Ma, I've Reached for the Moon an I'm Hittin the Stars

by Martha Long

  Suddenly he stood up and walked over to me, standing in the centre of the room. ‘Oh, my darling,’ he said, looking into my eyes as his hands lifted and fell, not knowing what to do with them.

  I stared up at him, not able to breathe. I waited for him to tell me, to show me, to make a declaration that I was the centre of his life. That he would never leave me again.

  His eyes stared out of his head, boring into me. ‘Darling, I . . . My God, we are both roused to a passion,’ he whispered, half-laughing half-crying. Then he suddenly whirled his head, saying, ‘I need a drink.’

  ‘What?’ I said, looking at him then looking around. ‘It’s over there, on the table beside the chaise longue,’ I said quietly.

  He looked, seeing it, then looked back at me. ‘Jesus! I need something stronger,’ he whispered, running his hand through his hair, then slamming his fists down by his side. With that, he took off, flying out of the room.

  I stared, going into shock, then shouted, feeling a rage pouring through me as the heat of it hit my chest. ‘You damned bastard. Have you not heard one word I just said?’

  There was a silence as he stopped outside the door, listening. Then he came back in, looking white as a sheet, with a rage pouring out of him. ‘Yes, of course I heard you. Hell’s fire and all damnation! Do you not know I feel the same? I have always felt this way about you. I have been tortured with my longing for you. Now you are here, I am crazed with my love for you! It has nearly driven me bloody mad, woman!’ he shouted.

  ‘THEN WHY DON’T YOU MARRY ME?’ I exploded, screaming at the top of my lungs with my eyes closed and my fists held tight by my sides, shaking with the fury. I wanted to cry with the frustration, the misery and the hopelessness of it.

  ‘Oh, you don’t know,’ he whispered, letting his breath come as he lifted his head, clenching his fists, then shouted, ‘I do want to marry you! God knows I do! Yes! Of course I want to marry you!’ he roared, shaking his fists then slamming them against his sides.

  ‘THEN DO IT! MARRY ME!’ I screamed, putting up my fists to hit him.

  He grabbed my hands and held them, shouting, ‘I cannot, because I am a priest! In here!’ he said, letting me go and tapping his chest with his fist.

  ‘But . . . So where do I fit in?’ I whispered, feeling the wind going out of me, letting my heart sink into despair.

  ‘You fit in,’ he said quietly, ‘the priest does not.’

  ‘I see,’ I said, for the want of something to say. Not seeing or understanding anything. I was worn out. ‘So tell me,’ I coughed, trying to get a breath from the exhaustion suddenly knocking the life out of me.

  He stared at me, looking weary, breathing in and out, trying to steady himself. He looked white as a sheet. ‘Oh, darling, please believe me. I am torn in half,’ he said quietly, trying to explain. Then his eyes softened and he took me in his arms, looking down at me as I stared up at him, wondering where it would all end.

  ‘You look terrible,’ he moaned.

  ‘I don’t care,’ I sighed, saying, ‘What does it matter?’

  ‘We are . . .’ he said, letting it trail away. Then he just crushed me to him, burying my face in his neck as he leaned into me.

  ‘What? We are what, Ralph?’ I muttered hoarsely, listening with my eyes closed and my head resting in his arms, feeling his heart pounding and my own keeping up.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I want . . .’

  ‘What! What do you want? Tell me!’ I shouted again, opening my eyes, seeing him let me go and take off, muttering, ‘I need a bloody drink.’

  ‘Yes!’ I shouted, going after him. ‘So do I.’

  Then he stopped and looked at me, saying softly, ‘No, darling, drink your wine. You are not well enough for all this.’

  ‘I want a bloody drink! A proper drink,’ I snorted, glaring at him.

  He looked at me, wondering about that. Then he laughed and grabbed my hand, saying, ‘Come then, let us both get bloody drunk together! Or, sorry, darling, I shall have to rephrase that. You may have a measured quantity. I must take care of your health, look after you, my precious. Whereas I? Well, I need to be rendered helpless, or you may end up like the Sabine Women. I do not trust myself tonight,’ he muttered, steaming off down the stairs.

  ‘It’s mythological, Ralph,’ I said, feeling very aggrieved, not believing he would lay a bloody hand on me.

  ‘What? What is?’ he said, looking back at me.

