by Martha Long
I looked in the mirror and gasped. Is that me? No! That’s not the picture I carry around in me head of myself. The woman I know has fresh youthful skin, bright eyes, shiny hair and nice white teeth. Then, with a bit of help from the cosmetic counter – sure, I’m any man’s fancy. Well, that’s my fantasy! But I still get the occasional looks from the odd man. True, maybe they are a bit long in the tooth, but well, who cares? Beggars can’t be choosers! But now, this woman looking back at me is …?
I leant into the mirror. Go on! Be brave, face these things head on. Oh, Jesus! I look like something out of a Van Gogh painting. The one he did of himself. Horrible it was, with mad staring eyes burning like red-hot coals! Yeah, the poor man was demented with madness. Now, did he have his ear in that one? Before he cut it off, that is? Don’t remember. Anyway, this poor unfortunate creature staring back at me in the mirror would pass for his sister.
I let the cold tap run and leant down, catching the water in handfuls, slapping and drenching it onto my face, soaking the front of me shirt. ‘Oh, lovely,’ I gasped, reaching for the towel with water pouring outa me nostrils and pumping down my neck. ‘Oh, yes,’ I puffed, ‘cold water is the cure for all ills.’ Drink it after too much booze and wake feeling grand without the hangover. Yeah, works wonders, but it’s just as well that’s not my problem. No, I’m very wary of the old drink, me! Jaysus, I’ve got to be. I think I have a propensity to be an addict. How do I know that? The aul smokes – I eat them! Knowing I might die young, leave the kids orphans and others to enjoy spending the money I intend to make. Even the terrible news I now have holes in my lungs hasn’t put a stop to my gallop. No, but me and the doctor thought it most definitely would put me off the smokes. It hasn’t! I now smoke more worrying about how long I still have left to live! Jesus, life’s a bitch and then you die!
‘Right,’ I gasped, dropping the towel to see what’s looking back at me in the mirror.
I stared, seeing a red face to match the eyes. The eyes widened in tragedy, looking more now like Van Gogh himself. Well, there will be no worry about crowd control wanting a look at that face. No, my days of youth and beauty went finally down the swanny with this latest carry-on. Pity, it would be nice to hear the randy little buggers, the young doctors, leppin at the bit to get at me. No, they won’t be wanting to know, ‘Who is that dynamite bit of stuff with the big knockers and the legs that go all the way up to her arse! Who is she, man? Who? The one sitting with the old geezer, Jackser? Dunno! But I sure intend to find out. She’s one I want notched on my bedpost!’
In your dreams, Martha darling. In your dreams! Never mind. According to the children I am beautiful looking! They keep telling me that all the time. I believe them – kids never lie. They are so sweet and innocent, they tell it as they see it. Right! Enough messing, brush the teeth and get out of here. You can’t leave Jackser on his own for too long. He’s sinking fast. Jesus, last night I definitely thought he was gone. But, no, he won’t let go. He’s still holding a tenacious grip on his life. Right, bit of breakfast, then back to the ward.
I walked back into the ward, flying me eyes straight to Jackser. He’s pouring with the sweat. I could see it running down his face and sitting in a pool on his neck. I rushed over, checking him. Jesus, the pyjamas are soaked. He’s in an awful state, I thought, seeing him blue in the face. He was gasping to get a breath out of an empty mask. There was no air coming out of it! I looked up, seeing the glucose bag was just about empty too. Right, grab the bowl. I hurried back from the sink and leant over him, wiping and drying his face. Then I felt his pyjamas again. Bloody hell, they’re sopping wet! But does he need to be disturbed? Yes! If they are quick, they can change his pyjamas, maybe give him a quick rub-down. Very quick. Then dry him with the towel. He can’t be allowed to lie in that wet. OK, ask the nurses about that when they are on their rounds with the linen trolley. Meanwhile get them in here fast with oxygen and more glucose before he suffocates, or dehydrates, or whatever may come first.
I sat down beside him and took his hand, seeing him look more comfortable now. They had given him his wash and he was all set up with his new oxygen and plenty of glucose. ‘Oh, you poor thing,’ I whispered, staring at him. ‘God, how much you are suffering, Jackser? But now that I feel your end is very close … I don’t know,’ I sighed, feeling an awful longing inside me – an ache, like I wanted to cry for so much lost.
