by Dermot Healy
Will he really come, your friend?
Yes Ma’am, he will.
He is very reliable.
Like clockwork, Ma’am.
A while later the Blackbird, sitting upright like a priest, came up the avenue on his bike with a sack hanging from the handlebars. Miss Jilly stepped down to greet him but with an indignant nod he passed her by.
Good lad, he said to the donkey and tied a rope around his neck and head. He’s a very good class of an ass.
Do I know you from the post office? asked Miss Jilly.
Maybe.
I go up there to get my pension.
And I go to get me dole.
Your dole? At your age?
Well it is the pension.
It’s extraordinary how ordinary life is.
Hand me the shears.
Here, I said.
Right Psyche, you take one ear.
And I’ll take the other, said the woman of the house. She put her nose next to the Bird’s neck. My God what a wonderful smell!
Now twist the ears.
I will, she said, as she twisted, that is not after-shave I smell.
No.
Is it a class of wild mint?
Psyche, haul him stronger.
Isn’t it great that you have a friend like this lad here, says she.
Now twist the other ear.
I will, she said, as she twisted, I said isn’t it great that you have a friend like this lad here.
Ma’am, to this day I never thought of Mister Psyche as a friend, not till this exact moment.
So I nodded, and as the donkey reared I put another apple in his mouth.
Yes, he is a friend, said the Bird, and he lifted the donkey’s right foreleg, threw the leg over his knee and bent to cut and clip the hoof.
Twist.
We twisted.
The file, Psyche.
I handed him the file, and as he shaved nail filings fell at his feet.
Right, good man, he said to the donkey, you’ll be the better after this, and he moved onto the next leg, and the donkey tried to drop to his knees. An old trick, c’mon son, said the Bird, and he grabbed the next leg, and so we went through all the hooves as Tom went round in circles and the donkey reared and then bit food off the palm of my hand. With each cut his eyes widened. No you’re not upset, said the Blackbird, we’ll be there in a minute. The ass just stood and took it. Next thing it was over.
We untied him. I emptied the bucket of scraps at his feet. He looked at the leavings then moved towards the trees. I got the spade and buried the nail shavings.
I’ll make you a snack, said Miss Jilly and she went in.
We sat on the steps.
Cuckoo, he said, but she’s a stayer, that lady. Cuckoo, but she is. And she has strength. Yes, she’ll hold up against the odds for a while longer.
Mister Blackbird.
Sir.
Keep down your voice.
And she’s on the pension, he said as he looked around him in wonderment at the huge mansion.
At the edge of the woods a deer stood. I had seen him very few times in my life. At first I took him to be the donkey but then he materialised into a deer. He looked at us a long time then turned away as if he had grown tired at looking at us humans. Miss Jilly came out the hall door with grapes and apples in a wicker basket and two glasses of cider. This cider I made myself, she said. She had a basin of warm water and a bright red towel. And a purse. The Blackbird beat his hands in the water till the foam rose.
Thank you, Mister Psyche, for bringing me a wonderful man, said Miss Jilly.
Watched by the Bird I drank the cider.
I see you like it, son.
I do, you know.
He turned to her. You could have just brought us in through that door to wash our hands. Inside that door – and he nodded to hall door – to the left there is a washbasin.
Yes, there is.
Aye, and he chewed the grapes.
But you see it has no hot water.
Ah. And to the right is a picture of a Red Indian –
Correct, said Miss Jilly.
– Before you enter the drawing room. I often walked that house – all fourteen rooms – in my dreams.
You have been here before, I take it.
Years and years ago, a neighbour of mine worked here.
In the good old days.
I used to come down with him.
And who was he?
Mister Joejoe Feeney.
Joeyjoey, she said and she looked at her feet, then she stared into the Blackbird’s eye, and said questioningly: – Joseph?
Aye, the very man, Joseph.
A small man with red hair?
Once upon a time.
And he had a whistle. Yes. He dug Tonto’s grave. He played the accordion once in the drawing room then he stopped, Joseph stopped yes, because my father took off his hearing aid and said: I think you might be out of tune there, sir. Your neighbour took great umbrage.
That is Joejoe.
Who was Tonto? I asked.
My dog.
She went quiet.
Didn’t Joseph’s girlfriend die?
Yes, said the Bird. Bridie.
She went to speak again, but words were somehow hard for her. Then she seemed to carry on a private conversation in her head. She was like a woman in a queue, with the round basket hanging from the left hand, and in the right hand her purse.
How much do I owe you?
Nothing, said the Blackbird, that ass was a timid cratur.
We can’t have that.
That man there asked me to do him a favour and now it’s done, so there’s no charge. Mister Psyche is the boss.
Forgive me. What do I owe you?
Thirty euro, I said.
But that is a pittance.
A lift home would help.
