Look at those eejits Harry Brewster and Fergal Flood. Closhin’ together all the time. Convinced they have all the answers. If brains were chocolate, between them they wouldn’t fill a Smartie. And look at that teapot Tom Redihan talking to trees. You’d think a man of his age would know better. And as for that other one. Who in their right mind names their dogs after a pair of butchering Germans? If brains were elastic, that fellow wouldn’t stretch a sparrow’s garter.
I didn’t have a clue what she was chirping on about, wasn’t even listening to her. I was trying to see round that barrel shape and get a glimpse of the Swamp to see if the girl had shown up. Lily wasn’t giving up so easily, though.
How is that mother of yours?
You could tell by the way she asked it she had already composed inside that witchy head of hers the one and only answer she wanted to hear. I was only too happy to oblige her.
She’s in great form, Lily. Why, just as we speak she has that amazing bull-nut seller Mario Devine chained to the bed and she’s giving him ten of the best with her sturdy whip. You should hear the yelps out of him, Lily. I wouldn’t stray up there if I were you. She’s in a no-mercy mood.
That was enough to send her waddling, and at last I had a clear view of the Swamp. There was no sign of the scryer but the Slug was out. His wart-and-speckled hands casting his line along with bitter words at the witch who had stolen his heart. Some council men had shown up. They were wading through the shallow end of the Swamp, taking measurements, making notes. I wasn’t interested in any of that. I looked across the Swamp, over towards my rock, the blood inside me galloping a little when I saw her sitting there.
SWEET TALKING
Oh, look. It’s the tough guy. Been cutting yourself lately?
No. Been jumping into any swamps?
No.
Yeah, well, just so you know, that’s still my rock you’re on.
I’m so pleased. Now sit down, you’re blocking my view.
Without another word I did as I was told. Plonked myself down on the rock beside her. Was glad my friends were no longer around. Now that the country was a sinking ship, the one or two I’d half-had had moved as far across the world as their parents could drag them. If they could see me now. They’d have a good laugh. Look at him! Sharing a rock with a girl.
Going anywhere today? I asked her.
I’m thinking ancient Greece.
I’ve heard of it.
Of course you have. Ancient Greece is where civilization began.
It hasn’t reached our boghole town.
The Greeks gave us Achilles and the wooden horse. They even gave us sewers.
That I can believe.
Or was that the Romans?
How was Egypt?
Oh, it was fine. The pharaohs were sleeping, so I didn’t get a chance to talk to them.
Can’t say I know any of them myself.
What do you know?
Now you sound like my ma.
I saw the Sphinx. Took a cruise along the Nile. Stopped at the Aswan Dam.
The Aswan Dam?
That’s right. Have you ever taken a river cruise along the Nile? No? Well, you should. Next to the Mississippi, I can’t think of a better place to cruise. Well, maybe the Amazon. Have you got a favourite river?
I have a least favourite river.
The girl didn’t say anything to that. Instead, she leaned a little forward on the rock, chin in her hands, elbows on knees, and stared out across the Swamp.
Do you ever stare in another direction?
This is the way. What other direction is there?
I took a look around. Over my shoulder, the soggy patches between here and the ditches trees. Straight ahead, the stretch of swamp, its scummy surface glistening in the bright light, the giddy flies having the time of their lives, here and there bits of timber and beer cans peeking out, bobbing in the brown water. To my right, the rushes growing high, swishing gently, concealing the hidden pools. I looked at the girl again, followed her line of vision.
Flukey liked to hang out here. Well. Before he went jumping off bridges he did. We used to drink together in the pub. You should have heard him laugh.
What’s your favourite method?
Favourite method of what?
If I was going to try and end it all again, I would choose to walk the plank. Disappear beneath the waves. Spend eternity with the sea.
Like a mermaid.
That’s right. Maybe.
Are you?
Am I what?
Going to . . . try again?
I’m going to be a celebrity. Remember? Hey! Are you afraid of ghosts?
I don’t know. Are you?
No. They’re afraid of me.
