by Martha Long
The line finally ended, and the ma stood up, everyone following her slowly down the aisle and out to the car for the short drive home. I turned to follow, saying to the priest, ‘Thank you, Father,’ and looked at the coffin. Harry would rest here for the night, I thought.
‘Martha!’
I looked up to see the priest with the Mass book in his hand.
‘Would you like to go over the reading you will give at Mass in the morning?’
‘Is it the psalms, Father?’
‘Yes,’ he said, showing me the book.
I glanced at the reading, my eyes flicking down the page, and lifted my head and said, ‘That is fine, Father. Thank you.’
He looked at me uncertainly, his eyes flickering over me. ‘Are you sure? Would you not like to have a practice first? I could help you with some of the more difficult words.’
I stared at him, my eyes turning to flint. ‘Oh, I think I can manage fine, Father. There’s not too many big words.’
He stared at me, even more confused, wondering where my hostility was coming from. I stared at his well-fed, pale, anaemic face. Years of study! Poring over books. An academic, member of an elite order of priests. They moved themselves into the parish here to work with the poorest of the poor. A well-meaning snob who thought his years of study would prepare him to lift the poor out of their ‘mire’ and give hope and meaning to their lives. What a prat!
This afternoon in the sitting room, I had sat listening to him talk about the last moments of Harry’s life.
‘Harry and I were good friends,’ he said. ‘He used to come down to the oratory and sit in the corner and read the Bible. He was very active in the community. He ran discos for the children and did odd jobs for the elderly. All his own doing! It was not organised! We would talk,’ he said, looking very far away, remembering. ‘I was the last person to see him before he died.’
I sat up, my heart fluttering. I stared at him, waiting for him to continue.
‘Yes!’ he said, looking very intently at me. ‘I was just passing. It was around nine o’clock, and I saw someone falling from the top balcony. I ran, reaching him just as he hit the ground. I lifted his head into my arms. He was dying, and I whispered the Last Rites into his ear. I did not know it was Harry. I held him in my arms and I did not know!’
He was shaking his head, trying to figure this out. I stared at him, my body leaning out of the chair, trying to catch everything he said. Trying to understand! ‘Did he say anything?’ I asked, holding my breath.
‘No, he was dying. He did murmur, and I felt the last breath leave his body. But he was gone!’
My eyes dropped to the floor, picturing Harry’s last moments dying in the priest’s arms.
‘Would ye like a sup a tea, Father?’ the ma asked, handing him a mug with a chip on the rim and stains around the outside. ‘An there’s a few biscuits,’ she said, smiling and handing him a plate full of Kimberley biscuits. She must have put the whole packet on that plate.
‘No! No! I won’t, thank you,’ the priest said, looking at the mug and plate with horror. He waved his arm at her, dismissing her as if she was a nuisance.
Me ma looked at him, then at the plate, the smile fading from her face. ‘Are ye sure?’ she asked, shoving the plate at him and smiling, looking hopeful he might change his mind.
‘No! No!’ he said emphatically, waving both arms now and looking to the wall, waiting for her to go away.
I watched him, gobsmacked! Completely oblivious to the hurt he was causing her. Biscuits cost money! They didn’t eat them every day of the week. And they were brought out specially for him. By refusing her, he was telling her she wasn’t good enough. She’s only dirt.
‘Just take one, Father!’ the ma said, leaning into him. She wasn’t giving up!
I watched him recoil, holding his breath. When she moved back, staring at the plate, he sat up straight and leaned towards her, saying, ‘Why don’t you relax and take a bath?’
Me ma’s eyes flickered, confused. Then she blinked at him and shook her head back, trying to smile, feeling very embarrassed, and rushed off to the kitchen. I could see she was very hurt. The bastard! Arrogant, patronising, self-righteous fool!
I took in a deep breath, sat back and said in a very crisp, clear, clipped cold voice, ‘It must be a tremendous handicap for you, Father, having spent your life closeted in the dusty corridors of academia. I would say it’s rather like being shut off in an ivory tower. Now, here you are, in the twilight years of your life, being thrown into the deep end of real life among real people.’ I stared at him coldly, seeing his eyebrows knitting together, listening to the words resonate in his head.
Then he shook himself and said, ‘No! No, absolutely not! I have chosen to come here myself. We are working with the community. Trying to get projects going, leadership, training the people to take control of their own lives.’ Then he stared at me, too polite to ask how I fitted into the family. Why I was the odd one out, appearing to be educated.
I let him stare. Then broke the silence. ‘I think you may get a real education now, Father. Listen and learn. These people have been through the university of life. They will teach you everything you need to know about real life. Any fool can learn to read. You can at least offer them that. Then I believe the Church will be redundant. It won’t take them long to figure they’ve been had by “Old Mother Church”.’
Yeah, so now I have no time for him. I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire! I walked out of the church, saying, ‘Goodbye, Father. I will see you in the morning. I have a lot to do now.’
I stepped out into the night; it was cold now and foggy. I shivered, feeling the damp go through me, and pulled up the collar of my coat. The funeral car was just about to pull off when I opened the door, leaned in and said to the ma, ‘I won’t come up to the house, Ma. I’m going home to get some sleep. You should do the same, all of you,’ I said, looking at them. ‘I’ll get here first thing in the morning. Goodnight, everyone.’