  ‘The bleedin Sabine women! “The Rape of the Sabine Women.” That’s what!’ I snorted. ‘No such thing ever happened!’

  ‘Oh! Of course not! But . . . Oh, Martha! Do come on, darling. Let us not start another bloody row over balderdash!’ he snorted, turning away and shaking his head with the annoyance.

  9

  I lay back on the sofa, feeling the tiredness hitting me. Jaysus, I think I pushed it a bit too much today. I should have taken it more easy, I sighed, taking another drag on the cigarette. My lungs burnt a bit, warning me they are still too delicate for this caper. I lifted my head, stubbing the butt out in the ashtray thinking, Gobshite! Now you won’t live long enough to collect the bleedin pension. Ahhh! I snorted, dropping the elbow onto my lap and the fist under my chin, getting fed up with my own company. I looked at the door, wondering if Ralph was finished clearing away the dinner dishes yet. It’s no company without him, I puffed, feeling not in the mood to entertain myself.

  My eyes peeled around the sitting room then landed. Ah! A bit of television, I thought, spying the box hidden away in an alcove. I switched it on to see a very serious discussion going on between a crowd of young ones and a shower of aul ones. They were all staring daggers and shouting at each other. But I couldn’t understand a word. It was all in bloody French.

  I stared anyway, seeing the heated row was getting even louder. The young ones seemed to be getting the better of the aul ones. Now they were losing the rag. One aul fella wearing a black wig lifted his arse outa the chair, making a run at a young fella. The interviewer leapt up and grabbed him back, shoving him sitting down in the chair again. Then all hell broke loose. The aul fella clattered the interviewer, knocking off his glasses and destroying his lovely hairdo, making it stand up and go in all directions. The young fella got hysterical, hopping up and down in his chair, clapping his hands and screaming with the laugh. An aul one sitting next to him picked up the jug of water sitting on the low table in front of her and landed it smack down on the young’s fella’s head. He leapt up, dripping with the water, and an aul fella sitting opposite, thinking he might let loose and dig the woman, leapt on him, tearing the shirt off his back. Then another aul fella sprang up and joined in the fray. There was murder! I started screaming with the laugh just as the door opened and Ralph came in.

  ‘What is it, Martha?’ he said grinning, looking from me to the television.

  ‘Ahh, you’re missing it,’ I laughed, looking at him as I screamed me head off, then back to the television, seeing the screen had gone blank. Then the adverts whipped on.

  ‘Ahh! It must have been live! They cut it dead!’ I moaned, feeling let down there was no more to see. I looked mournfully at him, saying, ‘It was a shower of aul biddies and young ones having a row, then all hell broke loose. It was brilliant. I thought there was going to be killings,’ I sniffed, staring at some young one now showing off her arse with her flying along on a bicycle and the short skirt whipped up into the air. She was enjoying herself, letting the world and his wife see the long skinny legs and the big knob on her navel button. It must have happened when they hauled her into the world. I stared sourly, seeing Ralph’s eyes on stalks, with him milking the sight of her for all he was worth. Her and her bleedin short skirt and her bony arse, I sniffed to meself, looking at him.

  He finally tore himself away and peeled his eyes on me, seeing I was giving him dirty looks. He gave a big grin, cocking his eye at me, muttering, ‘No, darling, I was studying her, noting she is not a patch on you, my lovely.’ Then he grinned,
examining his shoes, knowing he had been caught.

  I said nothing, just sniffed, then muttered, ‘Just as well! You might lose yer teeth chewing on that bag a bones.’

  ‘What! Good heavens! You are the only bag of bones I want to chew on,’ he said, throwing his head back and roaring with the laugh.

  I looked at him, sighing, letting him see I had forgiven him.

  ‘Oh, come here, you silly goose,’ he said, taking hold of my feet and resting them in his lap.

  ‘So, I missed the excitement!’ he said.

  ‘Oh, yes, you did, the French are bloody mad,’ I laughed, thinking about it again. ‘Pity they ended it. I wouldn’t mind, but it was just getting really good,’ I said, wishing he could have seen it.

  ‘Never mind, darling. The French love a good row! But it can’t be so public and certainly not televised!’ he grinned, looking at me and blowing me a kiss.

  I stared at him, feeling my insides melt. ‘Ralph, I love you so much,’ I whispered, lifting his hand and kissing it.