We sat side by side in silence, she giving the place her full stare, me wondering to myself what exactly I was supposed to say next. Before I had a chance, she was speaking again.
You know, you should think about doing something to impress me. It will be too late once I am a celebrity.
You want me to impress you?
That’s right.
What do you want me to do?
Oh, I’m sure a tough guy like you can think of something. If you do, I’ll let you put your thing in me.
Huh?
That’s all I’ll end up to you. Someone to put your thing into. Might as well get it over with. But you really should try to impress me first. Something small will do.
She brought her hand to the side of her neck, touched a couple of fingers off the bruise. It was darker than it was before, black-blue, yellow around the edges. Saw another one on her arm.
What celebrity are you going to be like?
What do you mean?
My ma likes to pretend she’s a famous singer. She does these crazy little singing acts. She’s always trying to get me to listen and guess who it is. I never get it right.
You should listen. One day you’ll be glad you did.
I’ll be glad on the day she gives my head a rest.
What’s your favourite song?
Don’t have one.
Of course you do. You just don’t know it yet. As soon as you do, you can put in a request to have it played for me on the radio. Then it will be our song.
Our song?
That’s right. Anyway. When the time comes I’m not going to be like anyone. I’m going to be me. My own person. You won’t believe how famous I’m going to be. Play your cards right and you can be one of my minders.
Your what?
Though you’re going to have to start growing. And very soon. And that hoodie will have to go. Here. Take my hair slide. It’s going to be worth something someday. Go on. Take it.
I don’t want a hair slide.
Are you sure? It will be valuable one day.
What? A pipsqueak’s hair slide!
Well, when I’m famous, don’t say I didn’t offer it to you. Oh look! You’ve got something on your feet today. That’s good.
What? These useless things?
Don’t underestimate shoes. They’ll take you places.
What places?
Whatever place you choose.
I choose pretty much any place if it gets me out of this boghole town.
Well then, the world is all yours.
Could hardly keep up with what she was saying. Wasn’t even sure that I liked all of it. Put your thing in me. That’s all I’ll end up to you. I picked up a couple of pebbles, flung them into the Swamp. The world is all yours. That bit I did like.
As soon as they’re through smashing all the bed springs my ma is going to Paris with Mario Devine.
Who?
Mario Devine.
Never heard of him.
Swing by our house and you’ll hear plenty of him. He’s a salesman. Big hands. Talks a lot. Lives up on the hill. When he’s not at our house, that is.
Oh him. Yes, I know him. I fired three warning shots into his skull at the funeral.
If you did, you’ll have my ma to contend with. A
nd believe me when I say it, that is one thing you do not want in your life.
I suppose he’s your new da.
Who? Mario? I hope not. Don’t think I want to be the son of a bull-nut seller. Like the sound of this Paris trip, though. Wouldn’t mind getting a seat on that.
Ask him can you go.
He’s too busy with my ma.
Suit yourself.
She stopped talking and stared out into the distance. I didn’t know what to make of her. A feather of a thing beside me on the rock. If a notion took me I could’ve blown her away. Scattered her into the summer air. Here she was, though, talking to me. Being my friend. That was good enough for me.
Is your da still crying?
Oh yes. He’s crying and banging his fists on the table and howling like a crazy dog. How many boyfriends has your ma?
Don’t know.
I should send my father to see your ma.
I told you. She’s too busy with Mario. You should hear the pair of them. Then comes his sweet talk.
What? He doesn’t do the sweet talk first?
No.
I think I need to send my father over to your ma.
For the next few minutes we sat there without saying a word. She closed her eyes, bunched up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. It was a good opportunity to leg it out of there, but some other part of me made me want to stay. She was talking in riddles, my head was swimming listening to her, but it was better than the usual stuff I heard around here.
How are the pyramids?
I’m in ancient Greece, silly.
So?
There are no pyramids. Just the Parthenon. And the Acropolis. And the Temple of Zeus.
How’s the temple?
I’m not sure if I want to go inside. I think I’ll wait outside, admire it for a few minutes before I rejoin the cruise.
