Ma, Jackser's Dyin Alone

by Martha Long

  A crowd of people came tumbling out of a nightclub just as the taxi pulled up for the lights on O’Connell Bridge. They made a rush for this taxi then staggered back, seeing it was taken. I watched as they turned, the women falling over each other on high heels trying to make a run for it. They were dashing for the shelter of the awning that hung over the flashing lights of the entrance. I could see now they’re already soaked to the skin, with coats thrown over their heads. It happened even before they could make it back to the shelter. Then they started shouting at each other.

  ‘OK, don’t forget, next week!’ one young one was shouting as she made her way back into the club.

  ‘Happy Christmas!’ her friend shouted after her, but it was lost in the wind and the rain as the young one vanished back in, anxious to be in out of this treacherous, dark, wet and stormy night.

  The taxi pulled off, heading across the bridge, leaving me looking back at the thinning crowd. They had changed their minds and gone back inside. Christmas week! Gawd, I better get ready, I thought, staring at the flashing lights, seeing them make rainbows of coloured jewels as they sat in fat droplets of rain before pouring down the windowpane.

  32

  ‘It was lovely to talk to you, Martha. I am looking forward to working with you on the book.’

  ‘Yes, thank you. I have really enjoyed talking to you, too.’

  ‘Oh! One more thing, Martha. Are you using a pseudonym?’

  I listened to that, knowing what it meant. ‘Oh, yes! Definitely! Let’s see now, what would I like to call myself?’ I wondered, thinking about it. ‘Something exotic? No, a nice Irish name. Biddy Murphy!’ I said, wondering what she might think of that.

  Silence.

  I waited, but then it went on a long time. ‘Hello? Are ye still there?’ I whispered into the heavy breathing.

  ‘But, Martha, is it a good idea when you are writing non-fiction? Shouldn’t you use your own name?’

  ‘Well, no! Because I don’t want anyone to recognise me!’ I puffed, knowing that made eminent sense. I just thought of that. It’s a brilliant way out. Then it hit me – so, what’s the bleedin point in having the book published if you’re still going to go on hiding?

  ‘Right!’ I said, taking in a sharp breath. ‘Leave my own name! You’re right – it is my life, so I want my name plastered all over the cover. I might as well, seeing as I’ve already hanged meself, letting the world and his wife know my business.’

  ‘Fine. I think that just about covers it. OK, I will be in touch soon, when we are ready to start the editing.’

  ‘Lovely, I’m really looking forward to that,’ I said, wondering what she was talking about.

  ‘Bye!’

  ‘OK, bye now,’ I said, putting down the phone with a smile on my face. Ahh! She really sounds lovely, so nice and gentle. Great! Get started on the work, she said. Well, the sooner the better. I just want to get this over with then vanish back into the woodwork. Jaysus, this idea of having it published has me rattling like a bag of bones. Anyway! How many Martha Longs are there in the country? No, they’ll never cop on it’s me!

  I wandered into Tesco looking for a computer. The publishers said I have to get one for the editing. They said we will be doing it by email, whatever that is.

  I stood looking at a big white machine.

  ‘Can I help you?’ a young fella said, stopping to look down at me. He was wearing his Tesco jacket with the logo on.

  ‘Oh, yes, please! How much is this computer? Are they dear?’

  ‘Is it a PC you want?’ he said, looking at me with a puzzled look on his baby face.

  ‘No, a computer,’ I said, wondering if he was deaf.

  ‘Yes, that’s what I said – a PC … personal computer!’ he said, looking like he was trying to explain, because I was a bit light in the brain department.

  ‘Oh! Is that what they’re called?’ I said, letting a smile appear on me face. I nodded happily. ‘Yeah! I want to buy a PC. What about this one?’ I said, pointing at the white machine with the glass in front.

  ‘No, that’s a microwave.’

  ‘Oh! Is it?’ I said, whipping me head in to get a better look. ‘I don’t have one a them, I don’t like the sound of them. I heard once on the radio, the waves from that thing can give you cancer! Do you know?’ I said, feeling outraged. ‘The government is trying to stop us reaching the pension! This must definitely be a conspiracy! Keep the population down – it’s exploding too fast! Bet that’s the thinking,’ I huffed, getting carried away with the annoyance on me. Then I looked around, seeing the young fella had vanished.

