Long Time, No See

by Dermot Healy

  Oh dear, said Miss Jilly as the last ash spilled.

  Da began to haul the brush and the rods up. I took away the bags lightly. The box was half filled with soot.

  Ashes, said Miss Jilly, nothing but ashes.

  Aye.

  She replaced the vase on the small table in the corner.

  It’s disgraceful, she said. That chimney has not been cleaned in years.

  Never mind, Madam, it’s done now.

  Soften the pain, oh Lord, she sang.

  Excuse me?

  Yes?

  What did you say?

  It’s a line from The Pirates I think.

  It’s all right, I said.

  I don’t know. I have no control over my talents or my failings. How is your neighbour who cut the ass’s hooves?

  He’s in hospital.

  Oh dear.

  Out we went to empty the soot, and my mobile rang.

  Well, asked Anna.

  I have not looked in yet.

  What? What are you doing?

  Cleaning chimneys.

  Ah Philip, see ya later.

  See ya.

  Then we all went up the Watch Room. Out at the chimney Da was hauling the rods up, unscrewing them, and letting them slide down off the roof into the yard below. When Da was done he rode the ridge, then let himself across the slates, and slowly worked his way to the window. I helped him climb back inside. He was black faced. He stood in the Watch Room looking down at his body. It was strange to see him beside the old telescope.

  Somehow they looked the same.

  Do you want to look up at the sky, Miss Jilly asked.

  Please.

  I took one look into the telescope but all I saw was a reflection of my own eyes.

  What do you see?

  Myself.

  Then a cloud swam into view, then another and another, then my eyes returned into the frame.

  Some night maybe you can look up at the stars, she said. Then the two sailors, speaking in another language, took a turn looking up at the sky. Lastly Da took a quick peep at the heavens, then carefully we followed him down the stairs. Miss Jilly winked at me as we passed the ferret room. In the living room Da scraped down the last of the hard ash with the brush into the empty box. We had filled nearly three cement bags with soot and stacked them all in the trailer; then Da stepped out into the yard to beat his clothes and put the rods into the boot.

  And finally we all stood under the Indian in the entrance hallway and washed our hands and faces in the sink while herself stood by with towels.

  I am indebted to you, said Miss Jilly.

  It was Joejoe, dreamed up this job last night, said Da, when he did something he should not have done and threw the gravel at your window.

  It gave me a fright.

  I know.

  Give Joseph my sincere thanks. I have to tell you this, when I heard the noise at the window I went out to ring the police station.

  Jesus.

  Then I said to myself when I had the telephone in my hand maybe it’s the hippies. Or maybe I’m just hearing things.

  Thank God for that.

  Here you are, and she handed me an envelope addressed to Mister Psyche Feeney. I hope it’s sufficient. What hospital is your neighbour in?

  The General.

  Is he all right?

  Not so bad, I said.

  A thousand thanks gentlemen, she said. We have not spoken at all, she said to the sailors. I am Miss Jilly.

  Petro, said the orange man.

  Sergey, said the thin man.

  It’s good to meet you. Thomson House is gone. Heather Castle is gone. One is a hotel and the other a health farm. This house will not go.

  It will not.

  Not while I’m alive. You all must come to dinner sometime.

  We will, said Da. Right, and we sat into the car, and drove off. I opened the envelope. There was a handwritten cheque for one hundred euro in it and a small photograph of the ferrets posing on their couch. And a note Thank you, Mister Psyche, and please forgive me for misspelling your name this morning, yours, Miss Jilly.

  Da drove first to the graveyard where the man from Luton was buried. The two sailors and myself sat in the car outside the graveyard in total silence. They looked towards the gravestones and the mourners gathered by the new grave. Then Da reappeared, and drove the five minutes out to the main road, turned north into Bundoran, and out to the far outskirts.

  Here will do, please, said Petro.

  Goodbye, Da said, and he handed each of the men twenty euro.

  The two sailors thanked us graciously in another language. All morning I had wanted to ask them what happened that day out at sea but now they were taking their story away with them as they gave myself and Da a great hug, and then Petro and Sergey started walking away towards Killybegs, with the haversacks on their grey backs, and their thumbs up in the air.

  Would you like to take a walk round Bundoran, asked Da.

  No, I said, not today.

  Is it because your father is covered in soot?

  No.

  So where would you like to go?

  Home, I said.

  Well now, he said. That’s a new one.

  I have certain business to do.

  Whatever you say, son.

  He waited on a crowd of surfers to cross the road, then slid out into the traffic. I counted the cars and lorries in the back of my head. When we got to the house I sat down by the computer, went online to www.examinations, and tapped in my pin and examination number.

  Up came my name and the results of the Leaving. I trawled down the list like I was going down the rungs at the pier, and when I reached the bottom, I climbed back up. I sat there a while.

  My mobile rang.

  Well? asked Anna.

  I passed, I said, with three honours.

  Congrats Philip, good man. I’m glad you made it.

  Thanks Lala.

  Bye-bye Jeremiah.

  I printed the results out and stood in the kitchen drinking a cup of tea. After taking a shower Da appeared in a clean set of clothes, sat down and poured a cup.

