest, and squeezed his shoulders in. Ah…now, who are those boys I wonder?
Then they land in your pocket, I said.
Ah Christ. He opened his eyes. Those boys? He looked up. Are them boys about? Jesus they’re early about the place.
Are they fairies, I asked, them hens?
No, they are not indeed, he said, the fairy is gone. He left this part of the world a while back –
– Ah! –
– Gone –
– All gone, said Joejoe. The poor soldier has gone back into the woods.
Yes he has. He’s gone, said the Blackbird. You don’t see him any more. Have you seen one?
No, I said.
Me did.
Of course you did, said Joejoe guffawing.
I saw him first on the island after a drenching.
The very place.
The storm had come at the filling in of the moon and the sea had done a murder. Now at the full moon I mind the fish coming up for air in the floods. The worst time. Sara Cassidy was in our house. I believe she was two. I took her hand and we walked the street. My father was on the step. Be careful, he says. The sea was boiling. The gulls were pitching on the rollers. So we took it handy. We stepped down to where there was this big pipe that had come from the mainland the summer before to drain the land. It was a huge affair that a child could walk upright in. In the big winds she’d roar, in the breezes she’d whistle. And in the storm she’d become stuck, but the men had freed it of stones and sand and the floods were flying by. It was something shocking to see.
I bet.
Then there must have been another blockage because the water stopped and out stepped the fairy from the pipe.
What did he look like? I asked.
Why he was a small buck in green.
The very thing, said Joejoe.
He walked out, took a look around him and that was that. He turned back into the big pipe and headed on in. Is the man gone, said Sara. Man gone, I said. What was he doing? she asked. Me think he must have been checking the weather, I said. We stood looking at the dark pipe but he didn’t reappear. Not long after that the men found the source of the blockage and the floods flew by again. I stood and watched to see if the water had caught him, but there was no sign of the gent. Just a powerful rush of water.
What size was he, I asked.
Why he would have been the size of my hand, well tanned, with bright blue eyes.
And you really saw him?
I did, said the Blackbird. I saw him all right but the question is…did he see me?
Now for you, said Joejoe.
You didn’t think of that.
I did not.
Now. You see, what you don’t believe in might believe in you.
That’s a hard question, said Joejoe nodding.
The Blackbird turned to me, fastened his brown eyes on mine and called me in with his finger.
Well did he? he whispered.
I don’t know, I said.
It might have come as a shock to him, said Joejoe, to see the like of you about the place.
It might, indeed. The Blackbird drew away to look into the fire. Anyway that was the last of them. They’ve left the country. And not long after that we left the island. First the turf went, then the sugar ran out during the war. Without the sugar we couldn’t have made the poteen.
And I suppose, said Joejoe, without the poteen you couldn’t have seen the fairies.
But I saw the buck before I had ever tasted a drop, said the Blackbird. You might say I had it in the nature. Anyway that was then. If you saw one now you’d be put behind bars.
You would.
They are not allowed in, he said, shaking his head.
Why? I asked.
They’ve had their day, he said. They were fighting on the other side – the wrong side.
There’s a whole different creature abroad now, added Joejoe.
We lost the war, you see.
Oh.
What we saw then they don’t see now.
No, said Joejoe.
And what they see now I’m blind to.
You’re right there.
Aye.
But the thing is – what about the pipe? and the Blackbird sighed.
Aye what about the pipe, I asked. Where did it go?
I don’t know.
I was out there last year.
You were.
And there was no pipe.
No. It was a great vessel to roar. It’s the pipe is the mystery.
It is surely.
And the fairy is gone, said the Blackbird, he’s left this part of the world.
I think he didn’t like the sound of the radio, said Joejoe.
Something put him off anyway, agreed the Blackbird. That’s for sure, and he nodded gravely. Then he clicked his fingers. There’s another thing we forgot.
What was that? asked Joejoe.
The storm.
Ah.
It was the storm started it. Without the storm there would have been no pipe.
No.
And without the pipe, no fairy.
No.
Tom Feeney saluted the wall and Joejoe Feeney saluted the fire. Never miss a storm, young fellow, said the Blackbird. You see it’s the purest form of music.
Chapter Nine
Visitors
I brought a can of fresh water over the meadow to the sick cow and started shovelling at nine.
I was digging out a path for the foundations of a wall. A plastic bucket flew round the house in the wind. The father came up from the beach with a few loads of stones, then he went off to draw a few from a shed that was being levelled for a house a little inland. As he drew the stones the iron on the digger roared. This Northern buck who used to park his car at our gate and walk his children along the beach came up alongside me alone, and started carrying stones across to me; he said nothing, just stood by rock in hand, then when I gave a nod, bit by bit he’d drop the rock on the wall and I’d put her in place.
