“You can go hang, too, for all I care!” Andy cried. Vinny hadn’t even looked for a job. Andy suddenly knew this without being told, and he could do nothing to stop the swell of anger that rose in his chest. “You didn’t even look for a job, Vinny!” he yelled, grabbing his new jacket and fleeing out the door, down the stairs, and out into the rain.
He didn’t return until much later, and by then he was thoroughly soaked and thoroughly tired.
“Tis a terrible country for harsh rain!” complained a Young One as they all trooped in behind the boy.
“But Vancouver is dreadful wet,” another Young One reminded her.
“Aye, but Vancouver rain is soft.”
“Not as soft as Irish rain.”
“Aye, Irish is softest, right enough.”
They struggled out of their wet things, hung them on the yellow nylon rope to dry, and then sat shivering on the windowsill, damp and dispirited, drying one another off with the grubby curtain.
“I want to go home to the meadow,” the Very Young One cried.
“There, there,” crooned the Old One, patting her slim shoulders. “It won’t be long now. We’re already halfway to our goal. Duty is a stern master. Soon we will be done. Have patience, my dear.”
12
HIS FATHER WAS UP by eleven o’clock the next morning. Andy heard the clink of bottle on glass from the kitchen before his father gave his face a cat lick with water and towel. He didn’t shave. Then he loaded four bottles of whiskey into his raincoat pockets, two on each side like saddlebags, straining the tired fabric to its limit. A further four went into a shopping bag. “They were a gift,” he explained to Andy, smiling through several days’ ginger stubble. “I’ll sell them off and then we’ll be done with them, and first thing Monday I’ll look for a job, I promise.“
Vinny’s promises.
“I’ll be off on my rounds, then.” Vinny changed the raisins, then stepped out into the hall and stood still for a few seconds, like a deer, ears cocked, listening, nose sniffing the air for danger. He came back in, closed the door and climbed out the window, making his way carefully down the fire escape. “See you in a while, Andy,” he called when he reached the bottom.
Andy watched him move away down the street, his tilt slightly more pronounced because of the saddlebags.
After his father had gone, Andy felt empty and unhappy. His head hurt. He lay on the sofa and fell asleep.
“Dad, would it be a good idea for you to start getting up earlier in the mornings? To find a job? The early bird… you know?”
Vinny laughed. “Ah, I will, I will. I had a few words with a man who might have something coming up in the next week or two. Patience is a great thing.”
“What about the heater? The weather’s colder.”
“Didn’t I already talk to a man who knows electric fires. He’s looking out for one for me.”
“And the cockroaches?”
“Ah! Well, I spoke to a man who knows roaches and he’s coming around soon. The night of the full moon is the proper time to catch them, he says.”
“Are you sure? There’s an r in the month, don’t forget. Aren’t cockroaches safe in r months?”
“It must be my influence; you’re turning out to be such a clever, witty child, Andy.” Vinny stroked his hair fondly and kissed his cheek. “But we’ll solve all our problems, never you fear.”
On the occasional evenings that Vinny stayed home, he sometimes answered coded — two slow, pause, two fast — knocks on the door. He invited nobody in, but talked or whispered for a few seconds with each caller before sending them on their way with a small slip of paper for the betting shop, or with a bottle of whiskey.
Tonight had been particularly busy, with knocks at regular intervals throughout the evening. At ten o’clock Vinny said, “Bedtime, Andy.”
“Tell me a story.”
“For a few minutes, then.” When Andy was under his new blanket, Vinny sat on the edge of the sofa.
“There’s a big old library downtown,” said Andy. “I’m going to join and have something to read in the evenings, seeing as how we’ve got no TV or radio or anything. Do you think we could get a reading lamp?”
“Good idea, Andy, we’ll have a reading lamp. You’re lighting up my life, so you are.”
“Tell me a Tir Na n’Og story.”
“Very well. I’ll tell you what happened to young Lord Fitzgerald when he swore to love an orphan girl, swore to love her forever and beyond. Are you ready?”