  Then he took my hand in the palm of his, saying, ‘Darling, I do love you so very much. You are my most precious treasure.’

  ‘Oh, I feel so happy just to be here with you,’ I said, letting my head slip onto his shoulder. Then I started yawning, feeling the tiredness really getting to me now.

  ‘Oh, Martha, you look positively drained,’ he said, lifting my chin to stare into my face, not liking what he saw. ‘I have allowed you to stay up too long today,’ he said, shaking his head, staring at me. ‘I should have insisted you get some bed-rest. This is not good. You will have a relapse if I don’t keep a careful eye on you. Come on, darling. I am taking you to your bed,’ he said, standing up and walking over to switch off the television.

  We took off walking along the hall, then I stopped at the stairs. ‘Do I have to face those stairs?’ I said, staring at him with a grin on my face but feeling my legs like iron bars.

  ‘No, my love. Allow me! I shall carry you.’

  ‘Oh, good,’ I sighed happily, as he swept me off the floor and into his arms. ‘Let’s go to your room, Ralph. I didn’t get to see too much of it last night. We were . . . Or you were! Too bloody busy fighting with me,’ I said, seeing him hesitate, then keep going.

  ‘I think we both got carried away, darling,’ he murmured.

  I decided to keep quiet. We had said enough. Things take time, I know that. Last night I told him exactly how I felt, and I understand him a little better now. He wants me, but the priest in him is very strong. Two highly conflicting and opposing forces. Each with their own powerful drive. So best back off, Martha, you know that instinctively. It really is a waiting game, one that is killing me. But all will be revealed in its own time, one way or the other. Ralph is a man of action when he gets going. He does not shy away from making difficult decisions. So at the minute he does not know where he is. As he said, he is on a sabbatical. That’s it, just leave well alone and let him get on with it.

  ‘Here we are,’ he said, landing me on my feet. Then he opened the door and switched on the main light in his bedroom.

  ‘Did I pull the heart out of you, carrying me up those stairs?’ I grinned, still keeping my arms wrapped around his neck as he lifted his hand, pushing back the hair landed over his eye.

  ‘Of course not, there is simply no weight in you,’ he snorted, holding my waist to look at me. Then he shook his head saying, ‘Martha, we are going to have to build you up again. You are positively wasting away on me. Goodness! You have become so terribly frail,’ he said, letting his voice soften as he took me in.

  I stared at him, saying nothing. Just looked down at myself, thinking, Yeah, I lost a lot of weight all right, and it was in no bloody time at all. ‘That sickness really took it out of me,’ I sighed, missing the loss of the time when I never had a day’s sickness. Well, I did, but it didn’t bother me. I was used to keep going. But now!

  ‘Ah, I’ll be OK, Ralph,’ I said, thinking, I’m over all that now. The thyroid operation is well behind me. This was just unlucky. It’s the bleedin smoking trying to eat my lungs alive.

  ‘You go along in. I shall go back downstairs and get some wine. Would you like another glass?’ he said, seeing me make a beeline to nosey around his room.

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind. Maybe half a glass,’ I said, looking back at him. Then he was gone.

  I wandered around, picking up books left lying on shelves, presses and tables. I wanted to look and poke and examine everything in great detail. I wanted to get inside Ralph, touch his private inner self. The side he keeps well hidden. I want to know the man behind the priest, the doctor. The man from a wealthy family, with the aristocratic bearing, who hides behind impeccable manners. I want to peel away those masks he uses as a barrier and see the raw, naked, vulnerable Ralph. Because we have both touched it in each other. I sense his fears and he senses mine. Our souls have touched each other, but we don’t let them free. We keep hiding, saying one thing and thinking, wanting, another.

  I looked around as he came back into the room.

  ‘Your drink, Martha!’ he said, handing it to me, then turning away and sitting on the chaise longue, crossing his legs and stretching them on the floor.

  I looked over at him, watching, seeing him sipping and letting his eyes wander along the books lying about. He handed me that drink, I thought, and called me ‘Martha’. Hmm, I sense he’s closing down. Yeah, he’s putting distance between us, because I am in his inner sanctum. It’s uncomfortable for him. He doesn’t want me getting too close. He would prefer to have me somewhere neutral, preferably the sitting room or even my bedroom.