  I rushed off looking for him, thinking, fuck, stop talking rubbish, Martha! You’ve been watching too much Logan’s Run. Then your man flew back around a corner, knocking the wind outa me.

  ‘There you are! I was looking for you,’ he said, wanting me to stay with him.

  ‘Oh, grand, here you are. Found you! Where’s the computer PCs?’ I said, straining me neck to look up at him. Jesus! The height of him. What do they feed them on?

  ‘OK! Follow me,’ he said, flying off, with me having to rush up behind him, six runs for his two strides – running like a coolie, all I needed was the rickshaw.

  I struggled out of the shop with a huge box that would barely fit in the trolley. ‘Here, young fella, will you give us a hand with this? Help me to get it into the car,’ I said.

  ‘Ahh! Grand, thanks. You’re very good,’ I said, waving as I drove off with me new computer PC. I can’t wait to get started!

  ‘Come back! You’ve only shown me how to turn it on! How the bloody hell do you get to use this thing?’ I screamed, seeing the kids break their necks down the stairs, making to get away from me. I sat staring at it, looking at the lovely picture of the green fields and white clouds floating in a blue sky. Yeah, lovely, but how do I get going?

  OK, have a go yourself. Press this. Now, what does that mean? Jaysus! Ah, Jaysus! Them kids are not worth feeding. I started moaning and crying, nearly tearing me hair out with the frustration. They do all this in school. How mean can ye get? I’m getting nowhere on me own. Now think. Who do I know with a computer? I can ring them up and they can tell me on the phone.

  ‘OK,’ Evelyn said, speaking slowly down the phone line. ‘Bring the mouse …’

  ‘What mouse?’

  ‘The little gadget at your hand.’

  ‘Oh, yeah! I have that,’ I said, getting all excited.

  ‘Now drag it across.’

  ‘How do I do that? Do I lift it?’

  Sigh – she’s getting impatient – ‘Martha, your best bet is to do a course!’

  ‘Ah, forget that, Evelyn. Sure, just tell me what to do! Then I’ll be grand. I can work away meself.’

  ‘OK, I’ll come over tonight and run you through the basics.’

  ‘HELP! Kids! Come quick! The computer PC is acting peculiar. There’s a funny little man down in the corner, grinning and pointing at something. What’s that about?’

  They sighed, shaking their heads, and turned for the door. ‘Mum! We can’t keep tearing up and down these stairs, all the way to the top floor. We have our own work to do,’ she said. ‘Anyway! Why did you not put it down in your study on the ground floor? You are up here in a garret!’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘she’s starving for her “Art”, and starving us as well. Mum! When’s dinner?’

  ‘So, are you not going to help me?’ I said, staring daggers at the pair of them, only thinking about their bellies! ‘This is my work too!’ I said. ‘Did it never occur to either of you that this is serious work?’

  ‘We know, Mum, but this has to stop. We’re not running up and down these stairs again and that’s that!’

  ‘Whadeye mean? This is the first time I have asked for your help today! You scatter when you hear me calling. I never realised how mean the pair of you were,’ I snorted, going back to me computer.

  ‘That’s it, Mum. We’re going to have to put ourselves up for adoption if th
is continues.’

  ‘Why? Because I’m not at your beck and call? If you must know, try burying your nose in the fridge. I’ve already cooked a casserole! Now it’s the weekend, I’m only on this thing for the last four hours. I need to learn to use the bleedin thing for the emalling … the editing,’ I said.

  The kids roared laughing. ‘Mum! Emails!’

  ‘Yeah, well, whatever they’re called! Now, give me a bit of peace for just a few more minutes, then I’m all yours. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed!’ he said, then nodded at the sister, hiding with the head in the door and the body buried on the landing. She’s cute – she knows when to let him do all the talking.

  ‘Bye! See you later,’ I shouted to the door as it banged shut behind them, leaving the floorboards rattling under my feet.

  Dear Martha, you cannot put a full stop in front of ‘And’. It is a conjunction.

  Oh! I know what that word means, I thought, I came across it once in the kids’ grammar book.