  I was destroyed with soot.

  You were.

  What’s that, may I ask?

  I handed him the print-out.

  He read it like a man reading a list of debts, then as he came to the end he found that he owed nothing.

  Jesus son, he said.

  He stood and shook my hands and ran out to ring Ma and give her the news, then reappeared a few minutes later and said, She asked me on her behalf to send her best wishes to the Professor, and then he stared at me, grinned and lowered his head.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The Curve

  When we came in at visiting time that evening the Bird was fast asleep. In the next bed the man was sitting doing his crossword. He had the pen clenched tight in his hands and the magazine bang in front of his face. Behind the large glasses he wore his eyes never stirred as he stared at the clues.

  I put the dudeen I’d brought with me on the side table.

  Tom, said Da.

  Tom, copulation is a mere habit, said the Bird opening his eyes. We should live alone.

  And then the world would come to an end.

  Exactly, meaning our part in the world.

  You are obsessed with sex.

  I am. How is my dog?

  Locked up, I said, but fed.

  Good.

  Will you not give us the key to the house?

  No, I’ll be out soon, and everything will be put in order. So what’s happening out in Ballintra?

  Fishermen, I said, and sailors and hippies.

  The same old story.

  Aye.

  Where did this come from? he asked lifting the dudeen.

  Out of the old shed at the back of the house.

  Don’t put it in your mouth, for God’s sake, said Da, but the Bird with his left hand promptly sat it between his lips and drew hard.

  Nice one, Ps
yche, he said. It’s great to get a good old draw. But there’s no feeling in my left arm, and he patted the back of his left hand as if it belonged to another person.

  We left the hospital at nine with more provisions from the hospital kitchen and turned up Cooley to the Blackbird’s house. The small bulb was still lit in the kitchen. To the side of the house the cattle were gathered, staring steadfastly across the road.

  The sky was a dirty black.

  This is a lost cause, said Da.

  Against the front door the dog pounded and leaped up towards the window in a frenzy of barking.

  Shut up ya fucker ya! Now watch yourself.

  With a stick he pushed in the flap of the post box. I got the bag of bones and meat, and shoved it in as the dog tore at it.

  This is scandalous. It’s fucking pagan.

  The dog threw himself against the door.

  Jesus. This can’t go on.

  Hold it.

  I’m holding it. Are you done?

  I’m nearly done.

  Shut up! Jesus. The flap closed. Da stepped back from the terror shaking his head. This is fucking terrible. The dog leaped again to the window and stood up on his hind paws barking with no sound. A spit of blood flew onto the glass. Down, shouted Da. The dog ran out of the kitchen back to the hall. He’s a demon, said Da. The barking echoed down the path. In the garden the cattle drew closer together. We went into the shed and tossed them hay.

  If I was to break down that door, said Da, the dog would kill us.

  You’ll need to get a vet, I said.

  I need a miracle, said Da.

  The oil lamp and candles were lit in Joejoe’s.

  He’s still up, said Da.

  He pulled in at the gate. We sat a while listening to the radio, then he switched it off, and stayed there still without talking, then we made our way up the lane and stood against the gable listening to the sea.

  What next I ask you? he said. He lay against the wall and put his forehead into his hand. The Bird is not well.

  No, Da.

  Are you right?

  Right.

  We knocked and Joejoe came and unlocked the door.

  He sat and crossed his legs and as he poured nuts into the dog’s bowl Timmy kissed his hands.

  You’re up late, said Da.

  I am. Any word?

  They’re keeping him in.

  They are. I thought so.

  You should get some sleep.

  I’ll sleep in the chair.

  Whatever you think.

  Psyche.

  Yes…Grandda.

  Sit down. I like when you call me Grandda.

  I sat.

  You look like you seen a ghost. Was there a fellow at the gate?

  No.

  There’s lemonade beyond.

  I’m not thirsty.

  No? This boy is upset.

  Yes, said Da. He just got good news this morning from St Martin’s College. He passed with honours.

  Joejoe levered himself onto his elbows.

  Good man. Do you know what’s wrong with me?

  No.

  What’s wrong with me, he said, is that I never went to school.

  You never went?

  No, sadly, he said. And…

  Yes?

  You have your chance, so take it; go on and do something with your life. Send him on to the big college…to do what is it called?

  To do a BA.

  A BA? Right, fuck me. Bring him on up to bed. One of us should get a night’s sleep.

  OK, said Da, and what about you?

  I’ll sit here.

  Will you come in over the next few days to see the Bird.

  Joejoe shook his head.

  Will you be all right?

  I’ll be fine.

  Could you not lie down for a while?

  Leave it.

  Good night, Grandda.

  Goodnight son.

  Poor Afghanistan, he said switching on the TV, then he flicked over and the screen filled up with whales.

  I think that man is in deep grief, said Da as we drove home.

  I mind to see a hare as we walked down the path to the car. I mind the stairs to the room. And the pillow under my head like a cave. And a queue of shadows forming behind the shadows on the far wall. The last shadow was me watching the others gather.

