by Dermot Healy
The house was impeccable, every corner had been tidied, the items on the dresser placed in perfect order, there were bundles of wildflowers in every vase and in flower pots; the pictures on the walls had been newly hung in straight lines; line drawings in colour had gone up on the walls; in the kitchen every dish was washed, and out the back every stitch of his clothes were hanging on the washing line. We went into the bedroom, his bed was made. I looked under the bed; I looked in the wardrobe, and came back into the kitchen.
The place is spotless, Joejoe.
Look, he said, the fire is set, and in a box in the corner the turf was neatly piled, and all the sticks of timber had been cut.
The hippies were busy, I said.
They were. They’ve saved you a spot of work son.
I took down the bottle of poteen and poured out two small measures.
It is?
Poteen.
Achiu, said Stefan.
God bless you, said Joejoe.
Thanks a million.
The Bird made it, the real thing, from his own spuds.
And they drank both glasses on the spot.
One more, said Joejoe.
One?
For the road.
The road…
I poured out two more.
Ah, he said smelling the glass, Mister Poteen. What will Mister Doyle think? Will he smell it off me? He shook the drink, lifted it to his mouth, and slowly drank it down and stood. I go now, sir.
If you must, said Joejoe. The two of us followed him out the door, and just then a hare came down the path, and Stefan rose his arms and aimed as if he had a rifle in his hands, followed the run of the hare, and went Bedumb! as his finger closed on the imaginary trigger.
You got him.
I did.
So you are a gunman?
In another life, I was a marksman. He looked around him, and put his fingers to his head pretending to have lost where he was, and then looked round in a drunken wonder.
Now where am I?
Ballintra.
Ah yes.
He took out his mobile.
Mister Side Kick, please give me your number and I will ring you.
086 78 35 713.
Thank you, he said as he repeated the numbers then pipped them in, and suddenly my mobile rang.
Hallo, I said.
Hallo, said Stefan as we stood face to face.
Oh it’s you.
Yes. It is me. Now you know how to get me. Some day soon we can take your uncle for another spin through the trees.
We will, I answered.
Iki, he said.
Goodbye.
Cheerio, said Joejoe.
Kol kas, said Stefan. I will see you. We put away our phones and Joejoe and myself walked him to the gate. He sat into the Toyota, waved, and drove down away. As I lit the fire Joejoe placed an unlit candle by every window for the night ahead.
Then he stood by my side.
The shells look lovely, I said.
I’ll sleep tonight, he said. One thing son, I will never stop in to see the Bird in that hospital again. Never, OK?
Got ya, I said.
Never, he repeated. If anything happens the Bird there won’t be much point in me continuing on.
Is there anything you want?
No need son, it’s all been done.
OK. I’ll come down later tonight.
Do, then Joejoe studied me and said: But isn’t there something important you have forgotten?
What is that?
He turned an imaginary key with his thumb and forefinger.
Oh sugar, I said and I felt the key in my pocket, I left the shagging bag in the car.
You what?
I ran outside. The Toyota was back at the gate, and Stefan was holding aloft the bag of scraps out of the driver’s window with one hand, and holding his nose with the other. I took the bag.
I return your rubbish.
Thank you, Stefan.
No prob, he said, and he drove off smiling with his head bobbing and his eyes closed.
Good luck, Mister Psyche, muttered Joejoe as I set off for the Bird’s house with an imaginary dog tearing at my skin.
When I reached the door the mad growling began inside. I emptied the pasta and old ham on the footpath, opened the envelope and took out the key.
Now, I thought. The barking grew worse. I said a prayer and put the key in the lock, and turned it a fraction.
I could feel him pounding and leaping inside against the timbers. The barking went up the scale.
OK, I said, here goes, and I turned the key twice, opened the door a fraction and shouted Cnoic! Cnoic! And then I drew it wide open. The dog rose silently onto his back legs, strutting with his ears up. He ran forward and rammed his snout into my shin. I could feel the weight of his body in his jaw, then suddenly he shot by me, and went straight to the food, yowling.
Cnoic! I said, Cnoic!
He went silent for a second as he took a mouthful. I was about to close the door, but on instinct stepped inside and pulled it after me. Now that I was inside, and he was outside, the barking stopped. Thank you Mister Bird, I said to myself. I had entered the Bird’s house for the first time in a couple of years. I opened all the windows. Padre Pio still hung alongside a starfish on the wall of the little corridor. I looked into the living room, yes, the settee was sinking but the table was wiped clean. A single armchair faced into a grate of paper, twigs and turf, ready to be lit. Each side of the fire were chunks of timber and turf. Empty naggins of whiskey and brandy stood like a group of lost souls in an old glass cabinet, bottles that I had bought over the years from Mister Sweet Lucky John’s. Above the cabinet was a photo of Joejoe and Tom Feeney fishing out on Loch Teo.
The carpet of roses was worn.
