Carn

by Patrick McCabe

  “I’ll tell you something Una,” said Don, “you’d really enjoy the life out there. Sydney—it’s the place to be. And it’s easy to get in there now . . . did you ever think about it?”

  “I was thinking of going to London,” said Sadie, then collapsed into nonsensical laughter.

  “We’d look well in Sydney all right,” said Una.

  “There you go,” said the Australian, setting more drinks down on the table. Sadie felt as if she was about to faint. The noise and the smoke swirled.

  One of the bikers stood up on the counter and with a wild look in his eyes cried, “Let’s show Mr Cooney what we think of him and his factory!” He lifted the microwave oven above his shoulders and sent it crashing against the drinks display against the wall. “There’s your present from Carn, Mr Fly Boy Cooney!”

  Another biker slashed the face of John F. Kennedy with a snooker cue. On the video screen the rows of women on meat hooks in the maniac’s house went up in flames as he removed his asbestos mask and twitched excitedly.

  The footballers continued. Here we go-oh! Here we Go!

  “Cooney betrayed Carn!” cried a boning-hall worker at the microphone. Behind the bar the mirror was smashed to smithereens.

  “She’s my cousin,” said Marty to a neighbour, explaining the prone figure of the unconconscious girl on the floor. “I think she might have had one over the eight.” He broke into laughter and squeezed the mystified neighbour’s arm. “What do you think?” he said to the assembly worker who was askew across the table, “One too many maybe?”

  The dogs barked, forgotten by their master who was still dead to the world.

  “You bitch. You dirty bitch,” said the mature woman’s husband bitterly.

  Then the policeman appeared in the doorway, followed by three of his colleagues. A hush fell. The bikers squashed the joint underfoot. The musicians began to drag their cables across the stage and pack up their instruments. The policemen moved to the centre of the floor. Slowly people drifted as anonymously as they could to the exit. The policemen stared at the wreckage that confronted them. They turned their attention to the bikers. The football chant stopped abruptly.

  “Reckon it’s time to get moving,” said Don, finishing up his drink.

  “Come on Sadie,” Una nudged Sadie who looked up emptily. “The police.”

  They made their way out the back. Outside the Pizza Parlour the chant had begun again. The bikers kicked a dustbin down the main street. We’re on the one road sharing the one load we’re on the road to God knows where . . . they sang, muted now.

  They stood in the snow.

  “Seems a shame to go home now. After all that. Just getting to know you again . . .” said Don.

  “Where could we go?” shrugged Una. “You know this place . . .”

  “What about the Hairy Mountains—just for old time’s sake. We’re going back to Aussie tomorrow . . .”

  Una hesitated. “What do you say Sadie?”

  Somewhere at the back of her mind, everything she cared about tugged at Sadie.

  “Just for old times sake Sadie . . .” said Don.

  The Australian felt in his coat pocket and produced a small tin. He opened it to reveal a nugget of cannabis.

  “Just for old time’s sake Sadie. We never had a chance to get to know each other right.”

  “Okay,” said Sadie.

  “The car’s over here,” said the Australian.

  “Why not?” whispered Una in Sadie’s ear as they crossed the road. “We’ll be dead long enough.”

  They climbed into the back seat and the rock and roll music from the stereo pulsated as they turned out of the main street and sped off towards the railway and the Hairy Mountains.

  XVIII

  It was after one when Benny arrived at the house. The northmen were inside playing cards. “Benny,” said one of them in a sharp Belfast accent. He joined them at the table. “Okay then,” the Belfast man began, “this is what we do.”

  The northmen were to search the house. They would find the arms dump if it was there. If it wasn’t, they would take the outhouses one by one. The northman from the factory and Benny were to keep their eyes open outside, one at the back, one at the front. The whole thing was to take no more than half an hour. Benny was handed a sawn-off shotgun. “You’ll need this too.” He threw him a woollen balaclava mask.

  “Right—time we were moving.”