“I’m ready.”
“The Little People were singing and dancing under the hawthorn tree one bright moonlit — ”
“Why does it always have to be moonlight? What’s so important about moonlight?”
“Food for the soul. The Little People need to charge their spiritual batteries, same as us, which is why we pray and go to church. Now can I go on?”
“I thought you said they need raisins.”
“They do indeed. Raisins are food for the body. Body and soul is the whole man. If you keep interrupting — ”
“I won’t interrupt anymore. Go on.”
“One bright moonlit night when Lord Fitzgerald was very young, he heard the sounds of the Sheehogue singing and dancing in the meadow…”
“I love the story of Lord Fitzgerald and the orphan girl.”
“Ah, don’t we all?”
“Will ye hush and let us listen?”
13
ANDY WOKE IN THE NIGHT with the feeling there was someone in the room. He held his breath, listening. Scratching sounds coming from… where? Heart racing, he sat up and looked around quickly. The anti-cockroach light was still on and there was nobody in the room. Vinny’s door was open, which meant he wasn’t yet home. Andy listened. There it was again: scratch-scratch. He looked around. Nothing. Then scratch-scratch again; from the kitchen. He slid off the sofa, blanket about his shoulders, and tiptoed to the kitchen. An enormous gray rat had been sniffing something on the floor; when it saw Andy, it scurried away and disappeared behind the stove.
Another good reason for keeping a dog.
He couldn’t sleep after that, wishing Vinny would come home, listening for the rat, his mind a kaleidoscope of colliding images and sounds: bet you never thought I’d end up in cold Halifax place of my birth living with Vinny and rats and cockroaches huh Mother where are you now and Clay do you still see Clay and can you see me here Mother with Vinny my father your husband once and a dirty great rat in the kitchen, can you?
Vinny was up early the next morning, by ten o’clock, early for him. Andy hadn’t heard him come in.
“There was a rat last night,” was the first thing Andy said to him. “In the kitchen.”
“A rat was it? Are you sure it wasn’t a happypotamus?”
“It’s not funny! I don’t like rats near my bed.”
“There, there. I’ll get a trap from Rooney and we’ll be rid of him. Leave it to me.”
“A dog would keep the place free of rats, especially a terrier. And he wouldn’t cost much to feed.”
“Terriers are lovely dogs. We had an Irish terrier one time I was working in Edenderry in the bog. He could run the legs off a hare, he was that quick. The rat was in the kitchen, you say? You should have called me.” He kissed the top of Andy’s head. “I’ll not let the rats get you, Andy darlin’. You’re safe with me.” He gave Andy’s shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “What do you say I make us a nice cup of tea?”
Vinny disappeared into the kitchen, and from the glassy clinks Andy knew it wasn’t only a nice cup of tea that Vinny was making for himself.
He woke another night, or early morning, to the sounds of a fight. It was on his floor, at the back of the building somewhere. A woman screamed and a door slammed. This was followed by a man shouting and swearing. Next came violent door-pounding and more screaming.
He was scared.
Luckily, Vinny was home. He got up and sat beside Andy and stroked his head and sang a soothing lullaby abou
t a drowsy grandmother falling asleep at a spinning wheel. Andy closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
Five weeks.
For Andy, one dreary day was much like another. By now he was thoroughly fed up being alone with nothing to do. What a month ago had seemed glorious freedom was now gloomy captivity. So he asked his father one evening about school — he was never going to find any friends if he didn’t go to school, he’d decided; looking through the wrong side of the iron railings wasn’t good enough; he needed to play some soccer with a bunch of kids his own age.
“School is a grand idea,” Vinny said. “I should have thought of it myself. I will pay a call at the education office tomorrow morning, first thing, and see about school for you.”
But the next day came and went without anything being done.