I headed towards the kitchen. Each step I took I expected to land in dog poo, and this is where I thought I would find lashings of shit, but the kitchen was cold and clean, with a kettle on the gas hob, and the remains of onion soup in one pot and the bones of mackerel in another. On the rack washed delft lay. A pile of winkles sat in a bowl on the floor. When I touched them a few moved and tingled. They were still alive.
Then I heard voices.
The voices went.
I started towards the toilet. The carpet was covered with dog hair, and there at the end of the corridor was a hole in the back door that opened into a small shed at the rear. I lifted the latch and walked in. It was a dark dusty place filled with tins and old newspapers going back to the fifties. There were teddy bears and nails and hammers. A pair of whale bones, and a picture of a small cowboy. There was a large aluminium basin of sand on the floor and this was the dog’s toilet. It was ridden with shit and piss. I pulled back the bar on the back door and emptied the basin into a drain and filled it with sand from a pile at the ditch. I locked the back door, placed the basin back where it had been, and re-entered the house itself, and stepped into the Bird’s toilet.
I looked in wonder at the ledge under the mirror and suddenly understand where the exotic smell the Bird always exuded came from.
There was a line of perfume bottles on the shelf.
I squirted them into my hand and smelt the Bird. I did my neck and knees and elbows with Celine Dion. A towel on the floor had two black footprints. On the window ledge were coral fossils. I headed to the bedroom, opening windows as I went, and then I heard the voices again. They were talking in a mumble. I waited, and then went in. Inside the bedroom was a small single bed covered with an army jacket. From an old electric radio the voices were coming – and they were arguing for an increase in the dole. We are entering a new phase, the voices repeated. The dog reared up on his legs at the back window and was looking in at me. On a pillar of red brick sat a gold clock and a photo of an ancient lady sewing.
I leaned down to switch off the radio.
It was then I saw it, leaning to the right of the dressing table, a rifle that was the exact replica of the one Joejoe had. I stood and
looked out through the window at the dog and as I reached up for the latch to open the window in the far distance across the fields I saw our house above on the cliff, and for a split second below to the left I imagined I saw Joejoe’s house. I lifted the rifle and went through a fierce uncertain angry feeling. Jesus Christ, perish the thought. I saw the bullet hole in the window. I put down the rifle. I heard the Blackbird shouting I never fell; what are you talking about? I saw again the Mass begin at the Stations after he had called Stop!
Then I smelt the perfume on my hands.
I washed my hands in the kitchen sink and went in and looked in the drawers and found a list of phone numbers on a sheet of old ruled paper.
I sat in the armchair and read them. Folk in Luton, in Glasgow, in Mayo.
I looked at the makings of the fire and began to enter the Bird’s head. I saw the child of Prague and the Buddha on the mantelpiece; the fishing reel on the table; the two bottles of Spanish Rioja placed in the corner. The small wooden ship on a shelf above the fireplace. I heard the shot in my head. Jesus, I thought, so I went out the front door and brought in his bicycle into the hallway, closed the door and sat on the wall outside. I waited. The dog came over and studied me.
Cnoic! I said, Cnoic!
He turned, went on, then turned again and ran on up the road. I called him, but he just sat looking back at me, saying come on! with his snout, so I went back in and closed all the windows, turned off the light, took up the basin of winkles, locked the door, pocketed the key and went towards home, with the dog following me at a distance, and something else was following him – a great shadow – a darkness. I threw the winkles down the rocks. I stood at the gate at Joejoe’s and looked back at the Bird’s house but I could not see it. I had made it up. I had imagined it.
Up overhead the clouds stepped out like three of the apostles out onto the dance floor.
Well sunshine, are ya coming in? a familiar voice behind me suddenly said.
Timmy and Cnoic faced each other, then rolled in the grass and chased each other down the beach without a bark, then ran back up side by side.
You got the dog.
I did. He’s called Cnoic.
Good man, you’re a good soldier.
I’m heading up home to do the wall.
So, you can leave the dog here. Is that you Cnoic, he said.
The two dogs followed him into the house and he closed the door. I went down the pier. Inside the cabin on The Ostrich I imagined I saw Anna reading, with her head in her two hands and her lips moving as she faced down into another language. Her ghost looked up at me for a second, and waved, and I waved back and said Love you and I went on, then turned back and walked up to the pub. It was empty. John’s daughter was behind the bar playing Sudoku. I shot a game of pool by myself and then heading home I stopped a moment at Mickey’s monument and blessed myself and said a prayer.
Eventually, I made my decision and headed to Mick Doyle’s.
Stefan was lying under a BMW.
Hallo, I said.
Who is that?
Mister Psyche, I said. You understand guns.
I do.
Can I ask you something?
Yes.
Would you answer me this – there’s a bullet hole the size of a euro in a window. Right?
Right, he said, pushing himself out on the low trolley so his eyes were looking up into mine.
Now did the shot come from inside or outside?
Good question, he nodded. Was the glass…how you say…shattered?
No.
So what was there, please, again?
Just a round hole with little shards.
Shards?
The bullet hole was shaped like a star, and I made the shape with my fingers.
