Long Time, No See

by Dermot Healy

I can get nowhere with that man, said Da, or without him. He should by right move in with us.

  He’s in mourning.

  I know. I know.

  Da cut the pack of cards that sat on the table, then put them back in their place.

  We have been given a warning, he said.

  Easy Tom.

  Geraldine, sorry, I can’t stop myself.

  The fish and chips were perfect, I said. He ate every last bit.

  Good, said Ma.

  And I had four glasses of Chablis.

  Now. Good for you – remember you missed the college party in town.

  I think I didn’t want to go.

  You did very well Philip, said Ma.

  I did OK.

  I’m being utterly selfish, said Da, with all that’s going on I never thought to raise a glass to my son. Here, said Da, and he poured me a gin and tonic. Good luck.

  Good luck.

  A quick silence passed.

  Well, yes, everyone was sitting there looking at us wondering where Joejoe was, said Da. Where is Joejoe? Where is Joejoe? Why did he not come?

  But they understood, said Ma.

  Tell me this son, what did he say to you when he called you into the room the day we told him the Bird had died?

  He asked me to get a bottle of Malibu.

  I see. And that was all?

  Yes, I lied.

  He studied me then shook and boxed the cards. OK, let’s have one game before bed. And he cut the pack into two halves and laid them in front of me. I touched the half to the right, and he dealt out a few hands. When the game was over he went down to the studio alone. The light was on till all hours.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The Dark Saying

  Next morning Ma on her way to work found Joejoe about half a mile away from his cottage. She drove him home and rang Da. We went down, and as I lit the fire Da sat facing his uncle.

  It’s not right, said Da.

  What do you mean?

  At your age.

  Look I needed a breath of fresh air, explained Joejoe. That’s all.

  OK, OK.

  Da took off to the site.

  I made vegetable soup, and we ate at the table.

  When we were finished he said: Thanks for the dinner.

  No problem.

  Read us a little.

  The book fell open at Psalm 49.

  I will incline mine ear to a parable: I will open my dark saying upon the harp.

  Yes, said Joejoe, lifting up a hand. That is it. Everything is fine, you need not sit around here, go and do what you have to do.

  You’ll be all right?

  I will.

  I put the Book of Psalms back on the shelf.

  Don’t you worry Mister Psyche, I might meet someone on the other side.

  What do you mean?

  The less said the better, and he touched Timmy’s ear.

  I went off and stood on the battery wall and studied the cottage. It was like the morning I was waiting on the Judge at the pier after the Bird entered Joejoe’s. A black tirade of smoke suddenly rose from the chimney. He must have thrown on more logs. I headed up and dug in some seaweed into the garden. I got four lobsters then I took in each lobster pot and stacked them at the back of the house. It was the end of the season. I groomed the horse and took him for a walk on the beach. Out to sea the huge coal boat from Poland was waiting for the high tide. I filled in some of the potholes the machine had made on the road with sea stones. Then I took a lift with Joe Lenihan and up at his place we cut enough timber to fill sixty cement bags.

  He dropped me back at the gate around six. I went down the path. I knocked, no answer but a bark. I turned the handle. Joejoe’s door was open.

  Hallo, I called. Hallo.

  There was no reply.

  I went through all the rooms. The cottage was empty. The two dogs were in the front room watching my every move. I went round the back, walked through the garden, then went and stood on the battery wall, I searched the boat, went down the beach. I went to the Bird’s. I went back through the fields. He was not to be seen anywhere.

  I rang Ma.

  Joejoe’s gone, I said.

  Oh Jesus Philip.

  Ma I can’t find him.

  Philip! He’s bound to be someplace.

  I’ll go looking again.

  Right, right, don’t worry.

  OK Ma!

  I headed off up the road. Da rang me.

  He’s not in the house?

  No. He’s gone.

  What?

  I can’t find him.

  I’m on my way, he said.

  I headed up towards the crossroads looking over ditches, into the fields, and then I headed back and ran round the back of the house at Ballintra and searched the drains.

  Joejoe, I screamed. Joejoe!

  The dogs ran at my heels as I headed up the road again, and then suddenly Da rang me to say he had found him wandering up by the fort.

  He’s OK.

  Thanks beta God.

  I’ve taken him for a drink to Mister John’s.

  I’ll come up.

  Are you at the cottage?

  I am.

  Stop where you are.

  I let the dogs back into the house, fed them and Da came down and collected me.

  Mister John was standing inside the door of the pub on guard.

  At the bar Joe was sitting alone with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He was breathing hard, with his head down.

  Joejoe, are you all right? asked Da.

  Yes.

  It’s you, he said to me.

  It is.

  Come on, I’m going to step out to the glasshouse for a smoke.

  I went out with him and we stood together while he lit up and stared straight ahead.

  You gave me a fright, Joejoe.

  I’m sorry son.

  I didn’t know what happened.

  I’m sorry. You see the walk is in the blood. It’s in all our blood. I had to get out of the shop.

  I looked everywhere for you.

  I wasn’t thinking son. I was acting selfish. I can see you’re upset.

  I can’t help it.

