Father's Music

by Dermot Bolger

  The older fishermen opened the van to remove some sort of long flat box, wrapped in a black refuse sack. Luke took his wallet out and joked with the other fisherman. The droning was faint at first, smothered by the intervening hill until suddenly it drowned out the sea birds as an Irish army helicopter crested the hill and hovered above us. The fishermen looked up startled as police cars appeared at both bends of the road. Two plain clothes detectives with Uzi machine guns rose from behind gorse on the slope of the hill. One ran to cover Luke while the other screamed at me to get out of the car. I wanted to explain but the man ordered me to turn around, kicked my legs apart and frisked me roughly. He pushed me towards Luke who ignored the guns and squared up to him.

  ‘Leave her alone,’ he said, ‘she’s only an English tourist.’

  Local uniformed guards got out of the squad cars. They stood about, resentful at being ignored by the Dublin detectives. A third car drew up behind them and Detective Brennan climbed out. The older fisherman looked at a local guard.

  ‘What in the name of Jaysus is going on, Seamie?’ he asked.

  ‘Weren’t you the fecking eejit to get involved in this carry on, Michael James?’ the policeman replied. ‘Don’t deny you were taking bales out of the water.’

  ‘Shut the fuck up!’ Brennan roared over the drone of the helicopter. He waved an all clear and the pilot moved off out to sea and then rose further into the air.

  ‘What fecking bales?’ the fisherman asked, indignant.

  ‘You were told to stay quiet,’ Brennan shouted. ‘You will be formally charged.’

  The fisherman ignored him and offered a cigarette to the policeman called Seamie who shook his head.

  ‘Is that fecker astray in the head?’ he asked Seamie. ‘The only bale in our nets last night was a bundle of Reader’s Digests in a plastic bag. There’s only three useless things in life; the Pope’s prick, a nun’s tit and Reader’s Digest.’

  Luke tried to take my hand to reassure me, but I kept my distance. I was scared, and yet I felt a vengeful glee that he had been caught. He stared at Brennan, saying nothing although his face was white with anger or shock. One of the detectives donned plastic gloves and lifted the refuse sack on to the bonnet of a squad car. He removed a thick polystyrene carton sealed with tape and used a knife to open it carefully. It was packed with ice, from which the round, flat body of a large fish spilled out and would have slithered to the ground if he hadn’t caught it. Luke managed to keep his voice calm, but I could see his body shake with fury.

  ‘I’ve just paid for that turbot,’ he said. ‘It was meant as a surprise for an old man in London, so get your dirty fucking hands off it.’

  The detective placed the fish on the bonnet and examined the hollow carton. There was nothing else inside it. I kept staring at the open mouth and flat glossy eyes of the turbot. I felt sick. I could see Grandad Pete as a boy gazing in wonder as his father laid such a fish on the kitchen table. I had told Luke the story on the plane. Only the most sensitive of men would have bought one for me to bring home on the plane tonight. Awkwardly the detective closed over the ice-box again. A local policemen jumped from the back of the van.

  ‘Clean as a whistle,’ he said, ‘there’s nothing in here.’

  ‘For feck’s sake,’ the fisherman told Seamie, as annoyance overcame his initial shock. ‘I’ll confess to going poaching once or twice, seeing as you were with me. But that fish was legitimately caught at sea. I know this man from playing music in London. We’d a drink together last night and he asked me to keep him a turbot if one was caught. You’ll find it entered as part of the catch. Not even Brussels can object to that.’

  ‘I’ll pay you, Michael James,’ Luke said, ‘but you can throw it back. I’ll not ask anyone to eat anything these bastards have handled.’

  The detective deliberately knocked against the carton and it burst open on the roadway. I glanced at Luke, not knowing what to believe.

  ‘This has nothing to do with you,’ Luke told the fishermen. ‘This detective obviously-feels he hasn’t already done enough for my family.’

  ‘I’m only warming up, Duggan,’ Brennan said. ‘I know you’re up to something.’