  And then I found myself in a dream at these crossroads well removed from the torrents. The man beside turned into Joejoe and then into the Bird. He was not looking but talking so much he missed his footing and fell and hurt his eye. We bathed it in a pool.

  Then we went on.

  We crossed a field and he approached this red cow and calf he said was his. Are you all right Sissy, he said to the cow. He put his hand round her back leg and then Sissy kicked him in the other eye.

  Now he had two bad eyes.

  I’m ashamed of myself, he said. He hit the beast a slap. Bad Sissy, he said. The bruise from his fall grew huge. The other one from the kick of the cow sweated red. Blood poured from his left nostril. We went to his house. He got onto his sofa and stretched out under a pile of newspapers. He found these tea leaves and put them in a wet cloth and soaked his eyes.

  Bad cess to Sissy, he said.

  He fell back and slept. And slept. I did not know rightly what I would do. I should go out and build. The radio was telling bad news over and over. So I travelled through the rooms of the house. I came into this big bare white room filled with the white bones of animals and white timber taken from the sea. There was a key turning and turning in the door. One wall was plastered with cuttings from newspapers. And then more maps. Maps of stars. Instead of beams in the roof overhead there were oars. Four sets of oars pinned across like we were in a boat. The boat was sinking. There were seashells on the window. I sat down on the floor and waited.

  A cat walked across the sill then stood on her hind paws, looked in through the windows and meowed and scratched. Behind her the storm was coming. So I opened the window and let her in just before the winds and the rain struck. She went by me.

  The man pointed at the fire.

  You see that flame standing straight up, he said.

  Aye.

  That’s a sure sign, as he wiped the blood and tea leaves from his eyes.

  That’s a sure sign, he said, as the helicopter coming in from the ocean woke me as it thundered across the roof.

  All that Thursday and Friday afternoon I worked the wall, pushing the wheelbarrow to and fro, lifting; looking; standing back and then heading off again. I was trying to get the curve right. The curve had to be gradual. The thing to do was let each stone find its place; this was the rule that went through my head. Every time I lifted a rock I heard the command from somewhere in the past – let the rock find its own balance, let it sit on its own weight, and when it does, only then push in the slanted stones to right the position.

  I have rules for everything.

  If the rock does not fit, wait; every rock will find its place in the wall. No stone should be proud; and stand out from the rest.

  It is the small stone that no one sees gives all the balance.

  I had nearly taken down half of the small monastery; stone by stone; and moved it an acre away to shield a garden that did not yet exist. All that was growing in there now was whins and nettles and thistles and wild grass. Da was on the look-out for top soil.

  I was trying to repeat the pattern of the old stone work in the new wall. I lifted out a rock from the old shed and there in an empty space I came across a child’s shoe surrounded by chaffs of wheat. It was small, made of leather, and still unharmed. I brought it up and carefully placed it in the drawer in my room. I took the chaffs of wheat and found places for them in the new wall. The wall grew along the curve. A choir of starlings stood feeding on the seeds of the New Zealand flax that stood over my head in the next flower garden. Hallo, I called. Hallo, they called back. Then they began the flirty whistling. A stonechat spun by, then the wren, with a tippe
d-up tail, hopped along a branch of olearia, keeping time to a questioning song she sang alone.

  There was no reply.

  Then Timmy appeared, and started pulling himself to and fro against a low tough hanging branch of olearia, all for a scratch on the back. I thought of the two sailors heading up the road as I saw the Lithuanians make their way with their fishing rods along the beach. Then along came the Japanese fisherman who always parked his motor bicycle in our drive. A year ago he’d asked for permission, and some days he’d arrive, shout a greeting, and drop out of sight behind the alt. The gulls were thrashing around Tingle’s boat as it sped outside the bar. Beyond that a trawler was headed towards the island.

  The thing was to lift, put in place, let sit.

  Then gather.

  Push.

  Wait, while across from me, the clothes that Ma had hung out that morning on the washing line blew like the front line of an army of empty ghosts. The sea thrift was losing its white leaves. The heads of the sea pinks had faded to grey.

  It was Saturday morning. I saw the curve. I could not get out of the bed. By the time I woke the next time I had finished the wall. Then when I really woke I knew I hadn’t. Everything was there for me to do in the long future. I felt this terrible sense of loss. I was thinking of Mickey. I felt humbled at having drawn stone from the church. It was Saturday again and the mother and father would be going to town to take in the sights. Each time Ma looked into the room I kept my eyes closed.

  It’s a beautiful day, Ma said.

  I said nothing.

  I know you’re in there, she said, listening.

  What?

  C’mon with me, she said.

  I’ll be with you in a minute. How was your night in the hospital?

  Well I lost no one, she said.

  Good.

  C’mon.

  I’ll be with you in a minute.

  That’s what you said before.

  I have a dizzy head.

  Do you want me to get you something?

  No. How is Tom?

  He’s doing well.

  I turned over. She sorted out the sheets round my neck. Dusted down the eiderdown.

  She brought me throat lozenges and lemon drinks.

  She felt my forehead.