Soon we were at it together.
I held one end of the string, he took the other, and we made a straight line. The wall was good.
That will do for today, I said.
Have you an interior life, he asked.
No, I said.
See ya boy, he said.
I took a lift with Da at three up the road past Mister St Patrick who was back standing with his five cows on the Long Acre, meaning the grass that grew along the public road; past Mickey’s funeral flowers where I said my prayer; past Mister Doyle’s, and I called out Grand day in his accent to Stefan who was rubbing a spit into a car tyre; past Sweet John’s where Guinness barrels were being unloaded, on past Dr
omod; and on to the Judge’s house, where Da dropped me. The Judge’s wife, in a cap of feathers, was sitting reading The Life of Napoleon inside the glass-covered front porch. She looked up, looked down, then put her book away, and said Come in.
I’m afraid, she said as she put on the kettle, that the mower is not working. It’s corroded with salt.
Ah Christ, I could have got the lend of one off my father.
Never mind, she said, and she put a plate with two eclairs in front of me, and then handed me ten euro; he left you this.
Thanks.
You want more work, don’t you?
Yes.
Well I’m sorry.
Never mind.
Do you know what, did you ever try Miss Jilly?
No.
Do.
I didn’t know she was looking for someone.
I met her this morning in the post office – she was in great form. The postmistress had taken her to a musical last night. Do you know what she said – she said it was the first time she had been out in years.
Ah.
That lady is nearly eighty and she is very independent minded but I’m sure she could do with someone to help her. You know she has a few gypsy lads come about the place sometimes.
Yes.
And the hippies did the garden for her.
That’s right.
So why don’t you go up there and knock on the door of that great house?
Maybe I will.
She’d welcome you. Go on.
I will.
And say I sent you.
You sent me!
Yes.
Do you mind?
I don’t know, I don’t know whether it will help you but maybe she can be swayed. Cheer up, what’s the harm in trying?
Thanks for the tea, I said.
I rose and went to the door. And here’s the second ten-euro, she said, he said to give you one ten when you arrived, and then when I told you the bad news, I was to give you the second ten when you were going.
Tell the Judge thanks.
I will. That’s the way he operates.
I know.
Oh forgive me.
Chat you, I said smiling.
Get in, she said opening the passenger door of her car, and we drove along the coast road. I’ll take you to the gate.
Besides sitting in with my father, this is my second time to take a lift with a lady today.
Oh, so I am not the first. Did the first lift with the lady bring you any luck?
Not really.
Sorry to hear that.
It was in a dream, but it did the job.
Good. I hate driving. I hate it, she said, I always imagine I am going to end up in court in front of my husband.
I never thought of that.
Bye, she said as I opened the door, and the best of luck.
Chat ya, I said.
I came through the gate of the estate, and walked up the avenue, past the surfers, to the door of the house. It was raining.
I rang at the tradesman’s entrance down the steps in the basement. There was an old rocking horse standing inside the coalbunker. It badly needed a coat of paint.
I rang again. Away off in the distance I heard a wary voice calling Yes?
I went up the steps and looked the length of the building. On the third storey to the front Miss Jilly’s face was looking out a tall window, with her hand to her head of hair.
What do you want?
I’m looking for work.
Where are you from?
Up the road.
What?
Ballintra.
Oh. I thought you were from somewhere else.
Mrs Keane sent me.
A nice lady. Come back again.
When?
Next week, maybe, and she pulled in her head and the window came down. On the way back a stray ass came out of the forest and followed me. He’d step up and bite at my sleeve. He had huge deep eyes and his hooves were bad. They were long and painful. At the road he jumped as motorbikes flew by. I spent a long time looking into his eyes. I turned back to the house with him at my side. He liked to put his chin nearly, but not quite, on my shoulder, then he’d tug at my elbow.
Settle son, I said to him as he butted me quietly. He bubbled his upper lip.
We passed swans in the bare reeds that looked a brilliant white. I arrived back up to the house and hammered on the tradesman’s entrance, then stood on the steps.
The window came up and she looked down.
Oh it’s you again.
Yes.
What is it now?
Your ass’s hooves need cutting, I said.
What are you talking about?
Your donkey! I shouted.
Yes?
His hooves.
Yes?
Need cutting. Badly!
Oh.
The window came down and I stood there, with the ass at my back pushing up against me. I sat down on the step and spoke to the ass and he put his snout in my pocket. Then the front door open, and Miss Jilly stepped out.