  ‘You could never pin anything on my brother, Brennan,’ Luke addressed him for the first time. ‘So you hounded him like a judge and jury, pointing the finger over a robbery you knew he hadn’t committed until some lunatic plugged him. It’s my turn next, is it? I left Ireland because the likes of you never gave me a chance. I’d a teacher the same who gave me a dig every morning. ‘That’s for what you did,” he’d say. ‘If you did nothing, it’s for what you’re bound to do.” My brother is barely cold in the clay where you helped put him and now I can’t bring a friend on holiday without you hounding me.’

  The younger fisherman who had a foxy look eyed me up. ‘Is this your one who imagines she’s Mac Suibhne’s daughter?’ he asked.

  ‘She is who she is,’ Luke replied sharply.

  ‘Shut the fuck up, the lot of you,’ Brennan ordered. ‘Get into the cars. You’ll be interviewed in Killybegs.’

  ‘This girl has nothing to do with anything,’ Luke told him.

  ‘She’ll go where she’s fucking told,’ Brennan snapped and put his face up to Luke. ‘I’ve had enough of dealing with you and the scum you gather around you.’

  ‘I’m going home to my bed,’ Michael James said. ‘There’s foreign factory ships draining the ocean of every scrap of fish while the Irish navy pisses around like blue-arsed flies in our couple of Mickey Mouse patrol vessels. Yet I can’t take a shite without you boyos up my arse about quotas. The fish was caught legally. I know nothing about anything else.’

  ‘You’ll stay in custody until we’ve examined everything you landed in your nets,’ Brennan said.

  ‘Well, that’s fecking it,’ Michael James spat as I was pushed into a car with Luke. ‘I always knew the special branch were thick, but I never knew you fecking read Reader’s Digest.’

  I could see a line of squad cars on the quayside in Killybegs which had been sealed off. A battered looking fishing boat was being combed by men in white overalls. A policeman deposited a pile of sodden magazines on to the floor of the station. Michael James kicked them as he was led past.

  ‘The sea is like a tip out there,’ he said. ‘There was a big yacht moored last night with somebody throwing bags of rubbish overboard. A right spring cleaning. Ask any of the skippers, we all fished up something.’

  The fishermen were led into a side room while Luke and I were bundled into another one. Brennan sat at the far side of the table, staring into Luke’s face. Luke ignored him, carefully choosing a spot high on the wall to gaze at.

  ‘You’ve the right to phone your solicitor,’ Brennan said.

  ‘I don’t need a solicitor. I’ve done nothing wrong.’

  Brennan questioned me about how long I had known Luke and why I’d come to Donegal. Seamie entered the room to lean against the back wall. I sensed he didn’t like what was going on with the fishermen, though he was powerless to prevent it. Brennan asked him if he had heard of Proinsías Mac Suibhne.

  ‘A fine fiddle-player,’ Seamie said.

  ‘The best,’ Luke corrected.

  ‘What would you know, Duggan?’ Brennan sneered. ‘You’re more an Abba man yourself.’

  ‘I grew up, Brennan,’ Luke said, ‘you just grew. I travelled the length of Ireland with Jamie O’Connor when you were still calling your mother up to boast about the size of your poo.’

  All I had against Luke was Al’s word. Luke had once told me Al was jealous of him. I wondered could he have invented everything from spite and even tipped off the police after all?

  Brennan questioned me again about my father and if I could prove I was his daughter. He asked Seamie to organise for Mac Suibhne to be brought to the station to identify me. There were a dozen ways I had fantasised about meeting my father, but never in my worst dreams had it been like this.

  ‘Please, don’t
do that,’ I begged. I broke down and Luke placed his arm around my shoulder. It felt reassuring to have him beside me.

  ‘The girl hasn’t seen her father for twenty years,’ I heard Luke say. ‘Keep me all day if you want, but you can’t drag that man down here at his age.’

  ‘Don’t tell me what I can do!’ Brennan snapped but I knew Luke’s words were aimed more towards Seamie. It was the policeman who spoke.

  ‘Taking him in wouldn’t be a good idea.’ There was an air of quiet mutiny in his voice. ‘I don’t know who the lassie is, but you’ll find no man here willing to put Mac Suibhne into a squad car.’

