Long Time, No See

by Dermot Healy

  Good night, called Joejoe sending forth a beam.

  A face turned back to us out of the side of the rug.

  Hallo?

  Hallo yourself!

  Christ! a lad shouted, as he looked the wrong way, who is that?

  Over here, said Da.

  The figure in a woollen hoodie leaped up and sent a torch round in a circle that settled on my father’s face.

  Hi, the lad called.

  A brave night.

  Are you all right? asked a girl coming out of the rug. Are you lost?

  No, I said, we’re locals.

  Oh, cool. You gave me a fright.

  The beam reached me.

  Oh, sit down, please.

  We levered Joejoe down onto a deck chair, and we sat down on huge round cuts of firewood.

  You live near here? asked the lad in a woollen hat.

  Just up the road, I said.

  Ballintra, said Joejoe, and you’re welcome to call any time.

  Thank you, we will.

  I used to work above in that house – Dromod – when I was a boy.

  No.

  Yes.

  Wow.

  She turned the beam on me again. I know you, I think, she said.

  I seen you in the shop, I said.

  You like Magnums.

  I do.

  Here, said the other lad, who had glasses and curls, and I heard a squelch; then he shook a big porringer and reached back to me with a paper cup, Here, he said, you drink that, and this is for you, he said to my father, and this is for you sir and he placed one in Joejoe’s fist.

  What is it, pray?

  Blueberries and apple in the young lad’s, and homemade cider for the senior gentlemen.

  Cheers, said Da.

  They drank and I drank.

  It’s lovely and warm, I said. I felt this light burning sensation.

  Why are you out so late? asked the girl.

  We’re coming from the hospital, I said.

  Oh. Is someone hurt?

  The Blackbird fell.

  The Blackbird fell? she asked astounded.

  Aye.

  That’s weird.

  Let me explain. A neighbour of ours, said Da, fell off his bike.

  Yeh?

  He fell but he’s OK I said, I think. He has a bad shoulder.

  So they tell me, said Joejoe.

  Are you cold down here, asked Da.

  No, but the lady of the house is. She can’t light a fire. Her chimney is blocked, like, yeh.

  We could clear her chimney, I said.

  Tonight? asked the girl.

  Well not tonight.

  Oh right.

  Dead on, keep it in the family, said Joejoe, and you’ll want to have a sight of brushes to take on that job. I pushed more brushes up the chimneys of that house over the years than I did in my own fireplace at home.

  That’s random, said curls.

  Homemade cider, said Joejoe.

  Yes sir, from the lady in the house.

  Very nice.

  Thank you.

  Because of the dark I’ll never know you for again, said Joejoe, and tell me this, and he shone the torch into the face of the silent lad, what about you, what kept you up till this late hour?

  We were expecting something. We are waiting to see the meteors going along a ley line.

  Did they come? asked Da.

  Not yet.

  We all looked up at the sky that was like a map of knitting needles. There was a whoosh as a new log took. Sparks flew onto the forest.

  We are all on a mission, said Da.

  We are son.

  Here, said the lad with the curls, and he filled out all our cups again.

  C’mon, said Joejoe.

  Jesus what next.

  C’mon.

  And we got up and followed him down the beach, through the open gate and up the avenue to Dromod House. There was one light on in the basement. Through the railings we could see the lady sitting alone on a couch in front of a fireplace. Miss Jilly had a rug draped round her shoulders and another draped round her knees. A one-bar electric fire was at her feet. A deer stood perched on a hillside in a painting on the wall. The hearth was black.

  Thank God it’s not cold, said Da.

  Let’s call on her, said Joejoe.

  I don’t know about that, said Da. Think of the hour it is.

  We walked round the house and back again. I went up to the window to look down into the room below. Miss Jilly was still seated on the couch. Her eyes were closed. She was feeding strands of her hair through the fingers of her two raised hands. All of sudden Joejoe threw a handful of gravel at the window. Miss Jilly rose immediately, waved and ran out the room.

  Jesus! Joejoe, what have you started, said Da.

  We waited, wondering. A light went on in the porch. Soon the front door opened. She peered around her. You – who are you, said Miss Jilly, who are you?

  It’s me Miss Jilly, said Joejoe.

  You? Who are you?

  I knew you years ago.

  I thought you were the hippies.

  You know my son, said Da.

  It’s me, Miss Jilly, I said.

  Oh, Mister Psycho, she said looking into my face.

  Psyche, I said.

  Oh forgive me. I’m hallucinating. I woke up and thought I was sitting a law exam. I don’t know any more.

  This is my granduncle Joseph, I said.

  Who is he?

  Joejoeing, said Joejoe.

  Joejoeing? She came forward and looked closely at his face. Joseph; my god, is that you?

  Yes, ma’m.

  I don’t believe it.

  And this is my nephew and his son.

  Come in, she said. The two of them stood looking at each other. Come on in, please.

  The hour is far too late. I took a chance in wakening you at this late hour because –

  – I’m glad you did –

  – These lads might be able to help you out in the morning –

  – Indeed? –

  – We just came to call, explained Da, because you see we met the hippies down the beach, and they said you were having trouble with your chimney.