Well Mister Side Kick if the bullet came from a long distance away the pane of glass would be in pieces.
I see.
Outside, you see, and he stood, and pointed towards the trees and the sky, you have to contend with the…elements, yes. The bullet would go this way, that way. Indoors…there is peace, no?
Yes.
Less…turbulence, right?
Got ya.
And inside the room is small, no?
Yes.
So…it is a short distance to the window…so it is…my belief that the bullet was shot from inside this house. OK.
OK.
That it?
That’s it, I said.
Why do you ask such a question?
I needed to know.
Are these the bullets mentioned on the night of the Stations?
Yes.
You look sad Mister Side Kick.
Look, thank you, Stefan.
It is nothing, sir, soon we shall go for another drive, sometime. Right, and he rolled back under the car.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Away with the Birds
Outside the house the red Fiat was parked, and Ma was standing on the step as I came across the yard.
So you got here at last, she said, drawing on a fag.
Yes.
I waited at the hospital for over an hour but you never came back.
I’m sorry, Ma.
I rang you and you did not answer.
I know. It was just that Joejoe did not want to be putting you under any stress.
So you went on an adventure –
– Yes –
– And left me waiting. Who brought you home?
Stefan – who works in Mick Doyle’s.
So you met him in town?
No, out the road.
I don’t understand.
Ma, I’m sorry. Joejoe wanted to walk.
He wanted to walk home?
No, we waited out the road for your car to appear. He would not go back to the hospital.
Why?
I don’t know.
So what did you do?
We hitched.
You hitched home.
Yes.
I don’t believe it. Why did you not ring me?
He would not let me.
She sat down on the bottom step of the stairs.
Things are going asunder, she said.
I’m sorry Ma.
What is going on?
I don’t know.
Did himself and the Bird have a row?
Not that I know of.
Not a cross word?
No. But you see the Bird more or less said he was going to die.
Oh Jesus.
And Joejoe was upset.
Ah Christ, she said.
So I went out to the wall and started building. As I lifted the stones my head grew heavy.
There was not too far to go. Then in my head I walked the Blackbird home the morning he left the house. He did not fall. I saw the guns raised, and I put them down. I made peace as the fossils in the wall grew. Some were shoes, some backbones, some a bird’s wing, and one or two were leaves. I saw a saint’s face. I saw a pair of lips in a round sea stone. The wall grew as the star-shaped hole in the window opened a vein in my head. I carried stone after stone, put them in place and stepped back to look.
The line was wandering. The curve was growing.
I got that run of the wall nearly finished. I went into the sitting room and turned on the TV low. Men and women and children were collected on a sandy area waiting on water. Somewhere else The Bill was just beginning. On the next station they were shooting pool.
I heard his car. The door opened and Da entered in his working gear.
You did a sight a’ work outside, he said.
A bit.
Well I have good news for you, we have a new job starting soon.
What’s that?
Miss Jilly has asked me to remove a small hill that’s blocking her view. It will take less than two days. So are you right for a bit a’ work?
I am.
He sat.
Well how is the Bird?
He was asking for you.
He stood looking at me.
They’re getting to you, son, he said.
I’m all right.
You’re in trouble.
Just bewildered.
I know what you mean.
Just then there was a rush against the front door and a burst of barking. Da got up and opened the door and shouted Timmy but Cnoic came in and lay at my feet.
Jesus Christ, Da said, is that who I think it is?
Yes.
You got into the house by God!
I did. And I handed him the sheet of phone numbers.
Fair deuce.
He watched the dog.
He trusts you, he said.
Do you mean the Bird or the dog?
Both I suppose. Good man, son. He sat into the armchair. We can bring up the top soil from Dromod and make your mother that garden for next year. There’s great earth down there, it’s black and fertile. We’ll dump it in behind your walls. All you have to do tomorrow is tear up the ground and do a bit of excavating with the JCB so we don’t end up feeding the weeds.
I like driving the JCB.
That’s good.
He looked at the pool players on TV potting balls in silence.
Is there anything you want to tell me?
Today we nearly took the train to Dublin, myself and Joejoe.
Oh I see.
That’s the truth.
Yes, son, there’s a funny side to everything. But is there anything else you want to tell me?
Yes.
Go on.
I’m sorry we didn’t go.
Well fuck me, and he roared laughing. Cnoic crushed in against my legs and I petted him. I reached down and Cnoic reached up and kissed my ear. Da, I said.
Yes.
I’m seeing things.
Settle son. Settle. Easy does it. I grew up like you once, taking sides. You know something but you won’t tell me.
Ma appeared, and went over and petted Cnoic who followed her back to her armchair.
Dare I ask? she said. Is this the Bird’s madra?
Aye.
I thought in the long run he might have to be put down. So you freed him. The poor cratur. Was the house a mess?
No, I said, pouring out a glass of still water.
Really?
It was all right, I said calmly.
Dear God, she said, will someone tell me what’s happening?
Would you like glass of Sauvignon Blanc, Geraldine?
I would.
Da went off to the kitchen.
