Long Time, No See

by Dermot Healy

  Let me up, he said.

  He went over and took the mirror and turned it round facing the wall.

  This is the Stations Joejoe, begged Ma. Not a wake.

  We will remember the dead, he said. Forgive me, he said again to the General. He went back and stood in front of his armchair. You see the other night…The other night a bullet came through that very window, Joejoe said slowly, and he pointed at the window, and he sat.

  There was consternation.

  A bullet? asked one of the widows.

  Yes, said Joejoe, a bullet.

  Stop! said the Blackbird.

  What?

  Joejoe turned and looked at the Bird. Excuse me, said the priest entering, in his vestments, with one arm out and one arm in. His white hair was askew. Anna got up and tried to pull the surplice over his head. The General sat back down into his seat.

  It’s true, said Joejoe

  Stop Joejoe, said the Blackbird again, directly and quietly. Leave it.

  The voice this time was not expected. We all thought the crisis was over. Neither was the tone expected. It was a far-off thing said casually and quietly. It was the Bird’s voice brought calm back into the house. Father Grimes straightened himself, and looked round the room as he worked his right shoulder. The candles flickered round the room.

  Are we all here? he asked.

  Yes, said Ma.

  And are we ready to start?

  Yes, said Da, indeed we are.

  Thank God.

  The priest stood with his hands crossed on his stomach, and his eyes cast down. Joejoe turned slowly and looked at the Bird, but Tom Feeney had his eyes fixed on a small tiny dot away out there. The priest rose his hands, and flattened his palms. Da sat down in despair, and beside him the General breathed in slowly. I could hear Ma whisper something to Anna as she knelt before the makeshift altar. Thady fixed his tie and smiled. There was a long silence.

  I’m only saying, said Frosty quietly.

  I…think…that…is…everyone, said Joejoe, and he nodded to Father Grimes.

  The priest turned his back, stepped up to the small table, leaned down and kissed it. The congregation dropped to their knees in the small kitchen. Joejoe closed his eyes. He mumbled something but the voices in prayer drowned him out.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Go in Peace

  The priest came up off his knees, turned and blessed us, and hauled off his surplice that Mary Joe deliberately hung on a hanger over the dreaded window where the bullet hole had been. The Mass was ended, go in peace, the priest said; the wine was handed round, the soups arrived, Anna’s brown bread appeared. The General sat very still in his chair, accepted a drink, the priest sat by the grate.

  The cat, said Frosty, likes to have his milk by a nice fire.

  He does, said the priest.

  The cat can do without people.

  He can.

  Yes, said Anna. The cat is a funny person.

  Not so bad, said Frosty. What are you going to be?

  An environmental manager.

  Good. And what about him, he said pointing at me.

  I don’t know, said Anna.

  Neither do I, I said.

  Mary Joe went round with the teapot, the pea soup was served; the sponge was cut, Joejoe sipped his Malibu and stared at the General. I brought sherries and ham-and-cheese toasted sandwiches to Mister and Mrs Brady. I sat by their side for a few minutes talking. At the third whiskey the widows started singing ‘Take me home again Cathleen’. J. D. Moffit sang ‘The Old Triangle’. The Blackbird stood and recited:

  The crows are alive on the trees

  Like a hive of honey-Jack bees,

  Then they begin their squawking

  It must be the weather

  Starts them talking.

  All of a sudden Joejoe stood up and took the euro off the dresser, flipped the coin with his thumb and threw it through the air like a dart and it landed at the floor at the foot of the General. There was silence a moment. The General studied it and laughed.

  Is there luck in it, he asked.

  There is, said Joejoe.

  Thank you, said the General, and he picked up the euro and put it in his pocket.

  We are all savages, said Mrs Dunleavy. And this soup is beautiful. Beautiful!

  The chat started again. Ma and Mrs Conan went round with buttered scones and homemade blackberry jam. Sue Ferrid, who was ninety-three, took an apple tart that was still warm out of her bag, and fell to waltzing with Mick Doyle. There must have been about thirty people in that room, eating and drinking, and maybe five men in the scullery, downing bottles of beer and eating ham. Da leaned down and whispered into my ear.

