Long Time, No See

by Dermot Healy

Well don’t do it again, she said, and sat back into her armchair laughing and reached out to her ice-cream.

  Are you all right? asked Ma.

  I’m waiting on my hairdresser, sister, the woman explained. My son set up the appointment. I have to get my hair done as I’m going to Lourdes on Friday.

  Good for you.

  A man inched forward on his walking frame down the long corridor and we walked behind him past the empty church, the care assistants sorting clothes, till we reached Male 2. The Bird was seated by his bed, the cap on his head, the face lowered, and the hands joined.

  Tom, said Ma.

  Ah Mrs Feeney, he said waving, and Psyche and Miss Anna Conan. He laughed.

  He lifted up his arm to show the blue band around his right wrist that had a little bubble at the centre.

  You see they have me handcuffed, he said.

  We heard you were going on a journey, said Ma, as she took his clothes for the wash and put them in a plastic bag.

  Is that what they are saying?

  Yes.

  Well let them.

  Tom.

  Yes.

  Relax.

  Well listen to this. A doctor came in here a while back, said the Bird, and I said I’m hungry, and he said why are you angry? I got angry then, and roared I’m hungry. And he said Cool down, Mister Feeney.

  Oh dear.

  My anger is my own, Mrs I must get rid of it. But I’m not in the humour for jokes. Yesterday my pension arrived here to the hospital. So this is home now. It all started before school. I saw it written in my face. Then at school it got worse, and worse. There was no let-up. And do you know what my problem was – and he called Anna’s ear to his lips – good looks, he whispered smiling.

  Oh you poor fellow, she said.

  It’s great to tell lies, he said nodding.

  In the next bed a man that was lying under the sheets with his legs crossed suddenly jerked up and made a small tent with his knees. Tom shook his head, lifted the dudeen and put it in his mouth and took a long breath with his eyes closed.

  That pipe could give you an infection, said Ma.

  The nurse washed it out for me.

  Oh.

  Lovely, he said.

  Ma put an unopened packet of Major cigarettes on his bedside table.

  He opened his eyes and looked at the fags. A drowned man is never found on his back, he said.

  Is that it?

  Yes, the sea turns you over.

  All of a sudden the TV overhead raced up a notch as the camera honed in on a bar in Australia. The Bird put down the pipe.

  I’m in a house of endless soaps, he said.

  I know.

  And you grow tired after the elation.

  Is that why you wanted out? asked Ma.

  Sh! he said, and put a finger to his lips. You see I cannot stand the noise. Now Psyche. I have a request. Will you turn down the sound?

  I’ll do it, said Ma and she went off to find the remote.

  He pointed at a man in the first bed to the right and whispered: He fell in a bowling alley.

  All of a sudden I got the smell of the perfumes as the Bird got up and looked over towards the window. Are there still daisies in the ditches?

  There is, Anna said.

  Have the blackberries come?

  Up your road they’re ripe, I said.

  Will you bring me in some on your next visit, please?

  I will.

  He lifted his good hand with the band up in the air and pointed at the yellow line drawn across the floor.

  If I was to cross that line to touch that window, the…he said and then he sat down immediately, as a nurse and Ma stepped into the ward and walked slowly towards us.

  Don’t do it, the nurse said.

  Do what? asked the Blackbird.

  You know what I mean. Don’t cross that line. You’ll set off the alarm. You know what he’s at – he’s looking for attention, she said and then she lifted the remote off the window sill and turned down the sound.

  The cement mixer shook and roared under the trees at Dromod House. Myself and Da were placing the last square stones from the old monastery shed in the foundation and walls of the mausoleum.

  Miss Jilly was not there to greet us.

  Da looked at Mister Lundy’s drawing.

  We go up four feet in stone, said Da, and one foot in brick.

  Right.

  And she is to be five foot long.

  So we did the measuring and went in tight, standing back to look without another word. He put the drawing back inside the car on the driver’s seat. It was a square we were making. No curves. And the cement was not to appear to the eye, but be pushed far in. Not a trace was allowed.