She went by me.
Are you saying I’m cruel? she asked the donkey.
No, I said.
I’m not.
I didn’t say you were.
But I can see his hooves are long, the poor fellow.
They need cutting.
But you see, said Miss Jilly, and she came and sat on the step beside me, that is not my donkey.
Oh shit, excuse me.
There you go. Can you cut hooves?
It’s a science, I said.
Is that so?
I know a man who does it well.
Well get him.
Now?
Yes.
Right. I stood. She waved, and I went to go and the ass moved off with me. I’ll have to tie him.
Then tie him.
Where?
To the pillar.
Have you a rope?
She went down the basement steps and came back up with a lovely long embroidered rope.
He might eat it.
By then you’ll be gone.
OK. So I got a rope and tried to tie him to the pillars of the big house but I ended up tying him to the railings, and petted his snout; and just before I went off down the avenue he gave a roar and she tipped me on the elbow.
What’s your name?
Ah…Feeney.
Feeney I believe is a surname. Correct?
Yes.
And your first name Mister Feeney?
They call me Psyche.
Indeed, and she waited a moment, then said, Thank you, and as she walked away she appeared to totter sideways.
I went up onto the main road and raised a thumb and the Mercedes that always parked down by our pier passed me by, then I went on walking till along came the old faded blue Volkswagen with Miss Jilly at the wheel. She pulled over. I sat in.
My conscience got to me, she said.
Good.
Right, she said, you give me directions.
On ahead, straight.
She tossed her scarf, dipped her head and hit the accelerator. We trundled down the road. She now looked like a pilot because of the black helmet she wore. Her grey hair was clipped close to the right ear. Right, I said. The radio was playing a station out at sea. The ring on her right hand shone. A car came towards us and Miss Jilly slowed down till it passed, then she felt her ear drum, and brushed something away like a bad thought.
Now what? she asked at the crossroads, bracing herself.
Turn right.
You are on holidays?
Yes, you could call it that.
What are you studying?
I have just done my final exams, the Leaving.
And what have you applied for in university?
Nothing.
Why?
A few souls outside Mister John’s watched us pass and I waved.
Take another right, I said.
Why? And she flashed a sharp smile. Did you
not want to end up as a stereotype?
I don’t know.
She smiled with another quick flash. It was hard to know whether it meant friendship, but then her eyes meowed, and softened on the spur of another question: Where are we?
Tunadaley.
You should return to college.
Why?
Do you know that mothers give false information to their children to keep them quiet?
This is my third lift today in a car with a lady.
I see. The untruths are mounting up.
Yes; now straight on down the road.
Thank you.
Just here, now. Stop.
I knocked on the Blackbird’s door but all I got back was the bark of a dog. Then we pulled in at Joejoe’s. White turf smoke was blowing across the field. I went in. The two men were sitting eating ham and oranges.
Ah Mister Psyche, sit down, said Joejoe.
I can’t.
Oh a busy man.
I have something to ask himself. Could you cut an ass below at Dromod House?
Dromod House, indeed, said Joejoe.
Is she bad? asked the Bird.
The hooves are turning up.
Where is she?
Tied to the railings outside the house.
Very good, and he bit into an orange.
And I have a car to bring you, if you want to collect your blades.
Right sir but I think I’ll go on my bike.
Are you sure?
Certain.
I went back out to Miss Jilly and explained the Blackbird would make his own way. She foraged a sigh. And what will I do with you, pray?
I don’t know.
Get in.
I suppose I can go back with you and wait to give a hand.
Good.
I sat in.
It’s strange, is it not, she said, that he would not take a lift?
No, he goes everywhere by bike.
Now. She flipped her eardrum and nodded to a question she had set herself. That last house we pulled in at – I think I remember that place from way, way back.
It’s my granduncle Joejoe’s.
Feeney, she said to herself and she looked at me. I think I’m getting to know you, she said, and she nodded, and nodded, and then looked to the side for a long time.
Chapter Ten
Hoof-cutting
I would invite you in, she said, but the place is in a shambles.
Will you bring out any scraps a’ food you might have.
I will.
She brought out a bucketful of scraps and went in to change her clothes. I went for a walk in her orchard under the apple trees. Along the stream three Chinese ladies were cutting watercress for the takeaway in Drum. Inside in the woods very quietly the General was secretly sawing a fallen tree. Eyes down he watched me pass without a word. I gave the ass an apple out of the bucket. Miss Jilly reappeared wearing a beret with a tassel and small green wellingtons. She had a bag of green peppers, pasta and scraps of bread. I fed the donkey a little.
