by Dermot Healy
She leaned in and petted Joejoe’s cheeks. Mister Lundy placed a chair for her, and then he sat at the far end of the room and, as always, stared straight ahead.
With one hand on the edge of the coffin she lowered her head.
What was it Joejoeing? she said. What was it? And she tapped her forehead with her knuckles, tell me.
Are you all right? asked Mister St Patrick.
Yes. Help me, memory, she said, and then she threw back her head and said, Yes, yes, I have it – of course, coarse-cut –
– What? –
– He had a bitter tongue, you see –
– Excuse me? –
You’ve got me wrong, sir, she said – You know what he loved, Mister Psyche, she said, I have just remembered – the hard bits in marmalade. I love the legs, he used to say.
This great warmth travelled through Miss Jilly.
The legs, he called them. I love the legs! And she thumped the floor with her heels. Oh it had to be chopped fruit peel from then on, she said; rind and zest was the key. She laughed to herself and tapped the coffin: I like my jam bitter, he’d say, and she smiled and nodded at the General –
– He did, Ma’am –
– And so I put in heaps! –
– You did –
She clapped her hands as Da arrived in with a tray of whiskey.
We sat a while till the next in line arrived, then we gave up our chairs and in the sitting room Gary and Desmond rose, and went off into the night and Miss Jilly and Mister Lundy took their places.
Philip? said Miss Jilly, is that who you really are?
Yes, I said.
I see.
And I am Stepanon, said Stefan, but here – and he spun his right hand on an extended arm – they always call you by another name.
I know, she said. We are all rechristened in this part of the world.
St Patrick cut an onion in two and chewed. Then he cut another and his eyes cried. My mother filled out glasses from the remaining quarter-bottle of Malibu, and my aunt had a taste, and so did Stefan who said Achiu! and raised the glass to the tip of his forehead. More folk arrived and Miss Jilly got up to go and shook hands again with the General and St Patrick, and they and Ma and Da went to the gate to say goodbye. I accompanied Mister Lundy and herself to the old blue Volkswagen that was parked among many other cars at the pier.
She sat into the passenger seat, then got out, pulled the seat forward and lowered herself into the back, and then she pushed the seat forward, stepped out and got into the front while Mister Lundy sat impassively in the driver’s seat with the engine running.
We are obsessed, Philip – she said – to our detriment, and she gave a polite, crazy nod then they slithered away in first. I waved goodbye and stood a while on my own. The sea was swooning and the lights in the houses to the south were flickering but the sky had its stars and their light did not budge. At intervals the cows lewed angrily, then in reply from a further field there came this long, soft moo.
Cnoic and Timmy appeared.
They circled me.
Good men, I said.
I led them up to our house, and fed them. Timmy was as yet allowed no chair to sit in, so the two lay in the corridor, below the steps, head to head, watching for the next move. Cnoic drew a sigh, Timmy a whinge. I pulled the door, and stood, thinking I had left something behind me. I looked at the beams of tractor lights as the balers went over and back through Lenihan’s field. It felt like it was an Amusement Arcade, and I headed on back down to the pier. St Patrick came to my side, and lit a fag and said: Look at the white ducks out the rocks, and disappeared back into Joejoe’s cottage that was surrounded by cars and bicycles. I went into the crowded house and took down the book of Psalms off the dresser, and the torch, and watched by Anna I stepped out the door again, and headed to Cooley corner, then straight on up the hill to the scene of the accident.
For a few minutes I stood there in the dark and then I walked on.
A car came up behind me. The General pulled in with Frosty seated beside him.
Do you want a lift?
I’m going up to Mister Sweet’s.
Sit in.
I sat in.
I have a cow, he said, who has rejected her calf and we are going up to see how they are.
The poor calf is terrified, said Frosty, of his mother. It’s a terrible sight to see.
I’ll be going back down to Joejoe’s in a while, said the General, if you want a lift.
No, I said, I’ll walk.
Good man.
The smell of September slurry followed me.
The door of the pub was closed, and the blinds drawn. The lights were lowered to the front in honour of Joejoe. A single female pheasant trotted down the road; I went round the back and in the side door. Sweet John was in there alone looking at the racing pages of the Indo. A few low lights were lit. On the TV they were rolling back the years in silence.
Are you OK asked John.
I’ll have a cider.
I sat in the corner under the light, took out the book of Psalms and tossed the leaves and let them fall open, and read to myself what I might read out at the funeral Mass on Joejoe’s behalf; I closed the book. Yes, I said. Then I realised I had not marked the page nor knew the number of the psalm I’d just looked at, so I opened the book again and landed at Chapter 3 in Corinthians. As I read the lines I did not rightly understand them. It felt false reading them alone. I knew what the words meant, but I needed his reply. I had never read the book alone. It was him who shared with me the sound that made sense of the words. Joejoe’s absence suddenly emptied my head. I closed the book of Psalms, then heard a command, and tried one more time and reached Psalm 46, but then I thought leave it, leave it son, and I decided to just let the book fall open at random on the morning I had to speak from the altar.
Yes.
I ordered a glass of Malibu and played a game of pool against myself. Red won. I called another and set the balls up again.
My mobile rang.
Are you all right? asked Da.
I am, I said, I am.
Where are you?
Sweet John’s.
Do you want us to come up and collect you?
No, I’m going to walk.
Here, he said, hold on – Anna wants to talk to you.
OK.
Philip –
– Anna –
– I just –
– Yes –
– I just wanted to let you know that some of your mates have arrived –
– I’ll be down soon. I promise –
– Good man. Chat ya –
– See ya, Anna –
– OK Philip –
I put the mobile in my pocket and took out again the envelope Angela had given me. I stepped outside into the smokers’ glasshouse, and read her writings of condolence. Each letter L swooped overhead in a loop, each E was like a bird cupping its head under her wings, and the T’s were like the chimneys of a gas station, cut across by short strokes of lightning. Sorry for all your trouble, she’d written. We will see you down the line and…
Round the back came the General and Frosty.
Jesus, said Frosty, seeing me. Did you ever feel haunted?
I did, I said.
You are some boy. He coughed and a long lookey fell out of his nose. Miss Jilly was fierce high, he said.
That’s the way.
I put the letter away and followed them in, lifted the glass and drank.
– Cuckoo! I said –
– Cuckoo! said Frosty –
And I broke the balls, and played against myself again, the white flew off the table, twice, and I lost and won; and won and lost; then I went to the side door.
Have one for the road – it’s on the house, called Sweet John, and we can all go down together.
No, thanks, see you below, I said.
Good enoughski.
Aye, the General repeated, nodding gravely, see you below.
Sound! said Frosty.
Goodnight Philip, called Mister Sweet John.
I said good night, and went out and took the Bog road, and started the walk, with the torch, through the smell of dung, back down through the cut fields, past the rushes and whins and grey shuffling reeds, to the Wake.