  Mister Lundy had written: The trick is to let it appear like a drystone wall.

  We dug in the bed of cement, and following the twine dropped in the first layer of rock and he fed in the cement as I started on the second layer. When we reached the beginning of the fifth foot I took over the cement and Da started laying the red bricks that had come from an old caved-in house on the estate.

  I saw Miss Jilly at the window looking down as I placed the round sea stones into two small circles onto the shingle floor of the mausoleum. In them the two urns would one day sit. By that evening the four walls were done with an opening in the north wall that was three foot high and two feet wide. It was facing the sea. The door for the opening was made from timber taken from the trees that had fallen over the years – birch wood. The electric saw rang throughout the estate as Da shaved the wood into short thick panels that I painted with three goes of undercoat, and then the following morning I’d give them a coat of dark brown.

  I put the wood under the trees to save them from getting wet. That night we dropped in to the Blackbird but he was fast asleep in the bed.

  Tom, whispered Da.

  There was no reply.

  Tom, he whispered again into his ear, then he looked at me and jerked his eyes towards the corridor, so we did not wake him but went on down to the nurses’ desk.

  How is Tom Feeney? Da asked.

  You are a relation?

  Yes.

  He is very tired in himself these last few days. We may have to return him to the General Hospital for further tests.

  I see. Thank you.

  Good night.

  Good night.

  Next day Da put a round window frame into the door, and the wood panels were placed in a circle so that they came down in a radius at the end. He then fitted in a pane of double-glazed glass one foot in diameter.

  The porthole, he called it.

  Dandelion clocks were blowing in the wind.

  We began the roof. We hammered the longer planks of birch onto a bed of pine to make the support. Towards the middle we chiselled in a hole for the wind chime, and then laid the yellow flagstones – that were laid in a neat pile after the dig – across the top in star shapes working back to the ring in the centre.

  Then the door, with an all-weather lock and handle, was hung on plastic coated hinges in the entrance.

  I looked down into the window.

  It felt like I was looking up into the telescope.

  Well, said Da.

  It looks good.

  We stepped back to the trees, and sat there looking out to sea. The little house of stone was standing there on a grim patch of ground, without a blade of grass on any side, in a half an acre of cold tattered earth and long swoops of clay flattened by the machine. Miss Jilly had already scattered thousands of flower seeds for the coming year, and piles of horse dung had been drawn in, and buried; but the place looked abandoned, even by weeds.

  I wonder should we give her a knock, asked Da, then No, no, he said to himself, best leave it.

  We were gathering our tools when Mister Lundy pulled in with the last item. He put the wind chime in the centre and we sealed the hole with cement. He stood by the mausoleum and first looked out to sea, and then he stood to one side and looked back t
o the house. He turned and gave us the thumbs-up.

  Don’t go yet, he said.

  He went into the house, and Miss Jilly appeared with him a few minutes later, with the flowers Anna had given her.

  They walked towards the mausoleum. The wind chime had begun to hum.

  She placed the pots of flowers on the ground. Forgive me for hiding, said Miss Jilly; Not at all, said Da, and he leaned down and opened the door, then stood aside. She carefully knelt and touched the glass then felt both sets of round sea stones, and stood and smiled. Mister Lundy closed the door, and turned the key, and handed it to her.

  At last, she said.

  Chapter Forty

  Three Black Ties

  Early next morning the phone rang.

  Ma took the call.

  I could hear her speaking and then she ran up the stairs and shouted Tom! Tom!

  I got up into my shirt and trousers and stepped out onto the landing, at the same moment as Da in a dressing gown came out of his bedroom door. We locked eyes for a split second. Ma was standing in her slip on the bottom step of the stairs listening.

  Thank you, she said, and she put down the phone.

  She looked at us.

  Yes? said Da.

  The Bird is dead, she said.

  We sat in the kitchen as the winds plucked the windows.