  They donned their masks and checked their weapons. For the first ime, the enormity of what they were doing hit Benny and he felt nauseous. His hands were clammy and his head throbbed. He tried to get rid of Sadie and think of Joe.

  “Okay then Benny?’

  “Right.”

  The car drove slowly down the lane on to the main road.

  Alec Hamilton’s wife screamed when the door of the house was kicked open and a masked man caught her husband by the throat and pinned him against the wall. Her whole body began to shake when another man pressed the barrel of a pistol against her temple. Her daughter was hauled downstairs from her bedroom and flung on the couch.

  “You know why we’re here. Talk!”

  The elderly woman began to cry.

  “For the love of God . . .” pleaded Alec Hamilton.

  “Where is it?”

  “What are you talking about? Please—my wife . . .” The pistol butt bruised his cheek. “You have the wrong house. There’s nothing here. Please—you must have the wrong place.”

  “This is the place all right, Hamilton. Where have you it? Where have you the ironmongery for your Brit friends?”

  “Please.”

  “Tell us now when you have the chance or we’ll take the place apart brick by fucking brick . . . where is the dump Hamilton?”

  “You’re wrong. There’s nothing here.” He was flung to the ground.

  “Take up the floorboards. Take the place apart. You’re a dead man if we find it Hamilton.”

  Ornaments were swept from the mantelpiece. Drawers were thrown to the floor. A picture of the queen was dropped into the fire.

  “Where the fuck have you it Hamilton? If we don’t find it soon, your wife there can start praying for you . . .”

  XIX

  “It was nice of you to come Pat,” said Josie and smiled. Pat Lacey was uneasy, passing his hat from hand to hand as he stood in the centre of the kitchen. Josie was unsteady on her feet and her dressing gown was half open. She drank from the brandy glass and said, “I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to make it. I’m sure you have a lot of visitors at this time of the year.”

  “Her people . . . always call. It’s all near over now anyway.” He lit a cigarette with trembling hands.

  “Yes. It’s nice to have the family around you at Christmas Pat.” She poured him a full glass of brandy.

  He scratched his neck with his index finger and said, “There’s . . . nothing wrong Josie, is there?”

  She handed him the drink, puckered up her nose and looked at him with misty eyes. “Wrong? No, of course not. What makes you think there’s something wrong?”

  “The note you sent me—you never did that before, like.”

  “I missed you Pat.” She moved closer to him. She touched his cheek. He looked away. “We’re missing the big party in the Turnpike Inn Pat. Don’t you want to go to Mr Cooney’s party?”

  “I was thinking, maybe I could be getting along there now—I don’t want to leave it too late like. I’d be as well to get home early after it, in case they’d think there’s something wrong at home.”

  “Oh you’re not going yet Pat. There’s no need to rush. I got a bottle of this especially for you.”

  “I said I’d be there about nine.”

  “Ssh.” She put her tongue into his mouth and felt him shiver. She eased away from him and held the brandy glass to his lips. The liquid slowly went down. She filled it up again.

  “Ah I think I have enough Josie,” he said.

  She put her arm around his neck. She tickled his
nose with her nail and laughed, stumbling backwards. She laughed aloud. Pat Lacey had never seen her like this before. His eyes darted anxiously to the window.

  “Oh Pat, a big man like you. I thought all you men could hold your drink. I thought a big tough man like Pat Lacey could put down more than one wee glass of brandy, now. Come on Pat, don’t let me down.” She ruffled his hair. “It’s only a little bitty drink Pat.”

  He reddened as she looked deep into his eyes. She kept her eyes there and would not look away. The brandy went through him as she held the glass to his lips. She stroked his cheek. Her dressing-gown fell open. Slowly Pat Lacey went to his knees and she pressed his head to her abdomen. She cooed to him in the voice she kept for him. “You were glad to get my note, weren’t you Pat? You think you weren’t but you were. Were you afraid she’d find out? Who were you afraid of Pat?”

  His breathing was rapid beneath her.

  “Was it Jack Murphy? Were you afraid maybe Jack Murphy would find out? There’s no need to be afraid of Jack. You could trust Jack. You could tell him anything Pat. I say you could tell him anything.”