‘Jackser, I feel so sad for you, for me, for all our loss, I want to chat to you. I want to tell you things, share things with you, things that belong to you and me. Do you know, Jackser?’ I whispered, leaning meself closer into the bed, looking into his face. ‘We never really talked, you and me. Oh, in the beginning, when me ma first met you, you used to take me everywhere with you. I think you liked that, then. You liked the company. Of course, me ma used to make sure I went with you. “Don’t let him outa yer sight. Watch wha he does!” She didn’t trust you, Jackser, not to lose me and scarper off up around the corner outa sight. Like you did that first time you took me with you. Remember that? “Keep yer eyes peeled on me bike. Don’t take yer eyes offa it!” you said. I did! I stood staring at that bike even when it got dark and freezing. Jackser’s word was law! So I couldn’t watch for “dyed-haired blondes” getting sniffed by you, with you, Jackser, supposedly prowling around after them. Anyway, you were gone! The ma went mad! You went mad! So after that, Jackser, it was “Make sure he doesn’t be lookin at other women! Don’t let him leave ye and go off by himself.” Then, Jackser, she would pump me for info when we got back. “Who was he lookin at? Was he lookin at any dyed-haired blondes?”
‘Gawd! Looking back, Jackser, me ma was her own worst enemy. The poor woman was demented with jealousy. She wouldn’t let you out of her sight. Do you know, the pair of you made a bad match. Yeah, Jackser. You did make an effort in the very beginning. Remember the coal round you did for Smelly Murphy? Thank God you decided to give that up. Because, do you know what the ma had planned? I was to go with you the next morning and keep me eye on you. I can still hear it. “Yeah, he won’t mind,” she told herself, squinting into the distance, thinking about her plan. “Sure, you can help him anyway,” she told me.
‘“Wha, Ma? Am I goin te be a coalman? Sure, I can only carry a few lumps a coal, Ma! I’m only six!”
‘“Shut the fuck up. Ye can keep yer eye on him!” Me ma was delighted. Over the moon she was with her plan and thinking of all the money she’d get. But then you took off in the pitch black of the early winter morning, leaving the room quietly without waking me or disturbing her. So she had to get up early and follow you. She was only satisfied when she saw you with nothing more harmless than a horse. Good! Not a dyed blonde in sight, she thought, as she hid, watching you innocently walk yourself and the nag outa the stables. Getting ready for the day’s work ahead, you were. But you gave that up in no time at all. You said, “Draggin them bleedin bags a heavy coal round on me back nearly kilt me, Sally! Me lungs are gone, for Jaysus’ sake. No! Fuck tha! I’m jackin it in.”
‘But then you had another go! Remember, Jackser, when you “borrowed” the money from the very respectable grand man who ran the business down in Sheriff Street? His mother and father had great respect for your mother, you said. So, trading on that, you got the money and bought the “Bony Pony”. Poor thing was so skinny, you said. We called her Daisy and you hiked her up to the cart after getting me to go over to O’Connell Street, down the quays and across the bridge from Bachelors Walk, then into the toy factory to get the stuff. A box of balloons, a box of windmills and sticks for the balloons. You had to put them on yourself; sticks are separate. Then you hiked Daisy to the cart and we were away in a hack, with me sitting up on the little seat beside you. We were in the rag ’n’ bone trade, just like Steptoe and Son. Except we Irish called it the Rag Man. I even got to wear some of the rags, Jackser. But it didn’t last.
‘You sold the pony and cart – got five pounds, I remember. The ma sent me down to get you outa the pub. You
sat there in the height of comfort with another ghouger. Then you whipped out the money, holding up a big note, saying to your man. “Watch this! This kid is smart! How much money is tha, Martha?”
‘I stared at it, seeing the colour, and said, “Five pounds, Jackser!” You shook your head and winked at me, then turned to the ghouger sitting beside you helping to spend the money, saying, “I told ye! Any fuckin flies on tha young one is payin rent!”