  Keep that man occupied, he said.

  I went over and sat again by Joejoe.

  He lifted a finger to answer a question to Owney Burke, turned and smiled to someone else, then he shot back his eye to the General, said Yes, that’s true, spat, and shuffled his feet again, as if he was trying to frighten a dog; then he looked at the window where the surplice was hanging and gave it the thumbs-up, and turned to me.

  Another small one, if you please.

  And don’t forget me, said the Blackbird.

  Certainly gentlemen.

  And one for the priest.

  Thank you, said Father Grimes.

  And Frosty shuffled over and proffered his glass.

  I poured out two Blackbush and two Malibu. The men saluted each other. Where did you encounter Malibu, may I ask, asked Roberto. I would have thought it would have been – how do you say – exotic for this part of the world?

  Above in Mister John’s, said Joejoe, forty years ago, in April of sixty-six.

  In the days when I was let in, said the Bird, and he looked at Mister Sweet John.

  A certain German ordered a round of Malibu at the bar for us all, and I was smitten, said Joejoe.

  Mary Joe shook her frock and made it dance then continued on. Ma, without taking a drink, went to and fro, sitting, talking and serving. I’m only saying, said Frosty. You are, said Mary Burns. The thing is what became of Robert Emmet? Did he get married? he asked. And did Wolfe Tone? Hah?

  Stefan came over and sat on the floor by my side.

  Are you enjoying yourself? I asked him.

  I am, Mister Side Kick. But being happy makes me sad, somehow…I think…I think…

  Here, said Anna, and she handed him a cushion.

  This is Anna and this is Stefan, I said.

  Hallo, she said.

  Labas, he said. I see you running on the road, and I see him walking. No? You are always going in different directions.

  It is true, at times, and she went off with another tray of meringues.

  I am Joejoe, and my granduncle promptly poured him a shot of Malibu.

  Nice, said Stefan, settling onto the cushion. This is a holy party. I am glad to be here.

  Good, said Joejoe.

  I hear certain talk of bullets, but I do not understand.

  Neither do I, said Joejoe, neither do I.

  It is strange, no? said Stefan as he looked at me.

  Yes, I said and I winked.

  I will say nothing, he whispered, and he gave a loud laugh as if I had told him a joke, and I smiled in return; then we both sat there as beside us Joejoe conducted the scene with his hands.

  The General started whispering in one of the widow’s ears. Not at all, she said. No, not at all, and she sang ‘I Wish, I Wish in Vain’. Mrs Brady lowered her face into her hands and listened, and when we all thought the song was over, the widow finished with a verse that the old folk said they had not heard before.

  Come all you maidens

  I pray take warning

  And never heed what yon men do say,

  For they’re like a star on a frosty morning

  When you think they are near you.

  They are far away.

  True, said Mary Joe. The priest recited a poem that brought down silence on the house. I put the accor
dion in Joejoe’s arms.

  I say did Wolfe Tone get married? asked Frosty.

  Now, now, said Mary. Keep such questions to yourself.

  He eloped with Matilda, said Father Grimes.

  And did they get married?

  They did.

  I see.

  He was a very honourable man.

  And then Frosty stood and sang:

  I wish the queen would call home her army

  From the West Indies, America and Spain,

  And every man to his wedded woman

  In the hope that you and I might meet again.

  Joejoe hit a couple of notes to the air then dropped the box at his feet, and Stefan very carefully lifted it and carried it over and put it on the window sill behind the surplice.

  Good man, said Joejoe, will you read for me, Mister Psyche.

  Later, I said.

  OK, son, he said; then he suddenly stood and shot a hand round the back of his neck, leaned forward and scratched ferociously. He squeezed his shoulders together, and blew through his lips.

  Dear God, he said.

  Are you all right, asked Ma.