How do you know all this stuff?
Internet. The library. Beats the stuff we do at school.
Don’t mention that place. My ma used to tell me stories when I was very little – like this daft stuff you’re going on about. Some of it was good. Then she got interested in other things. Ma, I said to her one time, why don’t you tell me those crazy stories any more.
And what did she say?
That’s what school is for.
Ha! If she only knew. I’m seriously thinking of giving it up – school, I mean. I won’t need it. Not where I’m headed. Are you sure I’m not growing knockers?
She was sticking out her chest, making sure I had the maximum opportunity to see whatever parts of her I was supposed to be on the lookout for.
I’m sure, I said.
Is that why you don’t want to put your thing in me? Because I have no knockers?
I have to go now. Here, you can have this. It’s got a tiny ship inside.
I reached in my bag and took out the snow globe, set it down on the rock beside her.
What am I supposed to do with this? I heard her call out, as I picked my way out of there. I turned round and shrugged my shoulders. Turned again and continued out of there. Was almost at the ditch trees when I heard the splash.
GAB GAB GAB GAB GAB
Down town the headbangers were on patrol. Up and down Main Street they marched, in pairs, in clusters, in single file, each one of them with a harsher face than the one before, each one of them daring me to give them the eye so that they’d have an excuse to cut loose. They could have belted me into the middle of next week for all I cared.
Pulled my hoodie tight, kept my eyes on the path in front of me, made my way further up the street. I stopped outside Masterson’s jewellery shop. Stared at some watches, thought about grabbing a diamond ring in a velvet-lined box. Masterson was onto me though and I shuffled off again. Passed a building bricked-up where its windows should have been, couldn’t remember what it had been before. A fashion shop. A high-class restaurant. A cocktail bar. Who knew? Passed Danté’s chipper, Dunnes Stores Better Value Beats Them All, paused at where I was sure Murtagh’s newsagents used to be, was greeted by a sheet of paper taped to the blacked-out window and a scrawl of handwriting that said SHOP CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. A couple of more headbangers appeared out of Cutthroat Alley and I turned to the window of Lally’s Fashion. The naked dummies were standing in the window, and a couple of women had stopped in front of them as though they were remembering the first time they clapped eyes on the dressed dummies, gasped and turned to each other with a look on their faces that said all I ever wanted was a fur coat. I stopped outside Beauty by Helen and read Helen’s special offer of the week, an all-inclusive face mapping, eyebrow shaping, back exfoliation, skin brightening, full body massage and something called a Brazilian that guaranteed to leave only a landing strip – whatever that meant. More empty spaces, idle offices, unfinished apartments, the paint flaking away, gaps in the windowless walls, whistles of wind trying to escape out of them and into the street. No wonder Harry and Fergal had to spend time fixing the country in McMorrow’s. The entire place was up in a heap.
Pacing up and down the street got me thinking about what the girl had said about Mario. Wouldn’t hurt to swing by his house. Have a talk with him about a couple of things. Man-to-man style. Without any gasping women getting in the way. I could ask him about this Paris trip. When is he planning on going and is there room for one more? Oh, and while we’re at it Mario, you wouldn’t happen to be my da, would you? Wasn’t such a crazy idea now that I was starting to think about it.
I stopped outside the Hungry Worm, and what with Ma busy busy with her fancy man, figured it was safe to step inside today, have a think about what I would say to Mario. Pushed open the door. In I stepped.
Inside the Hungry Worm I was famous. Three gabbing women – stick thin and glistening as though they had just stepped out of a bath of liquid gold – were going on about my handiwork on Rich Hill. The three of them spoke using their throats, and such an effort for them was it to squeeze out these sounds that every word uttered sounded like it was going to be their last. Didn’t recognize numbers one or two, with their batwing ears and chins you could fly an aeroplane off. But I knew who number three was.
Mario Devine’s wife.
Of course they had no interest in the hooded pipsqueak sitting in to the table next to them, all set to eavesdrop on their conversation, which now involved each of them taking a turn to ask a question and then making a face as though they had just bitten into a lemon. Who would do such a thing? What should we do? Tell the local newspaper? Listen to them, would you! The yoga heads on them.