  Relax. Everything we do is wrong even when it’s right. Look! He watched the last of the swallows dive past. Up the lane they skimmed and tossed fast like leaves torn from the wind-struck trees. They are after the blasted midges, he said, my cursed enemies.

  He touched the flower heads and started to shake.

  Soon the geese will be coming. Memory, said Joejoe, is a scourge, a scourge. You boys can write it down, but we have to remember it always. You see the Bird is down there in that house of mine. He threw the butt away. I don’t believe in God Philip.

  That means you do, Joejoe.

  Is that so?

  Otherwise you wouldn’t have to say it.

  I’ll mind that in future, he said, and we shook hands, and stepped inside again, and the shaking started, then stopped as he looked round his old empty haunt. He studied the photos of the old timers; wandered the lounge that looked out on the sea; and stepped into the toilet. Da ordered another round. Anna saw our Volkswagen at the door as she ran past. She came in and we shot a game of pool. Joejoe threw a few darts. Frosty waltzed in and put his tongue in Joejoe’s ear.

  It’s great to see you, he said.

  Ah, Mister Frosty.

  I’m sorry Joejoe.

  I know. I see there are still marigolds growing out the back.

  Flowers are funny, said Frosty.

  A local couple and their two children arrived. The son dropped to the floor and keeping time with his knees he shouted Daddy! Daddy! The pair of kids began laughing like mad birds and Joejoe shook his cap.

  The mother said to the daughter: What is your first name?

  Name?

  Yes, name, she said.

  Cow.

  Cow is all right. But the cow is in the field. Name, please?

  Fido.

  No, that’s him,
your father, you – who are you?

  Me?

  Yes, you! Name?

  The child shook her head and sipped her straw. She began jabbing her fingers each side of her eyes, like in some sort of rhythm.

  No name, she said.

  And she shook her head again, and smiled.

  It’s to do with the echo, said Joejoe, not the yoke that makes the echo.

  Please? said the mother. Please, I would like to know what you mean?

  The echo is the key.

  Explain Joejoe, said Anna.

  The rule is – he said looking at the child – is that you go out the door you came in.

  Louise, said the girl smiling.

  Hallo, he said.

  Thank you, the mother said with a nod.

  More folk started arriving; a night of waltzing and jiving was ahead. In came a crowd of my mates who were just back after a weekend in Amsterdam and they all gave me the thumbs-up. Philip, said Tom Brady, it’s good to see you out and about again.

  Good to see you Tom.

  How are things?

  Not so bad.

  I heard you did all right in the Leaving.

  Not so bad.

  You’re sound, Philip – can I get you a drink?

  No, I’m all right. Some other night. You see Joejoe over there – he’s upset since the Bird died and we’re having a few.

  Got ya. Do what ya have to do, and give us a ring and we’ll meet.

  We shook hands and he went over to Joejoe and said: I’m sorry to hear you lost a friend, then he went off and joined the gang.

  Who was that? asked Joejoe.

  Tom Brady, Mickey’s cousin.

  Ah, I see.

  A nice lad.

  The best.

  Da called another round. More locals started arriving. The widows chimed in and took their glasses of sherry and sat to the side. Mister John threw a board and cloth across the pool table and swept the dance floor.

  The band took to the stand and started to plug in. The drum kit landed, the microphones were set up.

  One, two! said the lead guitar man into the mike and his voice echoed down the lounge.

  One, two! said the bass and the words boomed.

  Stop! said Joejoe.

  One two, said the singer.

  One, two, repeated Joejoe, that’s enough, that’s it, and he threw back his drink just as the music started, then suddenly he stepped out alone onto the dance floor and began to waltz with a woman who was not there; as everyone watched – not knowing whether to laugh or cry – he held her back, he held her hand high, he swung her to the side, and gave a quick few steps, then in a great mime he swung the ghost lady to the other side; then suddenly into his arms stepped one of the widows Sadie Gillen; You wanna boogie? she asked; Sure thing, he said; and together they sailed off across the dance floor.

  Jesus, said Anna, he can dance.

  He can, said Da.

  When the break came Sadie led Joejoe back to the bar. He sat down and let a whack of air out of his lungs.

  You’re good, I said.

  It’s been years, he said. That was Bridie I had in my arms. We’ll have one for the road.

  Next thing I found myself in Anna’s arms as Joejoe stood clapping at the bar.

  Round eleven o’clock we dropped off Anna and drove Joejoe home. We dressed him for bed and my father pocketed the key of the cottage and said: I have to take it Uncle Joejoe, I can’t trust you not to open the door, and head out into the night; you know what I mean. His uncle looked away, and shouted: Leave that key where it is!

  All right, but please don’t go wandering.

  Can’t a man go for a walk?

  I suppose so.

  Well then, leave me be.

  We headed back to our house.

  He could get knocked down, said my father.

  Aye.

  He can’t be left down there alone.

  What do you want us to do? I asked.

  I don’t know. He’s at risk.

  He is.

  Anything might happen him, said my father, anything.

  Aye.