Feeling desolate and lonely, dreading even one more day in dreary idleness, Andy resolved to find a school for himself. Friends and soccer were too important to leave to Vinny while he was busy looking for a job. Andy couldn’t expect his father to find friends for him, too, so he picked out the school for himself, St. Dominic’s, the one with the railings, a few blocks from the Mayo, an old gray building that looked more like a fortress than a school. It was Catholic, which was fine. He was supposed to be Catholic anyway, though he and his mother hadn’t gone to church much, especially after Clay entered their lives. He decided to enroll as a new student the next morning. If they asked him about his father, he would say Vinny was working and couldn’t come, which wasn’t exactly a lie.
In the afternoon he found his way to the dog pound and looked at the strays in their cages. There were only three dogs, two big miserable ones with runny eyes who showed no interest in him, and a smaller, lively one who jumped at the bars, barking with excitement.
The pound keeper was a self-important man, pale and plump, who wore a Hitler mustache and a black uniform and sat on a swivel chair in a tiny office reading the newspaper. Andy asked him if he could take the small brown dog with the floppy ears, but was told to return with his mother or father. The man didn’t look up from his newspaper. “Can’t hand an animal over to a juvenile, sorry.”
“But he wants me to take him,” said Andy. “See how excited he is.”
“Sorry.”
“Please,” said Andy. “I’ll take good care of him, I promise.”
The man remained engrossed in his newspaper.
A wind started up and the swivel chair started spinning. The pound keeper yelled in fear as he clutched the arms of the chair. The chair toppled and threw him to the floor.
“I better go,” said Andy, hurrying out the door. “I’ll be back, Brownie,” he yelled at the dog.
“I would have spun the creature into a black hole had you not stopped me,” said a Young One angrily.
“We Sidhe strive to be like the meadow grass,” instructed the Old One. “We bend with the force of the wind. You must learn patience.”
“Is that why you do nothing to rid us of the great ugly rat in the kitchen?” jeered the Young One. “Or is it because you are afraid?”
The Old One smiled. “As well as patience, we must learn that all creatures are the same: each has the right to live its life.”
14
“TODAY WE’RE HAVING BREAKFAST for a change,” Andy declared the next morning. “I took some money from your coat pocket and bought stuff for pancakes, okay? And a jar of maple syrup.”
Vinny still hadn’t found a job, and the rat had appeared in the kitchen again last night. Andy hadn’t mentioned it yet. Vinny had done nothing about the rat. He’d done nothing about the cockroaches either. Vinny sat drinking his nice cup of tea while Andy stirred his disappointments into the pancake batter.
“Breakfast is a grand idea,” agreed Vinny.
“Do you ever go to church on Sundays?” Andy asked him from the hot plate.
“Huh? Church is it? I do, the odd time. Good Friday, Easter. And Christmas,” he added.
“Which one? St. Dominic’s?”
“That’s the one.”
“Could we start going to church, Father? Together, I mean, Sunday mornings? Mom used to take me sometimes when I was little. I liked it. Everyone was dressed in their best, and the girls and women had hats and gloves and rosary beads. We could take a prayer book and go early and always sit in the same pew and sing the hymns together. What do you say?” He poured batter into the hot pan.
“It would be grand altogether. Your mother could sing the hymns like a linnet when she was a girl. And at the ceilidh she’d sing ’Danny Boy’ and have everyone crying.”
“I’m starting school today,” said Andy.
“School?” Vinny sounded surprised. “What school?”
“St. Dominic’s. I can walk there in five minutes.” Andy put a pancake down in front of him.
“They didn’t ask to see me?”
“I haven’t been there yet. I’ll just go to the school office and enroll as a new kid from Vancouver. If they ask, I’ll tell them you’re at work.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“This pancake looks lovely.” Vinny picked up his fork. “Education is the wonderful thing. I never had much of it myself, but I’m glad to see you taking my advice. School is a remarkable idea.”
Andy brought his own pancake, flipped a second pancake onto Vinny’s plate, and sat opposite.
“I only want what’s best for you, Andy.”