Tell the local newspaper! Ha! That was a good one. Imagine the headline. Rich Hill residents express concern over defaced wall. They could even print a photograph of the wall with my painted words, right alongside one of the three ghouls determined to find out who it was. The questions were still coming. Why do people do such things? Why do they feel the need to go about vandalizing private property? Have these young brats nothing better to do with their time? A question or two later and I was the most dangerous man who had ever lived. We are no longer safe in our homes, Mrs Mario declared. Who is this thoughtless perpetrator? Not a word of appreciation about my arty graffiti, my interesting choice of words.
So that’s what I was. A perpetrator. I couldn’t wait to let Ma know. Hey! Guess what, Ma? I am a perpetrator. Good boy, she’d say. You have made me so proud.
Like hell she would.
I looked around me. Suddenly big in my boots. Feeling tough. Everything on the menu was going cheap today, and by the time the waitress was hovering, I really didn’t know what to choose first.
What would you like? she asked me.
Right now, I could really go for a fast car and a million dollars’ worth of cash, I said to her.
Sorry, cars are off today.
I’ll leave it at the cash so.
Sorry, all the money is gone.
OK then, make it a plate of French fancies, and some doughnuts, please.
We don’t have Frenc
h fancies.
What kind of buns do you have?
Rock buns.
You can keep those. Just give me a doughnut.
I’m sorry, we’re all out of doughnuts.
Tell you what, you choose.
My pleasure, she said, and about-turned.
The gabbing women were fairly going for it now. Washing machines. Golf holidays. Spray tans. Their ideal skin colours pouring out of them. Ah. Nothing wrong with them a cold swim in the Swamp wouldn’t sort out.
Then I noticed the baba. Wasn’t sure if it belonged to Mrs Mario or one of her click clack sidekicks. I stood out of my seat and stepped over to the buggy, stared down at the sleeping lizard of a thing.
Hello, baba, and what’s your name? You look just like your ma, has anyone ever said that to you? They have? You look like your da, too. But I bet you get that all the time. I think I know your da. Mario. That’s his name, isn’t it? Super Mario he should be called. They say that around here he’s the main man when it comes to selling bull nuts. My ma says otherwise. Do you know my ma? Super Mario knows her . . .
And there I was chatting away to my new friend the baba, when I was interrupted by Mrs Mario dragging the buggy and baba away from me. And I turned to the women and a look on their collective faces that said no way are we and the neighbourhood we live in going to stand for this kind of behaviour.
Ladies, I said, spreading out my arms either side of me. You don’t need to look any further. It was me. I’m the one you’re after.
I beg your pardon? Mrs Mario said, pulling her buggy even closer to her.
Oh, there’s no need to beg. Now listen to me. The perpetrator. It’s me. Jason Lowry. I just thought you might want to know.
To make sure I was getting through to them, I rolled up the sleeves of my hoodie and with both hands pointed to myself. I saw their eyes go from my face to my arms and before they could get a proper look I had the sleeves rolled back down again. By now they were looking very confused, as though they couldn’t believe they were now face-to-face with danger, were sharing café space with a perpetrator. Tried thinking of ways to lessen their confusion. Didn’t matter. The three of them didn’t want to know a thing about me. They were quickly finishing their cups of sugar-free milk-free gluten-free preservative-free herb juice or whatever it was they had ordered. One of them was at the till paying, while another one was already out the door and Mrs Mario was packing up her baba’s soothers and wipes, and she was putting her purse away and pulling her buggy out of there, backing her way hurriedly into the street. I sprang to hold the door for her, make it easier for her to get out. Which she managed, and without a word of gratitude for me. In a rush and ungrateful. Not a good combination, that. Not good at all. And so fast was she out of there, she left after her the baba’s rattler. And I was out the door myself, shaking the rattler after her, but she was gone, out of sight, nowhere to be seen. Not to worry. I could drop it off at her house when I called on Mario.
Ithaca Page 6