  Dear Editor, you can. I have just done that!

  Dear Martha, you cannot have all these commas. The sentence is not making sense.

  Dear Editor, it makes wonderful sense, try reading it again.

  Dear Martha, you really cannot put ‘And’ with a full stop in the middle of a sentence.

  Dear Editor, yes indeed you can, it’s the way the language runs.

  Dear Martha, what language would that be?

  What does she mean? How the fuck do I know?! It’s the way I used to speak! Right! I have had enough of this.

  Dear Editor, please do not change one word, this is the voice of the child!

  Dear Martha, I have spent months on this editing. We are not making progress!

  Dear Editor, I have spent bleedin weeks poring over your work, then changing it back to the original. I didn’t have one idea, of what this was all about, I just went on following you, answering your questions! Then it dawned on me … in fact! May I let you know! I spent weeks putting to rights, the ‘Work’ you sent me, because I could see me book was getting desecrated! THIS IS NOT THE QUEEN’S BLEEDIN ENGLISH YE KNOW!

  Dear Martha, so what is it? Really, I am trying to understand.

  She’s trying to understand! Think, Martha! How do you explain the old Dublin way of talking? Fuck! I don’t really even understand her question! Tell her … It is, eh? A mixture … Think, Martha – a mixture of what? Oh, I have it.

  Dear Editor, this language is not English, in fact, it is not even Irish. It is Dublin-speak! Yes, we Dubliners are unique. Not like the culchies! I do hope now, with this information, it is becoming more clear.

  Dear Martha, what is a culchie?

  Dear Editor, it is a clodhopper.

  Dear Martha, we are not making progress. We must move on.

  Dear Editor, where in the name a Jaysus is all me commas, exclamation marks, dots and dashes, GONE TO? You have annihilated them! Please reinstate them, forthwith!

  I’m really getting inta this literature business; it’s beginning to flow off me tongue, I thought happily. Yeah, I’m definitely a fast learner!

  Dear Martha, I am afraid work has come to a standstill. We have not managed to get past the first page after four long months. I therefore think it is best we withdraw from any further attempts. We will now have to wait until the publisher returns from New York. He will have to deal with this. So goodbye for now. Yours, the editor.

  Dear Editor, that suits me fine. While you’re at it, tell him for me, If one word of that book is changed! He can have his cheque back, then send me back me book. Goodbye for now. Yours, Martha.

  I picked up the phone. ‘Hello, Martha! This is the publisher! What’s going on? What’s the problem?’

  ‘Well, that editor of yours is trying to turn my book into the Queen’s bleedin English!’

  ‘Martha, that is her job. Let her get on with her work. You have to edit a book, Martha. Be reasonable!’

  ‘No, she can edit somewhere else, no one is changing one word of my book …’

  ‘It’s not a book! It’s a manuscript! It has not been published!’ he snapped, really beginning to lose the rag.

  ‘Right!’ I steamed, ‘so don’t bleedin …’

  ‘I’ll tell you what I will do, Martha!’

  I listened, then a smile came on me face.

  ‘OK, grand, I’ll let her …’ Then it hit me. ‘No! She cannot change one word, not even a comma. I want all me commas where they are! Otherwise the voice of the child will be lost. This is the way she spoke, I wrote down every word. So, I’m not having the integrity of my work corrupted,’ I said, listening to his sharp intake of breath. I knew he was impressed at how professional I was. Yeah! That idea, ‘integrity corrupted’, just came at me out of the blue. I must have heard that somewhere. Jaysus, I’m really getting inta the swing of this!

  I waited, listening to the silence. The only thing to be heard was the sighing. Then, another hour and we were sorted.

  ‘Right! Are you agreed on that, Martha?’

  ‘Definitely,’ I said, nodding my head, forgetting he couldn’t see it. Right! I thought, now to get down to the business of this editing.

  ‘Well, that’s it, Martha. The editing is over, now it goes off to the printers.’

  ‘So, that’s it,’ I said quietly, taking in a big sigh, listening to her do the same. A companionable silence sat between us as we thought about that, letting it sink in.