“I know that, Vinny. That’s why I went to the pound yesterday. I found a dog I like. One that will keep the rats away. Might be good for the cockroaches, too. And he’ll be a great guard dog. He’s only a pup; he’s brown with floppy ears and big brown eyes. I called him Brownie and I could see his eyes light up; he liked his new name, I could tell. You’ll love him, I know you will. But you have to come with me to sign the papers, okay? After I get home from school?”
“Andy, I’ve got to be straight with you. The dog will have to wait till I find a job, and that’s all there is to it. Once I have a job, you will have all the time in the world to find a dog, I can’t be straighter than that.”
Disappointment, like a fist in his face. “You don’t want me to have a dog. You’re just like my mother and Clay.” He knew he was whining but couldn’t help himself.
“I promise you’ll have a dog as soon as we’re on our feet. Leave it to me.”
The disappointment turned to anger. “You’re always making promises! The problem with you, Vinny, is you always break them. A promise to you is just a way of putting things off! You just don’t ever get things done.”
Vinny said nothing, finishing only one of his pancakes, his face solemn.
Then, “You’re the great little cook, Andy; that was lovely. And as far as getting things done… you’re right.” His voice grew quiet. “I’m not much good as a father, am I?” He stared miserably down at the uneaten pancake.
When Andy saw the distress on his father’s face, his anger fled as quickly as it had come. “Considering you’re only a learner…” Andy was about to make a joke of it, but stopped himself when he saw his father’s despairing face, the slump of his shoulders, the sadness in his eyes.
“To tell the truth, Andy, your father has never been much good at anything, and that’s the size of it.”
“You mustn’t say that…”
“No… no, it’s true. I’m no good to anyone and no good to myself.”
Andy started to put his arms around his father, but Vinny got up and, without another word, went into his room and closed the door.
Andy stared at the door helplessly. Vinny had never done anything like this before; it was totally unusual. He cleaned up the breakfast things. The pancakes had been good, the first real breakfast he’d ever made, but his achievement was spoiled by the thought of having caused his father’s sudden depression. It just wasn’t like Vinny to be so unhappy; maybe looking for a job was getting him down. Andy threw himself onto the sofa and felt himself sinking into the s
wamp of his father’s misery. He began to see failure and despair worn into the torn, grubby curtains, smeared on the stained walls, ground into the shoddy furniture. Vinny’s life was a weight pressing Andy down further into the swamp; even the thought of being with kids his own age, in school, wasn’t enough to cheer him up. He would leave the school enrollment idea till tomorrow; today he didn’t feel so great.
It was only eleven o’clock in the morning, but he closed his eyes and fell asleep. When he awoke, Vinny was sitting in his chair reading The Sporting Life. “It’s late,” he said, “but you were sleeping like a baby. I couldn’t wake you up.”
Whether it was because of Vinny’s earlier sadness, or because of something else — an atmosphere of hopelessness that Vinny had created in the room, or the heavy gloom of the day, the rain beating on the fire escape outside — Andy had a sense of foreboding, a feeling that something bad was about to happen, a black premonition that clutched his heart.
Vinny, out of cigarettes, got up and went into his room. Andy could hear him ripping at a fresh carton — he never seemed to run out of them — as a knock came on the door, the usual code.
“Vinny,” Andy called in to him, “it’s one of your secret agents at the door.”
Vinny opened the door and two men burst in, black trench coats, one man big, the other small. Andy recognized them: the Halifax Mafia — Fingers Agostino and his sidekick.
Vinny was fast: he turned and sprang to the window, throwing it wide open for an emergency escape, but couldn’t climb out because the big man, just as fast, had a grip on his shirt and was pulling him back in. Andy ran into the kitchen, grabbed the frying pan, and jumped up, swinging it at the bodyguard’s head, catching him on the back of the neck. The bodyguard swore, releasing Vinny, and swatted Andy like a fly, catching him in the chest and catapulting him back against the wall. Andy, the wind driven out of him, collapsed on the floor in a daze while Vinny escaped out the window.
Flood Page 8