‘Goodnight,’ they murmured, sounding very tired.
I slammed the door shut, watching the car take off slowly, heading for the flats and home. I rushed over to my own car, jumped in and rolled a cigarette, then started the engine, turning the car for home. It had been a very long day.
18
* * *
I knelt with my face in my hands, glancing up at the priest on the altar, his arms held out to the people, intoning the Mass for the dead. The church was packed, and the thick incense floated heavily around the coffin. I dropped my head again, feeling weak. I was beginning to feel the pressure taking its toll on my health.
‘Martha!’
I looked up, seeing Dinah was pulling at the sleeve of my coat.
‘Look!’ she said, nodding to the priest.
I followed her eyes up to the priest. He was standing now, nodding down at me to come up and give the reading. ‘Oh, sorry,’ I muttered, shaking myself, trying to come back to my senses. I stood up, lifting up my long navy-blue army coat. It was wool, with silver buttons down both sides. The soldiers wore them during the First World War. They called it a ‘great coat’. It certainly was. I was very glad of it, especially in this cold wintry weather, because it keeps me lovely and warm.
I walked up to the altar and stood in front of the lectern. The Bible was opened, and I glanced down, taking a deep breath, and straightened my shoulders. Then I swept my eyes around the church, taking in a huge sea of faces. Some people were staring up, looking very still, the strain showing on their faces. They all knew Harry. He was part of them. It pained them to lose one of their own. Especially a young one. Other people, older mothers and grannies, sat with their rosary beads, turning them and moving their lips in prayer. Everyone so quiet. I couldn’t see Charlie. People were standing tightly packed together, filling the doorway and out to the yard. My breath caught in my throat. Jesus! So many people here just for Harry. Him alone!
My brain dimmed, and the book swam in front of my
eyes. I put my hand on the lectern, steadied myself and took another deep breath, seeing Harry in my mind’s eye, laughing at me. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘You can do it!’
I was happy to hear my voice ring out in a clear voice, projecting to the people outside.
‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea . . .’ My voice broke. I took a deep breath. ‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me, thy rod and staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointed my head with oil. My cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.’
I did not look up again, feeling humbled my brother had such an impact on people. So many had turned up. They were willing to stand out in the cold and rain. Stand quiet, and with such respect. It was more than I will ever achieve if I live to be a hundred.
I walked to the middle of the altar, bowed to the blessed sacrament, then turned and headed back to my seat. I heard the ma give a little sob. ‘Are you all right, Ma?’ I whispered, putting my arm gently on her shoulder. She was staring at the coffin draped with the purple linen cloth, with a large black cross in the centre. She said nothing, just kept staring and wiping her nose with the corner of her scarf. Then everyone stood up, the priest giving his final blessing, and Jackser and Teddy took up the front of the coffin, and Gerry and Charlie – he appeared from behind somewhere – took the back. They steadied the coffin on their shoulders, giving it a little lift together, then started the slow march down the aisle, and we all fell in behind them. Taking Harry on his final journey, where we would lay him to rest for ever. In the hope he would find peace at last.
The churchyard was crowded with people; they spilled out onto the road. Behind, the crowd following slowly from the body of the church got stuck in a bottleneck. All stood still, silent, staring. Filled with sadness for one of their own. Lost before his time. I recognised a lot of the faces from my childhood. People who’d lived in the city centre, friends of Jackser.
I saw ‘travelling people’, outcasts to some. But they had been friends to Harry. A very noble people, with their own code of honour, loyalty and great respect for tradition. Nobody spoke; everyone was waiting for the funeral car to move off so they too could join the cortège for Harry’s last journey on this earth.
The cortège moved off, very slowly winding its way around the area to the flats. All along the street, people stopped, with hands joined in prayer, and blessed themselves and lowered their heads as the cortège made its way to Harry’s flat. It is an old tradition in Dublin, to bless yourself when a cortège passes in the street. But people stood waiting. Those who had not attended the Mass still wanted to show their last respects. I looked back and stared in astonishment. Every conceivable contraption on wheels was moving behind us. The cortège went back a long way; I couldn’t see the end of it. Harry was really special, I thought. So many people respected him. The cortège stopped outside Harry’s flat, and we all looked up.
‘I keep expectin Harry te put his head over the balcony an shout, “Hang on! I’m comin down!”’ Dinah whispered.
The flat was empty now. But I got a sense it was still filled with the ghosts of children’s laughter and the haunting memory of Harry’s last days of agonising pain.
The cortège moved off, heading slowly out of the flats, and picked up speed, but still slow enough to allow Harry time for his final journey.
We arrived in the gates of Glasnevin Cemetery and drove slowly along the high wall, past the lookout tower, where men stayed alert at night to catch the grave robbers in Victorian times. Past the high monuments erected by the nuns for the ‘fallen women’. That’s what the inscription read. Yes! Fallen into the grip of the religious gestapo. Past, now, the ‘Angels’ Plot’. Babies buried by the hospitals without a name because they were stillborn. The mothers didn’t even get to see their babies.