  ‘Thank you, I know it wasn’t easy for you,’ I said, thinking she should get a medal for her patience with me. The poor girl had a very rocky road, trying to prise even the smallest changes outa me. But we made very little change if any. She simply ran her eagle eye over the script, very minutely and painstakingly, making sure everything was as it should be. Oh, but she is good, no doubt about that. She certainly knows her job! God knows what would have happened if I was with someone less experienced.

  ‘Right, that’s a huge relief getting that done. Thanks for everything. Take care,’ I said.

  ‘Thank you, Martha. It certainly was interesting for me,’ she said, sounding almost demented with the happiness at getting rid of me! I could hear it with her sighs, sounding like someone had just told her she was not going to get another battering. Then her voice really lifted with a chirpy sound, getting ready to erupt in a burst of victory. She had done it! Survived my manuscript to produce the book!

  ‘Good luck, Martha!’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, slowly putting down the phone.

  It’s over, Martha, I thought. Now it’s in the lap of the gods. Whatever happens now, it’s out of my hands. I’m at the mercy of the world and his wife. I shook my head, giving a little shiver. Oh, well, you’ve faced worse! What will be, will be!

  I listened as the publisher said the book ‘Ma, He Sold Me for a Few Cigarettes is still doing brilliantly, Martha! It went straight into number one in the bestselling list and it’s still up there months later. It’s flying off the shelves. The readers love it! Did you see the rave reviews it got? You must be delighted!’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ I said, still feeling numb, not able to take it in. ‘Yes, I’m delighted, thrilled. I can’t believe it! Isn’t it great?’ I said, wanting them to try to explain how that could have happened. Then there was silence, and I knew something was coming.

  ‘Listen, Martha, we are inundated with phone calls from readers wanting to know when the next book is out. Martha, would you consider writing a sequel? Everyone wants to know what happened next in your story!’

  I listened quietly, feeling completely shut down to that idea. ‘No,’ I said, ‘I’m sorry but that was never intended to be a book. That’s it, I’m afraid. Sorry,’ I half-laughed, ‘but, no, I won’t be writing another book. That’s it for me. I never intended to become an author. I’m not a writer. So, I’m afraid that’s the end of it. I don’t want to say any more about my life. But thank you for asking me.’

  ‘OK, Martha, I just thought we should ask. We’ll be in touch.’
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  ‘Thank you and thanks for passing on the great news,’ I said, thinking, as I lowered the phone into its cradle, I was right about him. That publisher is one of the best. I know he’s disappointed, but he would never push. He even goes out of his way to make things easy for everyone. No, I can’t say a bad word against him.

  I stood still, looking around the kitchen, trying to take in the news. People like it, I thought, feeling a quiet sense of deep satisfaction. I have achieved what I set out to do. I have left an account of my life as I lived it through the back streets of 1950s Dublin. Now there is an authentic record lived and shown through the eyes of a little girl. It is out there now, and anyone who wants to know what it was really like can walk with that child and experience life with her as she lives it in the raw.

  Good, well done, Martha! I sighed contentedly as a great feeling of stillness came over me, settling into a wonderful sense of peace spreading itself all through me. Yeah, I feel very peaceful. I’m at peace with myself. Now it’s all over I can move on, knowing I have left something of myself behind.

  Then I came out of my daze and looked up at the clock. Right, time to get moving. The kids will be home from school soon wanting a bit of dinner on the table. OK, what’s first? What are we having? Chicken – better bung that in the oven and wash the spinach, then roast a few potatoes. I can mash the rest.

  I bent down quickly to grab a few potatoes out of the wicker basket under the work table, then I heard a squeal and felt me foot standing on something soft. Jaysus! I tried to lift myself off it and nearly toppled back, breaking me neck.

  ‘Minnie!’ I screamed, seeing her come out from behind me. ‘You bloody eegit. You nearly got me killed!’ I shouted, seeing her take off, giving a dirty look back, hobbling on three legs trying to make it to her basket. ‘Oh! You’re such an eegit,’ I moaned, rushing down to take a look at her paw. ‘Come here! What happened your poor little paw?’ I said, lifting it up as she started moaning and crying, then I heard us getting a lovely aria going, with her keens higher and my moans lower.