  Yes, yes, he said, pulling his elbows tight against his ribs.

  The priest took his surplice off the hanger and waved his missal.

  OK, said Da, getting to his feet; before you go Father, I’d like to thank everyone for coming, especially you Father Grimes.

  Good night everyone, called the priest.

  And slowly the place emptied. Out the front the dog Timmy kept up a rampage as Roberto and his wife and Adams and the Tingles and Mister Awesome headed to their cars. Stefan stood and placed his hand on Joejoe’s shoulder, then Mister and Mrs Brady came up to me and we walked out into the night together to their car.

  I enjoyed myself, said Mister Brady, no end.

  And so did I, said Mrs Brady. Thanks for looking after us.

  No bother, I said.

  They drove off.

  Mister Doyle and the other remaining men took all the pub chairs out to Mister John’s trailer where he sat waiting in his car, and when the last was on board, he hurtled off to the pub. Stefan stamped each empty tin of beer with his boot, and collected them into a pile. Goodnights were called. The widows shook hands with everyone, then off-headed into the night.

  The General came over and stood in front of Joejoe.

  Joejoe, he said, and he tapped him on the shoulder. Good luck.

  Joejoe stood.

  Good luck.

  The General was one of the last to leave and he was followed by Frosty who gave the Bird a final punch on the shoulder.

  Good man, he said, we miss you above.

  Ma and Anna and Mrs Conan cleared the food off the table, took down the altar and Da and myself took the bottles away, leaving only a half-finished bottle of Malibu and a full bottle of Blackbush on the table. Mister Conan took the confessional seat back out to the turf shed.

  And Anna landed a kiss on my cheek.

  Ah, I said.

  Myself and Ma walked herself and her parents to the gate.

  Thanks a lot, said Ma, for all your help.

  No problem, said Mrs Conan and they took off walking.

  When the place was cleared, and we were about to go, the Bird and Joejoe were sitting side-by-side at the fire.

  Will ye men be all right?

  We will, said Joejoe.

  Goodnight, Da called.

  The Bird came to his feet walked over and took Da’s hand and shook it.

  Goodnight Tom, said the Bird.

  Goodnight Tom, said Da. I’m sorry for intruding on you that night.

  Good night, Joejoe, said Ma.

  Thank you nurse Geraldine Lockett for everything, said Joejoe, I thank you from my heart.

  And as we went up in the car Da said: Would you mind taking a look at those pair in about half an hour?

  Done, I said.

  I think the drink is getting to them.

  In the house Ma sat into the armchair and closed her eyes

  For a minute there I thought I was back on night shift, said Ma.

  You’re not, said Da.

  What a relief to step back into peace. That was a trial, she said.

  But in the end it went well, said Da. Philip got to see the Bradys and the Bird calmed the uncle.

  We were blessed.

  Now, will you have a drink?

  Yes, she said, spreading her arms and her fingers touched my ear.

  Sorry pet, she said. I’m so glad you got to speak to Mickey’s parents.

  So was I.

  It was good for you. We are all here for you, she said.

  Thanks Ma.

  So last thing that night Da drove me down to Joejoe’s and then headed on up to Mister John’s for a last pint. I came in the gate and knocked.

  Who’s that?

  Me.

  Joejoe opened the door.

  You’re welcome as the flowers of May, he said, and felt his way along the table and dropped back into his armchair. The Blackbird was still in his coat, two black sausages on a plate on the floor at his feet, and he had a lap full of crumbs. I heaped up the fire. They rose their glasses. I emptied the bottle as I poured out two last glasses of Malibu.

  We’re discussing women here, said the Bird.

  Are we? asked Joejoe.

  Indeed we are.

  If you say so, you gallot.

  I do.

  I can recall fairies but not ladies.

  Well we were.

  All right then.

  Now tell me, Psyche, he said turning to me, is Anna your girlfriend?

  I think so, I said.

  So you’re going on a journey.

  I am.

  My heart goes out to you. Let us know when you get back.