Then the funeral car stopped under an old oak tree, where the grave was opened for Harry. I was happy about that. It would give him shelter, protect the gravestone when it’s erected from the elements. Everyone climbed out, and the ma made straight for the tree. Jackser stood around the graveside with the boys grouped around him. The gravediggers placed the coffin on top of the green carpeting, holding it with ropes. Everyone stood well back, leaving the graveside free for the family and the priest. I went and stood beside the ma. She was very pale, and I put my arm around her. Dinah stood on the other side of her. Me ma never took her eyes off the coffin. Then the priest threw earth down on the coffin as the gravediggers lowered it down, intoning, ‘From earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, so shall you return.’
I went to throw earth down onto the coffin and suddenly the ma sprinted past me. I watched her go as if in slow motion. But she was heading for the grave, as she screamed, ‘No! Don’t.’ She had her hands out. It was so quick, nobody had time to react. I was sprinting without knowing, with Dinah on my tail, and grabbed her coat, pulling her back without saying a word. I pulled her around, wrapping my arms firmly around her, and brought her back to stand beside the car.
‘They’re puttin him down there!’ she wailed, looking terrified. She had her hands on her face, staring back at the grave in terror. ‘Don’t let them!’ she screamed out on a long wail, throwing back her head with her eyes rolling in her head. Jesus! She’s gone into shock. Everything is coming back to her! She’s reliving her family’s death. Her mother!
‘Come on, Ma! Get into the car.’ I opened the car door and put her sitting inside.
Dinah came over and sat in beside us. ‘What’s wrong, Ma?’
‘She’s in shock, Dinah. It’s too much for her.’
The ma went very quiet and stared at her hands, opening them and closing them, and wrapping her arms around herself. But she didn’t say another word. She was staring into another world, another time, another horror. One we could never enter.
Nobody spoke. We were all lost in our own world. Long ago. Another lifetime. We had all pushed the pram past this same cemetery in the dead of night with Baby Harry lying sleeping. On our way to start a new life, and the last leg of my journey before I would leave them mercifully for ever. To start my own journey alone, without them. Harry’s journey had been a short one but a hard one, and he did not survive it. Now he would sleep in this place for ever. Rest in peace, Harry.
I drove home with my ears ringing and my head spinning. It was late when I left the ma. Five o’clock. I managed to get her into bed, and everyone sat around talking about Harry and their memories of him. They all had plenty to eat, and Jackser and Teddy stayed off the drink. Nobody was invited back to the house, and the people went to the nearest pub to have the wake, but without us. I think the message got through to them. Harry had lived on drink the last few months of his life.
I left the ma’s flat and raced to the shops to buy food for the coming arrival of Sarah. I’ll be collecting her from the airport on Sunday, so I better remember to get petrol. I shot through the village and raced up the hill, anxious to get home. I can’t wait to get to bed. This week has been the longest week of my life.
I drove the car into the garage, locking it behind me, and walked through the garden wondering where Bonzo was, no sign of him! I pushed open the side gate, locking it, and walked along the side passage, finally locking the end gate, and looked around. Still no sign of the dog. Jaysus! That dog is the bane of my life.
I let myself in through the French doors, locking them. That bleedin dog can go and take a running jump for himself. I’m not getting up to let him in when he comes home barking to be let in at probably three o’clock in the morning. I slammed the front door shut, locking it. Serves him right! I could have done with his company!
I picked up th
e bags of shopping and dragged them into the kitchen, dropping them on the floor, and filled the kettle, dying for a cup of tea. I put the shopping away while the kettle was boiling, then sat down at the kitchen table and rolled a cigarette. The tea was lovely! Hot and sweet, as it slid down my neck. I took a deep drag of the cigarette and stared out the window, listening to the trees keening in the wind and watching the dark creep quickly around the house.
I gave a big sigh of relief, glad to be home. There’s nothing like having your own little roof over your head and your own front door. Still! I listened to the silence inside the kitchen, and the only sound was the ticking of the clock on the wall and my breathing. It’s been terribly lonely since Sarah left. God! I can’t wait to see her. She’s coming on Sunday. The day after tomorrow! I hope everything goes well. I only saw her once since she left me. How long ago was that? Ah! Last year. The first time since she left.
19
* * *
I remember now. I was in hospital waiting for that operation. The nurse had breezed over to me, sitting in the bed, and announced, ‘Martha! Don’t disappear! The priest is coming down to give you the Last Rites.’
‘What! Why?’
‘You might be going to theatre in the morning.’
‘Yeah, like hell I will. They’ve been telling me that now for the last four months and I’m still waiting!’
The professor came in and told me the last time I lay here waiting and ready, bloody dehydrated – how many times did that happen? – anyway, he sat down on the side of my bed and told me mournfully, “My dear!” he said, taking my hand and wrapping it in his. “We cannot get an anaesthetist to work with the surgeon. You are too risky. Your thyroid, the Graves’ disease, is so toxic that if an attempt were made to remove it, you would get a storming! That is, the thyroid would shoot huge amounts of thyroxine into your body, killing you!”’