  Then he let his eyes rest on me, seeing me watching him. He looked serious as his eyes took me in. Then he smiled, letting his eyes soften, whispering, ‘Yes, you look terribly frail but very lovely, my darling. I find you quite alluring in those silk pyjamas,’ he murmured softly, sounding very sensuous as he slowly stretched his legs and took a sip of wine, keeping his eyes on me.

  I could feel the nerves in my body tingling, getting drawn over to him like a magnet. But I stayed still, letting my head rule, and decided not to play his game. He will back off as soon as I declare my interest. He is frightened of losing control. OK, let him enjoy himself. I enjoy it too. I’m beginning to see this like those ballerinas dancing on the stage, flying with wings towards each other, then taking fright and flying away again. They even do it in the animal kingdom. It is all part of the mating process between male and female. I want you! Come to me! Get away! Prove yourself to me! No! Not yet! I am not ready! I need more. Let this last. Or then it will be over. And we may not be the same.

  Yes, right, Ralph! Let’s play the mating game like the young buck driven by his powerful need to impregnate a herd and spread his seed. He will limber up, then roar in, ready to take on the strong male who controls the females. Then, driven by a passion that sends them both into madness, they will fight to the death, if necessary. The docile females stand by watching. They will only go with the strongest, most powerful male in the pack. The winner takes all. The strong buck will give them healthy young like himself, ensuring their survival and the continuation of their species. It is the law of the jungle. Well, Ralph, I have chosen you to give me young, but I don’t want to make it easy for you. It may just deflate your male ego, getting me handed to you on a plate. You need more substance, something that is a challenge and will keep you challenged. So, I’m not making you privy to my knowledge. It is all part of keeping ourselves hidden. The mating business is a long process. Let the games play on!

  I picked up a book, seeing it was Voltaire. ‘Ah, the rabble-rouser who caused the revolution,’ I laughed, putting it down and picking up another one. ‘Marcel Proust! Hmm, you like zee French. So do I. We ave so much in zee common!’ I said, looking at him staring but not seeing me. ‘Monsieur! Please to listen!’ I said, walking over and giving him a tap on the skull with the book.

  ‘Oh, my dear! That was a fatal move,’ he said, lunging at
my legs and barely missing as I shot back.

  ‘Ah-ah! Temper, temper, padre! Remember! I am zee invalid.’

  ‘You will be in-valid when I catch hold of you,’ he warned, pointing his finger at me.

  ‘Oh, well, keep your threats, I can have fun by myself,’ I said, rummaging in my pocket for my tobacco.

  ‘Martha, please, no!’ he said, waving a finger at my tobacco.

  ‘What?’ I said, looking at him in surprise.

  ‘I really would like it if you could choose not to smoke. I am concerned about your health.’

  I hesitated, looking at them, then said, ‘Sorry, I need it,’ rolling one and lighting it up.

  He lifted his head and turned away in disgust. ‘What shall I do with you?’ he muttered, examining his fingernails and going into a sulk.

  ‘Do we have an ashtray?’ I said, looking round the room.

  He shook his head, looking a bit pleased, with a smile playing around his mouth.

  I sighed, looking around for something to use. ‘Ah, perfect!’ I said, picking up a tiny little pale-blue dish that looked very fragile. It was probably for holding sweets or something. Then I walked over and laid myself down in the middle of the bed. Then turned and pulled down the cover and lifted the pillows, stacking them against the long bolster, and lay back, feeling the essence of comfort.

  He sipped on his wine, watching me, then said, ‘Martha! I absolutely forbid you to smoke in my bed,’ lifting his chin and glaring over at me.

  I stared at him, with the cigarette halfway to my mouth, then took a big suck on it, saying, ‘I am sorry, Ralph, but you do not forbid me to do anything! Yes, I am taking a liberty smoking in your room, but you have two hopes of stopping me, Bob Hope and no hope!’ I sniffed, lifting up my wine from the bedside table and taking a big swallow. Then I glared back at him. ‘In fact, you will now find it impossible to get me out of this bed, because I have taken up squatters’ rights,’ I grinned, then put down the cigarette and dived in under the covers. ‘Hmm, very comfortable,’ I said, wriggling around and enjoying the lovely silk sheets. ‘You do love yourself. Silk! Very sexy, Ralph! I didn’t think you had it in you!’ I said, wanting to draw him out and get his male pride rearing up.