  I will, I said.

  Good for you. You better hold on to her. I had one once and lost her. You see the way it is. It’s a cross –

  – Too true, said Joejoe –

  – That you have to bear.

  Indeedy.

  Recently I’ve took to noticing women.

  Boys oh boys – and mark you on the night of the Stations!

  At the beginning I thought they were people I wanted. Now they are people I look at.

  He’s past it, the auld bastard.

  The way I see men and women is, well some fit into each other and some don’t.

  You’ll get that.

  Yes. You will. I had a chance of a woman once and she had a chance of me but it didn’t work.

  No belly bumping for poor Tom, said Joejoe.

  No, sadly.

  Didn’t stop you trying.

  Nothing wrong with that. But look at yourself.

  What are you saying?

  See that man over there, your poor Joejoe; he was a terror for the women. You couldn’t pull them off him.

  Stop the blather.

  Oh into the best of clobber, small and quick, the shoes shined and away with him on Saturday night, and Friday, and Tuesdays, the small talk, and the blarney. He knew the sweet bush and the sour bush, did your Joejoe. Oh yes. And me? Not a bloody one. No. He tipped his glass into his mouth. So you see for me women grow more beautiful every day.

  Do men? I asked.

  I don’t know rightly. That’s a strange question. He looked at me oddly. I’ll have to think about that.

  I think I’ll put the bottle away, I said.

  Do what you must, said Joejoe.

  You’re right, you’re right, said the Blackbird, but maybe you’ll countenance one for the road.

  Just the one, mind.

  I got up, opened the bottle of whiskey and poured them each a stiff one, and poured myself a shot, and then put the Blackbush on the high shelf, out of reach, and sat again.

  There was a long silence where the mood seemed to change as if the men were heading off in another direction. They lifted their glasses simultaneously and drank, then Tom Feeney turned quietly to Joejoe.

  Do you think of yo
ur old girlfriend often? the Bird asked.

  Joejoe poked the fire.

  Bridie?

  Yes.

  I do, he said. But she was like myself, not lonesome, so I don’t miss her. If I missed her I’d only hurt her. And I don’t want to hurt her. Bridie is where she is. She passed on. She was like the hare, enchanted. The hare has a lot to answer for. Filling you with the gra then going down to wash her clothes and hair at low tide and leaving you here be yourself. That’s all I can say, it skips through your mind, all men’s mind, so I’ll leave it.

  Aye, said the Blackbird and he studied the Joejoe a long time.

  Then he stood and said: A lady she was. God grant her rest. Now. I’ll hit the high road, I will. He leaned against the inside of the door, lit a fag and pulled the door behind him with a loud bang.

  Stop there a while, said Joejoe, till I get my bearings.

  He got up and turned the mirror on the wall so that it faced back into the room. He looked at the reflection of himself for a long time.

  The sea pinks are dying, he said, and so is the sea thrift. The year is moving on.

  It is.

  Read now, he said, sitting into a chair by the window.

  I lifted down the New Testament and turned to Psalm 45 and read:

  Oh my God, my soul is cast down within me, therefore I will remember thee from the land of Jordan, and of the Hermonites, from the hill Mizar.

  Deep calleth unto deep at the noise of thy waterspouts; all thy waves and thy billows are gone over me.

  Yes, Joejoe said, and I put the book away. I lit the candle in his room and led him to his bed.

  He sat on the edge of it while I undone his laces.

  Good man, good man, I’ll be fine now. Let yourself out and throw the key in the post box.

  I let myself out, locked the door, dropped the key in then looked in the bedroom window. He was sitting there, poised, looking off into the distance in his stocking feet.

  BOOK FOUR

  The First Fall

  Chapter Twenty

  Waiting on a Lift

  I came onto the road, and that’s when I found the Blackbird sitting in the ditch beside his bike with the lamp shining up into the dark sky. He was smoking a fag.

  What’s wrong, I asked him.

  Nothing. I’m waiting on a lift.

  I see.