Bina

by Anakana Schofield

  It’s a funny thing when the papers write about you or the TV tells about you, but they have not talked to you. They have to imagine your voice. (You won’t have to imagine my voice.) They give you a voice based on what they believe your actions are. They talk about you like they are speculating through binoculars: See that hen in the yard, she looks unwell, she looks unhappy, the hen is wandering about out there burdened with the kinds of questions we have come to expect hens to be burdened with, Yes Jeremy we can confirm at this hour she’s a hen. We have confirmed she is wandering about and has a lot of feathers. She might lay an egg. Hens are known to lay eggs but the question of when this decision could be taken is something we don’t yet know. They give you a head and a body. Not your own. They create the sound of your feet and the ticking of your brain. I expect they are generally very good at it, but there’s the odd exception and I am and was that exception. I couldn’t recognize myself at all, but I was glad they used that old photo of me taking a hammer to the plane that time during the protest at Shannon Airport because I had a hat on.*13

  I was satisfied because I had the warm memory of what drove me to do it and the sheer rising pleasure I experienced during the act. Not unlike the people leaving angry messages on the answering machine having nothing got to do with me, the reason I attacked the plane was nothing to do with politics or protest or war at all, it had everything to do with Eddie.

  I was so fed up of him.

  We didn’t know you were going to do that, the other women said once I’d been hauled off to the police station.

  Sure I didn’t know myself, I told them.

  You never told us, they said.

  I didn’t know myself, I repeated.

  But God was I proud.

  It was worth it.

  Even how it has come back to double punish me now.

  Still worth it.*14

  I was mad for a day trip that time,*15 so when the others said they were going on a protest I tagged along. I swear I’d no clue what we were going protesting about. Some vague curry of planes, Iraq, Shannon, bullets in bags and bags inside planes that should not be flying over us. Truly, I didn’t care.

  On the way there we were given all kinds of instructing on putting fabric over our faces in case of tear gas and make sure you go to the toilet before we begin to climb over or through the fence. There were also people selected to carry the tools and conceal them, those who hadn’t been on the protest before. I was honestly just a Sherpa. I wasn’t supposed to do anything, except carry the tool, but I got a cheeky feeling I sprung to, which honestly was as surprising to myself as to the people around me. What are you doing, they hissed. And the Gardai who hauled me away asked the same. It was a bit like being in a James Bond film. I’ve not seen many of them, as they are very noisy and I don’t like the sight of himself shirtless, rolling about in bed. Once it all started it was great altogether! I couldn’t believe the fun in it. I’d always thought protests were full of griping farmers who should stay home and get a haircut. More and more my indignant feelings about Eddie rose and as we cut the wire fence and crawled through I had the widest sense that I was escaping from Eddie. And, I’ll be honest, it was then I went a bit far. I went a bit further than I intended. I went mad!

  Some of the things that have been written and said about me are patently untrue. But that day I confess I went a bit far and surprised even myself.

  As I pounded the plane with the hammer, I imagined I was knocking out every one of Eddie’s teeth and finally shutting him up. The Guard, Harry, said that time in court that it was very hard to drag me away from the plane and it took four of them to restrain me. (“She was like a mad boar Your Honour and her wild teeth were clenched.”)

  Of course they were exaggerating.

  Of course I didn’t tell them about Eddie.

  Of course this partly explains why the Crusties are back outside my back door camping and determined to defend me.

  You stood up for innocents!

  Now we’ll stand up for you.

  Oh God

  Please don’t.

  Everyone just lie down and have a nap.

  A never-ending one.

  Jealousy was a factor.

  Mr. David Bowie has warned me about it. Yeah Bina, there’s a lot of jealousy. And now the pair of us are here warning you.

  A crowd of seven sleep-deprived beards and tattoos had gathered outside the Garda station chanting for my release, and when I finally left a rowdy cheer arose like I was a footballer who’d scored a goal. To be honest now I didn’t dislike the clapping and cheering, but when they called Speech! Speech! I demurred and asked for a cup of tea and a piece of toast. I feel like I’ve had an operation, I said to the two strange young beards hugging me. (The one on the left could have used a good scrub to the armpit region. The one on the right was shouting in my ear, so I couldn’t establish what condition of hygiene he was in at all.)

  It was a cup of tea I wouldn’t forget the taste of in a hurry.

  One of them, a Donal, drove me all the way home in his bumpy van, which was full of flags, gas masks and lidded buckets I worried might have urine in them, and three dogs asleep with their legs stretched out. He even had a few traffic cones back there. I fell asleep listening to him gabbling on about Venezuela. He could have murdered me but he didn’t.

  That fella, the Donal, is not camping outside my back door with the current band of Crusties. I’ve been told he has a broken leg due to an altercation involving a lamp post near the American embassy. I said outright there’s to be no one injured or living on crutches in this encampment. It’s an awful shame about the leg as he’s likely the only one among them I’d let in for tea or to use my toilet.

  Don’t forget.