  Ma turned on the kettle and faced the wall alone. I rang Anna to tell her the news. Ma lit a candle and put it in the window, got into her slippers and walked out the front door in her pyjamas into the wind. Da went upstairs and came down dressed. He sat down and laced his shoes. Ma arrived back in with strands and strands of wild mint and a few blackberries. The berries were placed centre table in a saucer. She washed the mint and threw it into a bowl. She poured the boiling water over the leaves, spooned in some honey and stirred the brew.

  We dipped our glasses into the wild tea and drank.

  I picked a head of blackberry and bit into it.

  At 7.30 Ma rang the hospital to say she would not be at work today, or tomorrow, or the day after, and Da got on the phone and rang all the numbers on the list I’d found in the Bird’s house but again he got nowhere. We got into the car. The windscreen was covered in salt. Da threw three buckets of water onto the glass and drove to Tom Feeney’s to get his good suit, and search the house for other phone numbers and addresses. I opened the door and Da went straight to his bedroom. He was standing there with the rifle in his hands when I looked in.

  What’s the meaning of this?

  It’s Joejoe’s, I said.

  How did it get here?

  The Bird took it away from him.

  Oh Christ, he said and he went out and put it in the car.

  Then we went through all the drawers, searching, searching. We found a few more names and telephone numbers written in notebooks, on the back of bills, and on envelopes. Ma picked out a shirt, and found an old-fashioned brown suit in the wardrobe. She came across a pair of good shoes. I swept out the living room, and cleaned the kitchen, and Ma went back up to the house to iron the suit and shirt while Da brought up the rifle, and said he would call Tom Feeney’s sister Lilly in Luton, and other people in England, and Scotland and Ireland.

  When they came back he said it was the same as before, wrong numbers, he spoke to people who had no notion of who Tom Feeney was; nobody knew him; but then he found one young man who said he was a nephew, and he told Da that Tom’s sister – his own mother Lilly – had died years ago. His name was Jer Feeney, and he had taken down the details of the funeral, but did not know whether he could make it over, but he would try his best.

  He has no one, said Da; no one but one nephew.

  We began another search, but came up with nothing. Then we sat into the car and at last stopped off at Joejoe’s.

  A man on the pier stood by a telescope looking out at the island.

  We sat a while wondering who should go in, then we all got out, and faced the door.

  Da knocked. Cnoic barked a terror within.

  Come in, shouted Joejoe as he turned the key in the door.

  He looked at the four of us as we entered the kitchen.

  Don’t tell me, he said. He was in his shirt and long johns.

  I’m sorry Joejoe, said Ma.

  Is it the Bird?

  He passed away at six this morning.

  He turned and went back into his bedroom.

  Psyche, he called.

  I went in and he closed the door.

  I cannot go on without him, said Joejoe. If the Bird is gone then I should be gone too.

  Joejoe, I said.

  He pulled on his trousers.

  Do you want to come into the hospital with us?

  No. But will you do me a favour?

  I will.

  There’s a certain item called for.

  Right.

  Now, he said, and he handed me two twenties, and a tenner, and opened the door. Inside Da was putting a match to the pile of twigs and paper he had built up in the grate. A cup of tea and toast was on the table.

  I’m really sorry, Joejoe, said Ma.

  I know, daughter. He stepped outside and cleared the seashells from the window sills into a plastic bag, came in and sat into his armchair with a cup of tea.

  His hair was standing.

  Ma petted his head.

  Now, said Da, throwing in a shovelful of coal. Can you help us out – do you know any of Tom’s relations?

  No.

  Now, what are we going to do? Will we have him brought out for a wake in his house?

  Whatever you decide, said Joejoe.

  We’ll let it be your decision.

  I would not like to see him in a corpse house.

  Well then we should have a wake, said Ma.

  Whatever you think.

  OK. We’ll go on to make the arrangements, said Da. Will you be all right?

  I will.

  All right, said Da, we’ll be back in a couple of hours.

  He dropped myself and Ma at St Francis’s, and drove on to the undertakers.

  Ma, with the suit on a hanger, spoke to the receptionist who did not know us at the desk.