  She tightened her grip on the back of his neck. He whimpered.

  “Jack’s a man like yourself. He’d understand. Men understand one another.” She lifted him up gently and began to unbutton his shirt.

  “How’s Mrs Lacey these days Pat? Making you nice dinners?” She plucked at the grey hairs on his chest. “You don’t bother with the dinners when you come out to Josie’s, mm?”

  The Sacred Heart lamp flickered in the silence. Pat Lacey could not bring himself to look her in the eye.

  “You’ll have another drink with me Pat, won’t you? That’s better than any dinner. I’m lonely for someone to drink with. That’s why I dropped you the little note. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

  She took the bottle from the table and spilt some of it down his chest. She smiled and slowly began to rub it into his skin. She rubbed it into his face and his eyes. “Does she do that for you Pat? Does she give you a drink? Does she?” She cried out, Does she?

  He began to weep. “Please Josie—I don’t know what’s going on . . . what are you doing Josie? You’re not yourself . . . you don’t look well Josie . . .” The bottle fell on the armchair. Josie was unsteady on her feet. She settled herself against the heater. She stared at him without speaking.

  He looked back at her helplessly. He pleaded with her to speak to him. Then his words became heavy and slurred. His eyelids drooped and his head fell. Josie had dosed the brandy with her librium and the tryptasol the doctor had given her. Words trailed out of his mouth but had no meaning. He reached out to her but she backed away. He clutched at the arm of the chair. He managed to say please before he fell to the floor.

  Josie trembled. She was cold all over. She took another bottle from the cupboard and sat down to try and hold her mind together. It took her over a minute to pour the glass.

  When Pat Lacey awoke, a fog swirled in the room. The tiny flickering flame and the pitying eyes were gone. He tried to focus. Above him huge spidery cracks intersected on the bedroom ceiling. He saw the shape of Josie Keenan standing in the corner. He could hear her breathing. But she didn’t move. She was just standing there, in the shadows, looking down at him.

  He made to get up and found that he couldn’t budge. His hands were tied to the bedstead. She had tied his hands. Fear shot through him. She stood there looking.

  “Josie. What did you do? Josie—what are you doing to me? Please Josie—I’m not well . . . whatever you put in it—I have a bad heart . . .” He cried out with frustration when she did not answer him. He cried out over and over. He pulled at the bonds. Then she approached him and what he saw sickened and terrified him. She was wearing a tattered old rag of a dress, sizes too small for her. Her hair was matted and uncombed. She muttered and mumbled to herself as if he weren’t in the room. He got very afraid. “Josie—I had nothing to do with it. Murphy told me—it was the barman. Murphy’s destroyed over it. That’s the truth Josie . . . I’ll go to the police myself about it . . . Murphy was going to tell them everything.”

  She sat down on the bed beside him and looked at him. Her eyes were like empty caves. She stroked his cheek again. “Ssh wee pet,” she said.

  She held a bottle of pills in her hand. She emptied them on to the bed. “I have nice little sweets here Pat. Sweets for Josie.” She swallowed a handful of them. She retched. Then she smiled at him. “You don’t like me in this dress Pat, I can see. Phil liked it. Phil Brady was very fond of it. It’s a pity you don’t like it after me putting it on specially for you . . .’ course then you’re not like them . . . you’re different . . . you’re not so fond of the young girls.”

  Her cheeks were moist and raw. She cried and laughed at the same time. She fell onto his stomach and cried, “Poor Pat, poor old Pat.” Then she stumbled to the table and called over to him. “It was you sent him Pat. You told him all about the games. But you changed things around a little bit, didn’t you?”

  “Please Josie—for the love of Jesus. Take these off me. Cut this rope . . .”

  She came over to the bed. His whole body went rigid as he saw the bread-knife in her hand. She touched his cheek with it. “You want me to cut them? Cut them with this?”

  “Josie—I never did anything to you. I never sent anyone near you. I’d never harm you. I get afraid sometimes but as God is my judge I would never harm a hair on your head, that’s the truth . . .”