‘Remember that, Jackser? Then you had another go, deciding we were going into the coal business again, working for yourself with me as the helper. Back to the grand respectable man we went, with you telling him the horse was robbed! “Could ye buy another one, please, sir, te feed me family?” The grand man went purple. You never stopped running till you hit the safety of Sally and the room. Maybe, I think, Jackser, with a little encouragement, the right woman … you might have made a go of family life. Plus with help for the aul head … Maybe not, Jackser. I don’t think they had much then. If you had gone looking for help, they would have locked you up. Then again, they still do. Some things just don’t change, Jackser,’ I said sadly.
‘But, you know, come to think about it, you used to tell me things, filling me in on a few memories that would come to you. I would sit and listen while you got lost, remembering all your mistakes. Yeah, that was right back in the early days when we first moved in with you. Up on the bike you would hump me, then we would pedal from one convent to the next. You knew them all, Jackser. Where to get the grey old stale bread, the best place for a mug of tea. Even better – where we could go and be in time for “a drop a hot soup, wit a bit a bread if ye promised te pray for them”. They were your words said to teach me, Jackser. “Listen! An hang onta me every words. I’ll learn ye everything there is te know,” you used to say.
‘But it was grand and handy for you having me along, I was as good as money in the pocket. You would land me off the bike and straighten me out. I was a bit bokety from sitting in the icy cold wind.
‘“Now,” you would whisper, covering the mouth with the cap whipped off your head. “Wit a bit a luck, we could be just in time for the drop a soup. Wait! Better still,” you said, tearing your head back to me after spotting the statue. “Go over there quick! Stand in front a tha statue there … No! I’ve got a better move. Kneel! An let them see ye prayin! Tha’ll impress them no end. We’ll be sure a gettin somethin good outa them – maybe even a bit a dinner!”
‘All was at the ready when they opened the convent door. You would then point the nun at me. “Sister, God bless ye an protect ye! But I’m not askin for meself, ye understand? It’s tha poor child over there shiverin wit the cold an prayin for the want of a bit a grub. I’m askin if ye could see yer way te a drop a soup. An if ye had anythin I could take back te the other childre waitin at home, I will get them all te pray for ye, Sister!”
‘Yeah, Jackser, many’s the time you stood staring up at a statue with me on the stone ground, kneeling beside you. “Join the hands in the air, raise yer eyes te the statue,” you would say, letting the whisper outa the corner of your mouth in case the nuns were watching and could lip-read. So, between your bowing and your blessing yourself at them nuns, we were sure to get something. It kept us going in the early days.
‘Yeah, Jackser, that’s how we survived, remember? It didn’t last long, though, just enough time to get me trained in. Well, that didn’t take you long, Jackser, then I was on my own.
‘So that’s what you must have been doing before you met the ma. You had been living in the men’s homeless hostel, next door to the one for women and children. I remember the first time me ma met you, you were sitting on the steps of the homeless men’s hostel, back visiting your pals. You were up there letting them know you had just managed to get yourself that room in Rutland Street. Then it happened – me ma was chasing me down the hill, trying to hang onta Charlie rattling under her arm. She had an aul one chasing her. The aul one wanted her high heels back – the ones I was flapping along in. They were sixteen sizes too big for me.
‘There I was, do you remember, Jackser? Hammering down the hill, sending sparks flying outa the heels. The aul one was screaming, “Gimme back me bleedin shoes! I’m warnin ye, Missus! If your young one destroys them shoes, you’ll pay for them wit yer fuckin life!”
‘Me ma was demented with the worry on her. She roared after me, “I’m warnin ye, Martha! Tha aul one is goin te kill me! Then I’ll fuckin kill you!” She was panting, waving her fist at me. Then they saw the men sitting on the steps, roaring their head with the laugh. The ma and her sudden new best friend … well! The pair of them stopped to talk to you men! You were all getting along great until the Legion of Mary who ran the women’s hostel came and broke up the disgraceful congregating of their homeless women, mixing with you unholy lot of vagabonds! They wouldn’t take excuses. Me ma roared she had to take the babby across to the hospital. We could see the patients waving out at us. No, you didn’t get a chance to pair off. The holy Legion women who flew the flag for the Virgin Mary were having none of it. They ran the ma and the aul one back indoors.