  ‘The girl’s family in London can verify her story,’ Luke said and told Brennan about Gran’s stroke. He claimed to be a family friend. I lifted my head, chilled by the way he knew the hospital phone number. He gave Brennan the name of the ward and stated how it was my grandfather’s habit to visit around this time. Suddenly my entire family had been roped in to give Luke an alibi for being there. I believed Al again. Brennan watched me. To dispute anything Luke said would be to risk meeting my father for the first time in a police cell. I agreed that Grandad Pete would confirm who my father was and that Luke was taking me to find him. I couldn’t understand why this was happening but Luke wouldn’t have the hospital phone number memorised unless he had orchestrated everything. He reached for my hand when Brennan left to make the call.

  ‘You don’t deserve this, Tracey,’ he said. ‘But it’s the same whenever I visit Ireland.’

  Two more guards joined Seamie in watching over us.

  ‘You stayed in the Bishop’s Palace,’ one sneered. ‘They’ve lovely four poster beds, I believe.’

  I didn’t turn around but I sensed three pairs of eyes undressing me. Luke released my limp hand and stroked my neck possessively, with quiet pride. I knew the policemen envied him.

  ‘Did you really know Jamie O’Connor?’ Seamie asked and Luke nodded. ‘My uncle played with the best of them in his youth. He even recorded for Decca in New York. His son came home from America twenty years ago and managed to buy a fiddle from O’Connor that had been played in his family for generations.’

  There wasn’t even the flicker of a smile from Luke.

  ‘Your brother died a few weeks back,’ another policeman said. ‘The Ice-man they called him.’

  ‘It’s a gas country,’ Luke said quietly. ‘You could rob a dozen banks and if your name was John Smith nobody would want to know you. But acquire a nickname and even if you’re only a lollipop lady you’ll be nationally famous.’

  ‘Come on now, Duggan,’ the policeman said, ‘you don’t get a nickname for nothing.’

  ‘I’m guilty there,’ Luke replied. ‘When I was seventeen I smuggled a copy of Playboy home from England. There was an article on multiple orgasms. It said the best trick was to pop an ice-cube up your girlfriend’s arse just as she was coming. Poor Christy was always susceptible to what he read in magazines.’

  ‘Did it work?’ the policeman asked.

  ‘Not exactly. The girl’s screams woke her parents and half the street and she nearly battered him to death. But it gave Christy a nickname for life.’

  The policemen laughed. I glanced behind. One of them checked for any sign of Brennan in the corridor.

  ‘Has it worked since?’ he asked, eyeing me up. In London I would have out-stared him till he looked away, all wimpish and embarrassed. But here I just looked down at the table.

  ‘Leave it out, lads,’ Luke told them quietly. He patted my hand and said, ‘It won’t be long now.’ I wanted them to find drugs on that yacht or where divers were searching the sea. I wanted Luke hanged, drawn and quartered, but I knew they would find nothing and I couldn’t say a word against Luke because everyone understood that I was the blonde mistress who knew nothing, probably not even the name of her real father. I imagined Grandad Pete being called into a room in the hospital and I couldn’t bear the thought of having to face him again. Brennan returned and scowled at the two new policemen.

  ‘What’s this, a peep-show?’ he demanded. ‘What the fuck do yous want?’

  ‘All the divers recovered were a load of business magazines and some soft porn novels by the look of the covers, only they’re in Dutch. Do you want to bring them home with you?’

  ‘Don’t get fucking smart, right!’

  ‘Can we release the fishermen?’ Seamie asked. ‘They’re decent men who’ve been up all night.’

  ‘Why were they selling fish by the side of the road?’

  ‘Michael James’ wife is tighter than a nun’s arse when it comes to money,’ Seamie said. ‘She gets the cheque from the fishery co-op. It’s his only chance to make the price of a few pints on the side.’

  ‘Wait till the yacht is searched,’ Brennan insisted.

  ‘The navy phoned in. She’s clean as a whistle. They’ve shadowed her for days and all it was was Dutch tourists.’

  ‘Get the fuck out.’ The policemen prised themselves from the wall, savouring Brennan’s annoyance as they left. He eyed the pair of us. ‘You two as well.’

  ‘You owe this girl an apology,’ Luke said, still gazing at a spot above Brennan’s head. He knew I wanted to be gone, but couldn’t seem to resist a last chance to rub Brennan’s nose in it. Brennan ignored Luke and observed me.