  “You and the Buyer Keenan, you should get talking. He liked the things you like. He showed me everything.”

  Her voice began to splinter like glass and she put her hands to her face. Pat Lacey only heard part of what she said as she sat there with her face covered, the knife lying between them. She cried fitfully. “There’s no skin on God’s sweet earth like the skin of a woman and God help me I’ve nobody now our Cassie is gone . . . Cassie please help me Cassie please help me . . .”

  She stood up and tried to cross the room but she fell back against the heater. She crawled across the floor. She came back to the bed on all fours. She pulled at the bedcovers but they came loose and she fell to the floor again.

  “Cassie please—take me out of this world . . . please take me wherever you are for the love of Christ . . . Cassie wherever you are.”

  She vomited. Sweat poured out of Pat Lacey as he worked on the cord. It bit into his wrist as he strained with his ebbing strength. She blubbered at the end of the bed, she saw nothing. His hand came free. He grabbed the bread-knife and cut his other arm free. Suddenly Josie looked up, her hair smeared with sick and her lip quivering. “Please Pat,” she said helplessly, “please,” reaching out to him.

  He got his clothes and fumbled frantically for the door latch.

  A light burned at the far side of the valley.

  He began to run, his head spinning.

  It was all over now. He would have to phone an ambulance. He couldn’t leave her there, her head was gone, there was no knowing what she would do to herself.

  He had ruined himself.

  Everything would come out now.

  XX

  The Australian inhaled the joint and passed it to Una. She giggled as she smoked, tears in her eyes. Don drummed on the dashboard in time to the music.

  “Remember those summers we used to come out here? Lie here all day . . . remember Sadie?”

  Sadie nodded and took the joint from Una. The car was filled with smoke.

  “Pity we didn’t have this stuff then,” said Una.

  The Australian put his arm around her. “Why don’t you come and see Bondi Beach with me Una?” he said.

  “I’d be gone in a shot,” said Una. “What about you Sadie?”

  Sadie was too drowsy to reply.

  “We’d be a right looking pair on Bondi Beach now, all the way from Abbeyville Gardens.”

  “Greatest country in the world,” said Don, nodding affirmatively to himself. “Greatest country in the world.”
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  XXI

  Pat Lacey crossed the field.

  The light was burning in Alec Hamilton’s house. How would he explain it to Hamilton? How could he explain what he was doing there at that time of night?

  Jesus.

  He thought of leaving her there. How could he be connected? They wouldn’t believe her.

  He couldn’t. Not in that state. God knows what could happen to her.

  Jesus Jesus.

  The house rose up across the field. He couldn’t run much further.

  In the farmyard Benny waited. A tarpaulin flapped in the light wind. His hands were wet. Inside he heard crockery crash against a wall. The voices became increasingly louder. He shifted from foot to foot.

  Why couldn’t they just find it and get the hell out, what were they doing? What was taking them so long?

  Then the dread that had been stalking him began to take root as he thought, It’s the wrong place, there’s nothing here . . .

  He started as a sheet of tin rattled against an outhouse wall. He tried to settle himself. His body had a skin of cold sweat. His stomach turned over.

  You lying bitch! cried a voice inside.

  Then a woman crying.

  Benny suddenly became aware of how tightly his teeth were clenched together.

  Come on for Christ’s sake and let’s get out of here . . .

  In the distance a dog barked. Then at the side of the outhouse there was a rustling sound.

  He stiffened.

  He heard it again.

  Was it the northman? What was he doing there? It was an animal. A dog or a sheep at the bushes. He strained to see but there was only darkness. Inside the woman cried out again and the Belfast voice spat, If you don’t tell me I’ll do it right here and now you bitch.

  Benny said to himself, Easy easy and waited for it to go but then close by he heard it again, and despite himself he cried out, Who is it who’s there?

  He only caught a glimpse of the face before the bushes sprang back and the man turned and ran. Benny shouted after him, Stay where you are stay where you are.