  The waves pounded by. Out beyond the sea was doing a murder, and the smell of slurry was spreading across the fields after the last cut of the season.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  A Jacket and Shoes

  A few strange days passed. Sunsets tumbled into storms. When the calm came the boats were hauled out of the water onto the pier. Another storm arrived. The following morning I came across a donkey jacket hanging from the wooden stake next the pier. I looked about. Not a soul. No one.

  Joejoe’s door was unlocked. He’s gone on a walkabout I thought, and back came the panic. I looked in expecting to find the house empty, but the dogs were in the kitchen, and he was still in bed. He’d taken to the bed with the itch. I lit the fire and took him in tea and toast.

  I’m destroyed, he said.

  Can I get you something?

  No. Say nothing, tell no one. Your mother was in that door first thing this morning. Say nothing.

  Right.

  If they hear I have the itch they’d have me put away. Yes.

  I set off for home in the storm and again I saw the coat swinging in the wind. It was one of those leathered-shouldered dark blue labouring jackets, hanging there as if the man who owned it had taken it off and said: Enough, enough of that, and gone for a long walk. Now there it was flapping demented. I waited around a while just to see who it was that owned the coat. The beach was empty. I said to myself well he’ll be back, whoever you are you’ll be back, and I went on.

  Well how is Joejoe? asked my father.

  He’s all right.

  Is he in the house?

  He is.

  I think I’ll go down and give him a shout.

  Next day I had forgotten all about the jacket and then I came upon it again.

  This time the wind had died down, and there it hung, not moving now, exactly at the height of a grown man’s head, and looking fierce human on the edge of the pier. He must have taken it off, reached up and fastened it tight to the knob of the stake. And he must have fastened it well for it to survive the storms. The stake was blistered black by the constant wind. The wire had rusted a deep brown. Even the nettles in the ditch had gone black. A good enough coat. Yes, he must have taken it off, reached up and said: There.

  There now.

  Maybe he had work to do somewhere. Maybe he was hot and clammy at the time and went on and forgot it.

  Anyway there it was, and the day after, a coat that had years ahead of it if it had been looked after. Another man might have taken it down, but I didn’t. If I was lost I might have put it on but at the time I knew where I was. I headed on to Joejoe’s and came in to find him standing in the scullery in his vest and pants, barefooted, at the back window. He was salting a basket of mackerel on the sink.

  I’ll have tay, said Joejoe. Thank you.

  Right.

  And a slice of bread, thank you.

  I’m making it.

  And what has yon fellow above to say?

  He says you should move in with us.

  Tell him no.

  I told him.

  Joejoe tiptoed into the sitting room and slowly dropped into a blanketed chair.

  But he wouldn’t listen, would he, he continued.

  No.

  I knew it. That man is a bad actor. He suddenly shook himself. Oh dear Jesus.

  He leaned forward and lifted his vest at the back. The wheals were bloody.

  You see?

  I do Joejoe.

  I’m destroyed. Ever since Cnoic came into this house the itch has grown worse.

  It looks bad.

  Will you scratch my back?

  I will.

  There, just there, aisy.

  Yes.

  Yes, nice and cushy, good man. And don’t tell anyone.

  No.

  Just let me go.

  A few days later I came upon the shoes, the hee
l of one on the toe of the other, sitting on the gravel next the bank.

  They were down the strand, some distance from the coat; but it was the same thing only different, I got the same feeling when I came upon the pair of men’s shoes as I did when I came upon the coat. I didn’t see them immediately. I was searching for buoys which might have come in the storm. The storm had been blowing nonstop and the land was plastered with salt. The dunes had gone back yards. The wreck of a small boat had appeared bit by bit over the few days. They say it was a butter boat.

  First the gunwales came, then some boards, a part of the keel. Then the name of the boat – the Lagoon – drifted in.

  I found a buoy attached to a long green rope. The buoy itself was a soccer ball. As I lifted it up I saw the shoes. They had been parked there out of the wind by someone. They could have been a pair of shoes that would have suited a pony man. The laces were undone in a tidy manner. He’d tipped out neat whoever he was. The brown leather well kept, polished.

  The shoes were placed well back from the floods. No one was out swimming. No boats, only a wreck. Myself and the buoy and the shoes. A tidy man. I sat down and looked out at the water and then I looked at the shoes. Around size 9. I didn’t know him. He was a stranger to me. One quick step and away. A man about to take a leap.

  They were sad shoes.

  Next day, as with the coat, the shoes were still there. And the day after. The leather turning white and the toes rising.

  I resisted the attempt to step into the shoes and try them for size. I thought of moving them further back to the pier to keep them safe for the stranger, but then he put them there whoever he was and it was not for me to move them.

  I said to Joejoe who had not stirred out of the house in days that I’d seen a coat hanging from a stake by the pier.

  Did ya?

  I did.

  Now then. Well?

  Well what?

  And who owned it?

  No one.

  Oh.

  Very good, he said.

  And then I saw a pair of shoes down the strand.

  He looked at me rheumy-eyed. He wet his lips.

  And no one about?

  No.

  No, and he nodded as if he understood. Not a soul?

  No.

  It’s bad, he said. It’s a bad sign.

  He stirred himself, took his coat off the back door, put it on and sat. Suddenly he knocked the wood rest of the chair with his knuckles and looked at me as if he was demanding something.