  ‘Your Grandad sounds a nice man,’ he said. ‘But he wouldn’t be the first one conned by white trash from the Dublin slums.’

  He strode from the room before Luke could reply. We must only have been alone for a few seconds, but it seemed longer before Luke shifted his gaze from the wall.

  ‘I’m sorry this had to happen,’ he said and took my hand.

  I jerked it away and pushed the chair back. It clattered to the ground. I walked quickly, trying not to look at anyone. Luke’s hired car was parked in the station forecourt. I pushed the glass door open and ran.

  I slowed to a fast walk as I turned on to the narrow street. It was just after twelve. I heard Luke call and then the sound of his car starting. The pavement was narrow with cars parked tightly against it. I wanted to run again but I knew it would only make Luke drive faster.

  ‘Get into the car, Tracey,’ he called through the open window. ‘I know you’re upset but that’s enough now.’

  Maybe it was delayed shock which made me start crying again but I couldn’t stop. Two women stood in a shop doorway, observing me. I almost fell over a pram but stumbled on. I hated this town with its cluttered pavements and stink of fish. More locals stopped to watch like it was an entertainment. I passed a television repair shop with the legend ‘Mac Suibhne’ in tacky plastic lettering above the door. It was the first time I’d seen the word printed. I wanted to be back in London or in any city big enough to swallow me up. My father wouldn’t want to know me. What had possessed me to think I could come back to somewhere I had never even been? I reached a corner and Luke swung to a halt in front of me. I thought he was about to jump from the car, but he contented himself with calling out the window again.

  ‘Get into the car, Tracey, please.’ He sounded concerned and bewildered. ‘Why are you doing this to me? You’ve no money, you know nobody. Another hour’s drive and you’ll meet your father.’

  ‘I don’t want to meet him,’ I said, ‘leave me alone.’

  I turned right and started to run. At first I thought Luke was letting me go, then I realised he was merely staying at a benevolent distance, like an amused adult indulging my tantrum. There was an archway between two shops. I turned down it, thinking Luke couldn’t squeeze the car through but he did. It looked like a dead end. He picked up speed, coming towards me. He was going to kill me, I thought, now that I had served whatever purpose it was that I’d had. Then I saw a narrow passageway to the left. I ran down it, hearing the car stop and Luke curse through the window. He hesitated, trying to decide whether to chase me on foot, and then I heard the car reverse.

  I came out on to another road, wider this time and lined with narrow houses. A car wa
s parked in front of me with a trailer attached. I dodged past on to the road. A child sat on the pavement, wrapped in a coat and playing with a toy boat in the gutter. It looked so dangerous I wanted to run over and pick him up. It was years since I’d seen a child unattended in London, but the golden rule was never to touch a stranger’s child. I looked around, not sure where Luke might come from. The road merged with the one I had left in a V junction to my left. I turned right and started to run when I heard a car emerge from a laneway beside a pub. It was a blue Volkswagen driven by an elderly man who peered out from under a cap. I didn’t so much hitch a lift as threw myself at the passenger door. The driver leaned over to open it.

  ‘That’s a bloody desperate way to ask anyone for a lift,’ he complained. I didn’t answer, but just climbed in and crouched in the passenger seat, raising a sleeve to childishly wipe my face. There was shopping in the back seat. ‘Where are you heading at all?’

  Luke’s car paused at the V as he scanned the deserted street. I sank lower in the Volkswagen as Luke drove towards us.

  ‘Can you take me out of Killybegs?’ I asked.

  ‘If the bloody car holds up. The garage man never serviced it at all.’ He released the hand-brake as Luke drove past. I couldn’t tell if he’d seen me. The driver moved off with a steady speed, occasionally glancing at me as if I was unstable. He was the crankiest man I had ever encountered. The supermarket were desperate robbers, the chemist would turn milk sour, the sun wouldn’t shine if you stuck dynamite up its arse. He cursed everyone he’d met in the town, revelling in their faults. It would have broken his heart if I’d been a smiling wholesome hitch-hiker. Luckily I was sullen and silent and would provide him with hours of pleasant complaining.