  Eddie being Eddie left the evidence flat square with the battery drained out of it in the middle of my kitchen table. Honestly I would have discarded it without a thought. Only that the Tall Man saw it when he snuck in for a final sly visit*16 & Scrabble game we’d grown accustomed to having if he is in the area for the reason he comes to this area and it is a reason I cannot state here.

  But you have a Tablet, he said. I thought you couldn’t receive emails.

  I can’t, I said.

  You can, he said, and he lifted it up and turned it over.

  I can?

  And then I could.

  Don’t forget.

  This is how I saw the messages. This is how I saw all the messages Eddie had been posting on the internets. This was the reason for all these people shouting at me down the phone. They were nothing got to do with the Group at all. They weren’t angry at me for helping the people I’ve helped. It was nothing to do with the week I spent in prison. Or the papers calling me a terminally mad woman with a syringe and a bucket. They were angry at Eddie. And because Eddie put my phone number up there on the internets, they became angry at me. He wrote my phone number under his name where he shouted at people on the Tablet. The Tall Man showed me the messages, or postings, as he called them. Beefcake Eddie, Eddie had named himself, and he had put a picture of the Incredible Hulk wearing a party hat and had described himself as Pizza, Single With a Septic Tank & ready to take your call right now. What are ye waitin fer…form an orderly queue laydies…096

  What is it? Has he us advertised for pizza? Is that why there are so many angry calls?

  The Tall Man fiddled a bit with the tip of his finger and pinched at the screen and up the postings flashed. I couldn’t read them. Too small. So out he called them to me. He was neither happy nor unhappy as he read them and only at one point did he remind me that it wasn’t necessary for me to know the details of them. You have a fulfilling life Bina,*17 he said, and listening to this man’s ravings will not enhance it. It is of no benefit for you to hear this.

  Read on, I commanded him.

  “I KNEW OF A WOMAN ON THE WESTPORT TRAIN LAYERS OF CLOTHING. HIDING A BOMB INSIDE A FROZEN CHICKEN. !!!! HATE FUCKIN WESTPORT.”

  “GET RID OF THE SCARF
HEADS SEND THEM BACK TO THE DESERT WITH THEIR CAMELS.”

  “ISIS LIVING IT UP IN FOXFORD. BUS DRIVER IS A GAY ISIS MAGGOT. BEHEAD HIM. SEND HIS HEAD BACK TO ALEPPO.”

  (There were an awful lot of messages about a particular bus driver in Foxford who Eddie insisted stole his tool bag. I can’t recall Eddie owning any such tool bag.)

  “MAN WITH BEARD WORKING AT CENTRA DELI IS A PEDO. DO NOT BUY FOOD THERE. SPAYCIALLY THE HAM. HAM IS CONTAMNATED.”

  “WHY ARE YOU HERE? GO AWAY. GO BACK. ISRAEL BUILD A WALL. COME BUILD A WALL. WALL IN THE CENTRA YOU KNOW WHERE TO FIND THE ISIS COCK SUCKER. HE IS WORKING IN THE DELI AND NAME IS MICHAEL. WEARING A BADGE WITH MICHAEL ON IT.”

  And on and on he’d tiraded about Westport. That Westport was full of terrorists. That beheadings were happening on the train. In the toilet. That there was frozen chicken that was full of bombs. That. That. That.

  I was exhausted.

  Come again? I said. He’s out of his mind. I only ever took a felting course in Westport. I bought a few jars of honey and I ate a bowl of soup. I don’t know if he’s ever even been to Westport in all the years I was lumbered with him. What has he agin Westport? He’s gone out of his mind.

  He is and he has, the Tall Man said, and shook up the bag of Scrabble tiles to remind us more serious business awaited. I haven’t long, he said watching the kitchen window.

  As the Tall Man read onward, the themes of Eddie’s announcements changed into football, Arsenal giving away goals and THIS GOVERNMENT and the Tall Man explained Eddie never stopped going on about THIS GOVERNMENT and he was very angry about the Arsenal Manager until his regalings were terminated on the date I estimate he fled from here. In particular, Eddie fixated viciously on certain politicians and individual footballers and then more pedestrian topics were dipped into: a complaint about a broken lamp, an inquiry as to whether fishing licences were yet in stock. Finally he seemed to settle down and talked mostly of women who’d been murdered or tragically killed in accidents—like he cared—and then he screamed about football matches in between his THIS GOVERNMENT ARE ALL PEDOS GIVING EVERYTHING TO PEDO JUDGES IN CAPITAL LETTER BROADCASTS.

  How do I get my telephone number off there?

  The Tall Man said he had no idea how it could be done. It was hard to have anything taken off the internets and that was why it was important not to let anything get onto it. You need to think of it as a tunnel, he said. You pass through it, you don’t dawdle examining the tiles or someone might clunk you over the head with the butt of a rifle. Brisk and briskly, he said. No lingering.

  I hadn’t a clue what he was talking about, but being tired and inclined to mental weariness I didn’t concern myself any further over his cluttery meanings.