Of course I can drive you home, and she handed me four tens. Do you want to see my pets, she asked. I nodded. Come with me. We followed her through the hall door into a porch with the sink and the Indian with the tomahawk and feathers, then into a reception area filled with armchairs covered in sheets. Shelves of tall illustrated books. She indicated that we follow her up the dusty stairs. A full-length Arctic explorer stood waiting us on the third floor. Old embroidered tea cloths were pinned to the walls, and everywhere there were photos and pictures of soldiers in a desert. Then drawings of angels. She lifted a box of cat food from the window ledge and stood outside the final room in the passageway.
Tell no one, she said, opening the door.
Not a word, I said.
We stepped over the threshold. Inside was a long wide carpeted room with a large yellow sofa. Pillows and cushions were thrown everywhere. Then the cushions began to move, and turned into white-cheeked ferrets lying sleeping. One looked up from the carpet. Another climbed out from under an armchair. They clucked. Hallo thieves, said Miss Jilly as they turned their heads and then waddled and hopped with a nip over to her like a group of butlers and altar boys.
She emptied raisins from the box of cat food into a tray.
Cuckoo, said the Blackbird as the ferrets gathered in a ring to eat.
Do you think he could put it onto the roof rack? she asked.
The Bird tied down his bike with the rope he’d brought to harness the donkey, then without a word he got into the front.
I have not had another soul in this ancient jalopy for years, she said, forgive the untidiness, and she leaned back and pulled a duvet cover off the back seat to let me in. The Blackbird had his knees to his chin. She let his seat back and he rose his bag of tools onto his lap. We took off down the avenue like ghosts.
Why did you bury the parts of the hooves, she asked.
Because, he said, they would stick in the throat of a dog and choke him.
Oh.
We reached the opening onto the main road. She drew in tight to the ditch on our left, stalled as she peered to the right. All clear, he said, and as she swung round
she hit the button of the radio, and we were back out at sea again. Only for this car, she said, tapping the steering wheel, I would be lost without the car. I can go for a cup of nourishing soup in that café on the main road. I can watch the children playing round the school at eleven. I can get up the post office. And the night before last I saw The Pirates of Penzance. I want to thank you gentlemen for all you’ve done.
A nice donkey, said the Bird.
And he’s not mine.
Right here, I said.
She leaned over and smelt the Blackbird’s neck.
My God, she said.
The mountains were covered in white cloud. We pulled up at Mister John’s after going a steady pace through the wind, marking time at some spots where she’d take a look at the trees and the birds; then as we approached the Long Squares, she stopped suddenly and said Where to?
Straight on Ma’am, I said.
We drove onto the next crossroads.
It’s desolate, she said.
At the pier the sea was bucketing. The black Mercedes that passed me earlier was parked as usual facing out to the alt. Sprays of fume flew.
Have you guests, asked Miss Jilly.
Fishermen, I said.
I beg to differ, she said, they are not ordinary fishermen.
You can stop here, I said.
The Blackbird stepped out of the car, unhooked his bike from the roof, and without once looking behind he headed up the path to Joejoe’s with his cloth bag, rose one hand in the air when he reached the door, and stepped in.
Would you like to come in and meet Joejoe?
She looked at me with an amazed smile, then glanced toward the house and touched her ear. Another time, perhaps, she said. I gave her directions home. She drove back up to the pier, turned and – head-down – shot off. I walked up to our house, and the pony walked alongside me on the other side of the fence then Timmy stepped out to accompany me to the door. All of a sudden I heard a car behind. It was the Volkswagen.
Miss Jilly pulled down her window.
I’m sorry, she said.
Are you lost?
No. I’m sorry – if perhaps I need you again will you be available?
Yes Ma’am.
And how do I get in touch?
I wrote down my mobile number and our landline phone number into her notebook, and she handed me a small calling card. She read my numbers back to me twice and rewrote them in her own handwriting. She stepped back, swung round and turned for home again. She shot fast between each pothole, skirting stones that had come over the bank with the tide, and then she stopped got out and lowered her head to the pony. The two stood facing each for a time; then she looked through the four windows of the Mercedes, and drove off.
My mobile rang.
Where are you? asked Anna.
At home, I said. I am just after spending the day with a lovely lady.
Who?
Miss Jilly of Dromod House.
Oh my, notre mère la Terre, she whispered. And I am about to run a few mile. I will see you later.
Bye, Anna.
I stepped into the studio and began another fish – this time one closer to home. I drew the shape of a sea trout, then added the grey silvery back and the yellow eyes. I tapped in his spots, and opened his mouth a fraction. I rolled up the canvas and brought it down to The Ostrich, took the key out of its hiding place, went in and there on the table sat books on experimental science, stone circles, catalogues of plants and flowers, a book of caves, a book of waste management, all opened in a circle in the table around a single copybook, a pen and an atlas.
I stood and glued the drawing of the fish to the wall of the cabin, then wrote Philip in the bottom left corner.
Chapter Eleven
Saturday Morning, the Mercedes
I was out first thing next morning feeding the donkeys and horse some scrap when I saw the Merc with the foreign number plate was parked down the road from Joejoe’s. As I got closer I saw the fishing rods sticking out the back window and one man looking sadly into the engine.