  I have brought in Tom Feeney’s clothes.

  Are you relations? she asked.

  No, said Ma, but we were responsible for Mister Tom Feeney. Most of his family are abroad.

  Could I have you and your husband’s name?

  Geraldine and Tom Feeney.

  The woman looked up.

  That is the name of the deceased.

  Yes.

  Oh, she said, bewildered at hearing the same name twice, and she again checked her file.

  Oh, she said, I see, then nodded. Please accept our condolences on your loss. I will have someone to talk to you in a moment.

  Thank you.

  Ma sat.

  I went on a wander. I looked into the empty church. I heard a scream from the TV room. I reached the door into Alzheimer’s, turned, and saw all the sleeping eyes in Female 2. I saw the familiar faces in Male 1. Food was travelling on trolleys. Tea was being poured. I went down into Male 2. The men watched me as I walked to the empty bed. It had already been changed for the next man in line. New sheets. New eiderdown. I stood a moment, and then I opened his bedside locker and it was empty.

  I came back to the desk.

  Where are Tom Feeney’s things? I asked.

  In storage, the receptionist said.

  Well can I have them?

  Yes, in a moment, and she took another call on the phone, then a few minutes later Tom’s gear, well-tagged, appeared. I filled the bag I’d brought with his perfumes and clothes. The dudeen and fags I put in my shirt pocket.

  Ma was speaking to a male nurse.

  You wait here, she said, and she went off to the morgue to dress the Bird. I sat in the foyer among the old. The men and women sat facing the front door as if they were watching an old silent movie.

  When everything had been arranged Da rang round the neighbours, th
e undertaker had already informed the local radio station, and inserted a death’s notice in the Irish Independent.

  Da had bought three black ties – one for himself, one for me and one for Joejoe. That evening we drove out behind the hearse, round Cooley Lane and stopped at the Bird’s house. Frosty was standing at the gate, and himself, the undertaker and myself and Da carried the coffin in, and sat it on four chairs placed against the wall in the bedroom. The bed was newly made with crisp white sheets. The pillow was spotless, the blankets and eiderdown a light blue.

  Each window had a vase of montbretia on the sill.

  The two mirrors in the house had been turned to the wall.

  The undertaker undid the screws and took the lid off the coffin and there the Blackbird lay alone in his brown suit and shirt, hands crossed, eyes closed, looking into the distance, with a hint of a smile.

  Anna came in with a pot of lamb stew.

  Thank you so much, said Ma.

  It’s nothing.

  She touched the Bird’s forehead, then she took my hand.

  I’m sorry Philip.

  I know.

  She went off and lit the fire in the living room.

  Ma brought in a few bottles of beer, and one bottle of whiskey and one of Harvey’s Cream Sherry, and placed plates of sandwiches on the table. I put the bottle of Malibu in a safe place and then I placed the perfume bottles on a silver tray on a table at the head of the coffin, and sprayed his neck and wrists and ankles. I went out and walked up the lane and began picking blackberries. A pool of blood lay scattered on the road under the dripping fuchsia bush. The starlings were swooping over and back in a ball away in the distance, and nearer home sea gulls flashed as they flew over a newly cut field.

  Then at the foot of the lane Joejoe appeared.

  Psyche, he said.

  I walked alongside him to the house.

  He stalled in the kitchen to take stock and went into the bedroom by himself for a minute. There was a long silence and then he came into the living room and sat down in the Bird’s armchair. He ran the fingers of his right hand across the back of his left hand.

  Yes, he said, and he bent forward and stirred his feet like a bee feeding.

  Not long after the first local souls began arriving for the wake; and as talk of Tom Feeney’s family began it became clear that there was not a living relation of his in the room. The Bird was a stranger. They went over the story of how his father had died here in Cooley when the Bird was young, and how, the following year, the death of his mother took place. Now Da told the news that his sister Lilly was dead. There were no cousins in the locality. As more mourners came to the wake house all the time the mystery grew.