  I certainly am, and her voice grew nearly bad-tempered. I’m afraid the place might go up in flames.

  Well let’s hope we can be of help, said Da.

  This is the plan – these pair of boys will come here first thing in the morning and do the chimney for you, said Joejoe.

  Oh Joejoeing, do you mean it?

  We do, said Da.

  Good night now.

  Don’t go, please.

  I have my orders Ma’am, and Joejoe touched his cap.

  She stood looking after us as we walked down the avenue to the car. Myself and Da sat in. My granduncle stood looking back at the big house then up at the sky for a few minutes, then he went into the bushes with his torch shining, came back and climbed in with a handful of broken sticks.

  And now home, he nodded, along the ley lines.

  BOOK FIVE

  The Curve

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The Watch Room

  At eight in the morning my mobile rang while I was breaking a saucer in a dream.

  Hallo?

  It’s the 16th, ye have a job to do later today, Anna said to me, and rang off.

  I got dressed and stepped into the kitchen.

  Are you ready for the heights this morning, said Da.

  I am, I said.

  I got my pin and examination number from under the radio, and placed them by the computer.

  What are ye at?

  There’s something I have to do this afternoon.

  Take your porridge, said Da.

  I will, I said.

  We ate and he came to his feet.

  Will we head?

  Sure.

  Yes, we better check the sailors, Mister Professor, said Da and we got our chimney rods and drove down directly to the pier.

  We climbed d
own the rungs not knowing what we might find. The deck was empty, but inside the two sailors were sitting by the wheel. The thin man was retracing their journey across the sea in my atlas and the orange man was looking at the pictures in Da’s photo album

  I’ll bring you out to the main road, Da said, and you can catch a bus.

  Thank you, they said.

  They waved to the sea, and got into the car. We stopped at Joejoe’s and took his chimney rods, then we stopped at the Bird’s and threw food in through the post box while the animal within raised a murder. In the back of the car the sailors looked on in puzzlement, then as we took off the thin man leaned forward.

  Why no let the dog out?

  We have no key.

  The orange man shook his head in wonder.

  Can we do something for you?

  Da looked at him.

  Maybe. Yes, you can help me clean a chimney.

  Oh yes? he replied puzzled

  Instead of going on to the Donegal, we turned in at Dromod. The sailors looked in astonishment at the big house. Our ladyship was weeding the dead flowerbed.

  Good morning, gentlemen, said Miss Jilly. She was dressed in a shop coat, short yellow boots and a fisherman’s cap.

  Good morning, said Da, I have brought some lads to help me, and he opened the boot and unloaded the brushes in plastic sacks and a load of empty cement sacks. The men took their haversacks off their laps, got out and each of us took a bundle.

  I don’t believe this is really happening, she said.

  She led us into the drawing room that stank to high heaven of smoke. Da looked up the chimney.

  You’re in trouble all right, he said.

  Each day I’ve had to fight off the desire to light a fire.

  It’s good that you did. That chimney is badly blocked. He tore off a bit of ash from the chimney, and looked up again into the heights. Now I could brush from here up but that could be looking for trouble so I think we’ll do it from above and brush straight down. OK?

  Whatever you say, Mister Feeney.

  Right.

  I have a feeling that my past life is soon going to go on display.

  Well, first, it would be best to cover up all here, and he looked round the room. Now have you sheets and newspapers?

  I have, she said, myriads on the ready, and she showed us a pile of newspapers and bedclothes behind the settee, but you see I did not want to cover the room in case you did not arrive, and she shot a sheet out from her two hands and landed it over the settee. I am gravely superstitious.

  The sailors grabbed the other sheets and covered the armchairs, the window ledge, and we spread the newspapers that went back years and years across the carpet. She lifted a vase off a small table and held it to her chest, then replaced it, on a sheet of newspaper. The drawing room had turned white. Now it was in keeping with the armchairs in the entrance hall.

  Could you boys bring in a few stones? asked Da.

  The sailors arrived back with stones. Da placed a tall box in the grate to catch the spill, and to stop the spill of soot spreading into the room he hung about half a dozen plastic bags pulled tight across the front of the fireplace, held in place at the top under the weight of the stones he placed on the mantelpiece against the weight of the stones he placed on the tiles.

  Now, said Da, will you stand here by the grate while I’m above, he said to the orange man.

  Yes.

  When you hear the brush getting near the grate you yell to him.

  I yell to him.

  He’ll be out there. And he brought the other man out into the yard and placed him at a spot that faced up to the chimney. Then he came in and opened the window. You yell to him, OK.

  I yell, said the orange man.

  Then we all gathered again in the living room.

  Now how do we get out onto the roof? Da asked.

  Have you ladders? Miss Jilly asked playfully.

  No, replied Da, but a certain gentleman said to ask you to take us to the Watch Room.

  She looked at me. Then she nodded to herself.

  The Watch Room, she said, announcing the words very slowly.

  Aye.

  Joejoeing?

  The same.