I came up the beach and stepped over the sands.
Hallo, I said.
Chest, he said and then I knew he was Polish. Even though they came sometimes twice a week, we had never really spoken to each other. One of them might have given the odd wave. It was like we all thought being too friendly was bad manners. Or that being over-friendly was an intrusion. He looked towards me with a shameful grin, and snapped a smile, and beckoned at the engine, downward, with his thumb.
Are you in trouble? I asked.
He threw a hand in the air.
It is possible, he said.
Let me look, I said.
He was leaning down in front of me, I touched his shoulder and he jumped, and smiled shyly. He looked back across towards Joejoe’s, then opened his palms outwards, and leaned back against the wall, in his long wide shoes, and shook one hand down, fatalistically.
It’s OK, he said, one minute, my friend will return, he will explain, and he lifted a single finger, and he pointed towards Joejoe’s.
I looked in at the battery, while behind me he breathed out heavily. I tugged the plug leads, then took out the dipstick, dried it with a tissue, tipped it back in and out and looked at the coating of oil. There was plenty. I checked the water. There was more than enough. I stood back.
A beautiful car, I said. Do you mind?
I sat in, turned the key and turned on the lights. Then I went to the front and saw that the lights were on very low. He leaned in and turned off the silent engine.
You see, he said, we have done all that.
Sorry, I said and he pointed with one finger up the road, then put another finger behind the first, and let one finger follow the other, then fixed both fingers in a line and snapped his thumbs.
Aye, I said, I think I know your problem?
A problem, he laughed, yes, and he made a slopping sound, then made a tying movement, pointed ahead, pointed at the battery, said chug! chug! and let one finger lead the other again.
Got ya, you need a tow!
Excuse? he said, and his eyes widened.
Aha, said Joejoe, as he came up the lane from his house with a second man who was carrying a pair of pliers, Mister Psyche has landed. Tell me this why did Miss Jilly not come in yesterday to visit?
She will another time she said.
Tell her I’m expecting her.
I will.
Good man.
We need a translator here, I said.
I can speak English, said the second man, no problem. He was dressed in a yellow duffle coat with huge buttons.
Well then explain why you did not give me a lift yesterday?
Please, I do not understand.
I lifted my thumb and hitched.
You drove by me yesterday, I said, on the road. The two men laughed amicably, and nodded, and nodded, and shook their heads to and fro, then they both lifted their thumbs and started hitching.
I waved to you, I said.
I waved and they waved back to me.
Settle down, will ye, said Joejoe. This man gave a knock at my door, and I told him I had no television, I thought he was looking for licences; and then he asked me – and he made a cutting motion with his fingers – for what I took to be a set of pliers.
Excuse me, I said, as I got down on my knees.
Certainly, said the man, and as I leaned forward I saw that he was in purple wellingtons that reached his thighs. I lay down on the ground under the engine and steered myself in with my heels.
He knows what he’s doing? came a voice from above.
Yes, my uncle answered.
I am looking for a petrol leak, I said.
There is no petrol leak, said the voice.
Anything? asked Joejoe.
No. Could you pull me out, I said.
The second man took my feet and slowly hauled me out.
OK?
Let her sit a while, I said, I think you need a tow.
Not really, I said, but my father does.
He shook his head, then the first man looked at the second man who translated then the two turned to Joejoe.
He says you need a tow, said Joejoe.
No, said the first man.
I’m afraid my friend thinks it’s not necessary, the second man said, and shook his head, he thinks it will not work. The first man took the pliers and adjusted the battery plugs while his mate sat into the driving seat. He turned the key.
Nothing, and he slapped the wheel and got out.
You need a tow, I said, and I imitated a man pulling a rope over his shoulder as if he was hauling a great weight.
I need a tow? they repeated together; and the two men beamed, then immediately lifted their shoulders in misunder-standing and inevitability and what-can-we-do, it’s-beyond-us, and my man spread his hand at the isolated landscape and made a low whistle, then he indicated the sky above, tutted! and leaned against the wall.
Excuse, he said.
His friend sat into the back seat of the Merc and pulled the door closed and went on his mobile.
Now Psyche, said Joejoe, what’s next in your plan?
You have a rope? I asked my man.
My English, the first man said, and your Irish, I don’t understand. We wait, yes? he said, and he pointed at his friend. So again I put the imaginary rope over my shoulder and pulled, then I tied the imaginary rope to the front fender and pulled, and pulled grimacing, and he yelled, Ah! Ah, he said, yes, yes, and now he made the same tying movement to the front fender, buckled his knuckles but then pulled away from me in opposition.
I suddenly realised we were saying the same thing with our bodies but now we were going in different directions.
I dropped the rope that did not exist.
It’s what I think, I said.
No, he said, and he shook his head vehemently, no good; and, all of a sudden, he shot his two arms high in the air and cracked both thumbs and middle fingers. Cracked them again like a conductor starting an orchestra, then opened both palms to me to see if I understood, then he pointed at his foot and laughed, next he pointed at the battery and slapped the Merc.