‘I never noticed you sitting there, Jackser! Or any of the men. I was too busy flying baby Charlie up and down in the go-car I borrowed. Someone left it sitting outside the front door of the women’s hostel. Oh, yeah! That’s how the Legion women found out about you lot! It was when the mother came out carrying her baby! “WHERE’S ME GO-CAR? JESUS, IT’S MISSIN! I’VE BEEN ROBBED!” The screams could be heard across the River Liffey, right over into the old Liberties! The ma was in trouble again! So, Jackser, the next time you met, that one cold dark winter night as we made our weary way back to the hostel – it was after the usual walking the streets from early morning, sometimes with nothing in our bellies for days, not even a drop of milk for Charlie, our baby – there you were! Coming straight at us pushing the bike, with the lot of us taking the shortcut through the church grounds of Church Street. Yeah, it was then the die was cast. We moved in with you. But, Jackser, as I was saying, you must have been a homeless tramp, walking the streets like us. But you did better, because you were getting fed your grub in all the convents! Also, you now had a roof over your head. So we suited you as much as you suited the ma. What a gift, what a find, Jackser, for the pair of you! A match made in hell, really, though, wasn’t it?’
Yes, I thought sadly, shaking my head and closing my eyes, remembering. I could feel and see again those cold, grey, blustery days as we stood outside those big old oak convent doors, with the pebble stones crunching under our feet. We would wait, hoping that a nun would bring us out something to warm our cold bodies and fill our empty bellies. I would stand, listening to the silence surrounding that holy place, that convent. I would hear the wind blowing the leaves as it rushed, whispering through the trees, making a low keening wail, sounding like the haunting of the Banshee’s crying. It was so desolate, it was like bringing a warning of death, something I could sense deep within me – it was the coming death of my childhood.
I see you now, you are a strong handsome young man in your thirties, but you carry a heavy load. You are full of regret you made so many mistakes. There is a terrible loneliness and desolate sadness hanging over you. It comes of something you endured from your days long ago when you were torn from your mother and abandoned behind high walls and locked doors. That prison showed you no mercy. You were just a terrified little boy of seven years old. You spent nine long years in that place. I can see myself now as I looked up at you. You looked around getting a chill on hearing that cold lonely sound. You gave a little shiver as your breath caught. It was when taking in this place that time seems to have forgotten as it stands still, cut off from the world and keeping its dark secrets well hidden, buried deep inside these fortress walls.
I could see the sudden fear in your eyes as you dropped your head, getting lost in some dark place that still haunts you. It was then you started to murmur, needing to tell about that little boy. He is no older than the six-year-old me. You
stand, nervously wringing your hands, sharing your memories and giving me glimpses of your painful world. It all seeps out now, pouring through a gentle voice and your softening brown eyes as you remember. You talk to me, yet you look inward, back to a world of horror that only you can see. I sense this is the first time you let your childhood get a mention as you wandered your lonely life cut off from human warmth and care. The gods held even worse to come for that little boy, when in time he turned a man. Life was not kind to you, Jackser. It afflicted you with terrible demons that stalked your every footstep. On they came relentless, all the days to your end.
But now you are sharing them with me, and then your eyes light up with hope. You talk about my mother – how you would give anything to make her happy. You want to do your best for me because ‘I am a little topper. A great kid, who’ll go far.’ Things will get better for all of us, you say. Yet I know, as you and I share a pain we are both familiar with – the pain of being an outcast. Even for that short moment, with the peace and inner happiness that wraps itself around me, and the ease we have in each other’s company, it gladdens my heart and makes me grateful. I think God is in his heaven and he is looking out for me. For now I could sit and be free to take everything in around me.
I have no worries, the ma and me, and me babby brother, have found a home and someone to look after us. You, Jackser, think we are the ray of sunshine that has just walked into your life. The family you have been waiting for all of your life. Now you are not alone, now you can be happy. I am content but wary. It is like someone must feel when the hangman has just told them, ‘Your life has been spared for now.’ I am an old six year old. The world has imprinted on me that happiness does not last for ever. Jackser’s demons could appear back at any minute, then they will start tormenting him. They will tell him people are laughing at him, following him, whispering behind his back. They are going to harm him. They humiliate him. The ma can’t help. She has her own demons. Jackser is trapped by the sorrow of that little boy he has never escaped. Somehow I understand that little boy as if I lived inside him.