  Don’t forget

  This was the difference between myself and the Tall Man, he was always on edge, kept moving and on his guard. I wasn’t. I didn’t really give too much bother because I was only ever trying to get away from Eddie for a few hours. The Tall Man had me warned.

  Sometimes he even wore a disguise like he was a minister. Once he wore long robes like a monk. He looked very strange. Uniforms are good, the Tall Man said. No one looks twice at anyone wearing a uniform. I confess I looked three times at him as the robe was tied funny and a bit small on him.

  When I thought back through the telephone messages I now understood why people were offering to kill and torture me or were chiding me over my disgusting hatred and attitudes to the Arabians. There was only one poor simpleton asking to add extra pineapple to his previous order. And when I went back to find his first order he had phoned three times to tell me extra cheese and no healthy crust and could I cut one slice of pizza into small chunks because his father struggled with his teeth.

  It also explained the drunk giggler calling herself Fatima and saying into my phone in a horsey snort, come and get me bhoy. And ringing back to see if I hadn’t noticed the first time, she was in the queue and a third time, the next morning, to apologize and ask that I erase the message and that I should never ever phone the number she’d given because her husband would murder the pair of us. I was drunk and I am regretful and my name is not Fatima so do not look for me, she said into my answering machine, which I found both terribly honest and formal.

  And how did you never figure these messages were strange, the Tall Man wanted to know. To be honest now after the first few I stopped pressing the button and just let them mount up. Anyone who was looking for me knew well where to find me here behind my back door, and anyone I wanted to speak to wouldn’t phone me this way to begin with. They’d never leave a message, and you could say I severed from my phone. It sounds worse than it is. I was so delighted Eddie was gone, but more worried about lifting the phone and finding him there than never speaking to another soul again.

  Another warning just slipped in there.

  Watch your phone.

  Watch who has your number and who gives out your number.

  Never write it on your phone.

  Keep it private.

  Keep it off the internets.

  Don’t listen to the answering machine. Don’t even have one. Anyone who wants you will know where to find you. Behind your door. Tell them to text. Only do texting. You can delete texting. You can ignore text. You can silence text. It’s hard to erase those lunatics bellowing out of your answering machine, even if they are funny, which they sometimes are.

  It took a Tablet I didn’t know I had and a stranger to disclose the simple facts of the matter. As it is. As it always is. If you are looking at a person it’s hard to say the things you might whisper very comfortably behind a pillow or a curtain. The here and the there. And don’t mind the ones who’ll say it’s neither here nor there. It’s absolutely both here and there. I’m here and he’s there and finally I can say what should have been said from here to there. And that was most certainly a warning.

  No ah well, toss it off.

  Toss it on.

  Pile it on.

  Tell it all.

  Once you’re in the protected shadow of an exit.

  A short inventory will now take place:

  I let

  1. Eddie in

  2. The Tall Man in

  I was let in by

  Tomás

  Phil

  Others I cannot name here.

  I place this inventory here as evidence. Why did she let him in, you are probably asking, as indeed I am, but if you look at the total number of people who let me in you can see that it’s not unreasonable to let people in. It’s what we do. We let people in. How it is.

  The trouble lies in getting them back out.

  Let that sink in or register before you open your door and say the fateful words come in or worse still, would you like a cup of tea?

  Imagine instead there’s no tea where you live and where there’s none, there’s none worth offering.

  Are we agreed?

  Grand so, we’ll go on.

  Tomás is why.

  Why we make the videos.

  I’d have been in prison if we didn’t have his video

  I might still be yet

  Because Phil didn’t make a video

  Her daughters are after my gullet.

  Daughters who never visited her when she was alive

  Want to bring her back

  To not visit her

  All over again.

  They love revising the dead over the living

  No one has any time for you until you’re dead.

  And undemanding.

  Then there’s nothing they won’t do for ye.

  How it is.

  Once you’re dead

  Everyone loves you

  Once you’re dead.

  Everyone’s defending you

  Once you’re dead.

  Hurry up and be dead if you want to be liked.

  The Tall Man is usually gone after the video.

  He records it and departs.

  Totes and uploads it.

  It’s e
xplained to the departee.

  Long, hard, syllabled out to them.

  If you ingest

  You will divest.

  If this pill goes down the hatch, you’ll fear no more the heat of the sun. There will never be any sun again. Latch closed. Lights out. Dead as a duck. Well, my ducks.

  Of course they know.

  How would you ask for that pill and believe it’s a vitamin as Phil’s daughters are claiming.

  And

  Believe you me when I tell you it takes some serious amount of asking before you’d get it.

  Eddie hit me on the head.

  I was very surprised.

  He hit me on the head awful suddenly

  And he didn’t notice doing it.

  He just carried on and asked was there orange juice in the fridge.

  It was incidental, as if he’d ticked off something on a list or scratched the ears on a cat.

  I would like to say that it was after he hit me on the head I started forgetting things. Like the bank card I have mentioned or I am going to mention because I can’t recall everything I mention as I am mentioning it, but that would likely be a lie. I am trying to practise not lying for the court appearance. I am trying to practise direct, bold honesty, no matter the consequences.