  I have not stood in that room in years. This way, she said, gentlemen. The four of us heeled up the rods. I will certainly bring you to the Watch Room, she said, I have not heard it called that name in a long time. We followed her up past the men in the North Pole and the room that housed the ferrets, past the sheets of embroidery, and the sailors looked at every passing picture in wonder; along a corridor with old photos on each side to a final door; she opened the door and we went up a set of steps boarded on all sides towards the top storey, and reached another door, she turned the handle, but it wouldn’t open.

  I don’t believe it, said Miss Jilly, and she swung the handle again.

  Aisy, said Da.

  It’s the rust.

  I have the very man. Have you got it, boss?

  I have.

  I looked through his bag of tools, Miss Jilly steeped back and Da took the WD40 and he shot a spray into the keyhole and round the lock. He turned the handle.

  The door opened.

  Miss Jilly led us into a small blue room with a glass roof to one side.

  A telescope, on a pedestal, stood facing skywards.

  The orange man stared at it. The walls were covered with old maps of the sky. A few stars had aged, and one of the sides of the moon had grown dank. Lists of names were everywhere. Stars near the Ecliptic, 1842–1849, said the heading.

  My great-grandfather, then my father, said Miss Jilly, spent some time up here scouting the heavens.

  It is like being out at sea, said the thin man.

  As if they had rehearsed this a long time ago, and many times since, she opened a window in the roof and Da immediately placed a chair on a table, stepped up onto the table then onto the chair, pulled himself up, slid out onto the slates, held for a moment, then disappeared.

  He is good, said the orange man.

  I climbed up onto the table, then onto the chair with the first of the rods. My head just reached up over the roof. Da was slithering up across the pitch of slates, then he rode the ridge across to the chimney. He pulled himself up, looked around him at the courtyard below and the sea beyond, and gave me the signal. He was about five rods away from me. He had the first rod with the brush head tied to his back. As the lads handed me the rods I screwed up four and pushed them in a straight line up across towards him, then I screwed in the fifth, and it reached him.

  Now he began feeding the first brush down into the chimney, followed by the others.

  The soot rose up into his face.

  Is everything all right, Miss Jilly called up.

  Fine out, I said.

  The sailors handed me the next set of rods. I screwed another five, edged them across the roof to him, and he took them slowly up into the air, loosened them, screwed them together again, then in turn fed them down the chimney. He turned, signalled me to stop and pointed to the yard.

  You had better go down now, gentlemen, I said, and Miss Jilly led the two Russian sailors downstairs.

  Da stood on high waiting for a few minutes with a couple of spare rods in his hand.

  All right, he shouted down to the courtyard.

  OK, came the call back.

  He fitted in another rod and pushed, and turned, and pushed and turned.

  Suddenly the thin man in the courtyard roared, in answer to the roar from inside the house.

  Go on below, Da shouted, we should be nearly there.

  I found my way back down to the drawing room. The orange man was on his knees holding the plastic bags against the fireplace. Grains of soot were shooting out onto the tiles and some were coming from the sides.

  I am getting frightened, said Miss Jilly, and again she lifted the vase from the table.

  She looked at me with terror in her eyes. Just then another belch of soot from above made th
e plastic bag billow out, but the brush had not reached the fireplace yet.

  Hold it, I shouted.

  Hold it, yelled the orange man.

  Hold it, the thin man shouted up to Da.

  I laid out a large black roll of plastic in front of the grate, took the stones off the mantelpiece, and the orange man slowly let the plastic bags down and a shower of soot fell out of the grate onto the plastic. I took the box out of the grate. It was full to the brim with the debris of nests, dead birds and soot. The lads rolled the plastic sheet into a balloon, then we carried the box and the plastic outside, and emptied them into the cement bags, came back and I looked up the chimney, but I could not see where the brush was. It was pure black. I put the box back into the grate, then myself and orange man drew the plastic bags across the fireplace, put the stones back in place, and drew another sheet across the bottom of the grate to catch the fall.

  Ok, push! I shouted.

  Push! shouted the orange man.

  Push, shouted the thin man.

  Da hauled up and down. A little soot loosened and fell, then there was another great fall into the box, and against the bags.

  Hold it, I shouted.

  Hold it!

  Hold it, shouted the sailor outside.

  It was dancing in the dark led to contrition, said Miss Jilly, and I could see tears in her eyes as she held the vase to her breast.

  Again we took down the bags, emptied the box and plastic; then set everything back in place.

  Push!

  Push! shouted the sailor.

  Yes, came a distant cry.

  Go! I shouted.

  Go!

  Go!

  Away up above them Da attached the next rod, and rowed down, and I looked at the grate, then when the next rod plunged down the sailor jumped as the brush head gave a dunt in the grate and just then Miss Jilly came with one hand in the air towards us as the plastic began to tear.

  Hold it Da, I shouted, you’re there.

  Hold it, shouted the sailor.

  Hold it! shouted the other sailor. Hold it!

  The brush spun, then stopped.

  Myself and Miss Jilly and the orange man stood listening as the last of the dirt thrashed down into the grate from above. It might have been coming from way back down the centuries. The hard ash from coal, timber and turf. Thousands of pages of newspaper. Through slits in the plastic spumes of black spread.