After Purple (31 page)

Faith of our fathers, holy faith
,

We will be true to thee till death
.

At school it had made me feel excluded, because if it wasn't
my
faith, how could I be true to it, let alone till death? But now I Belonged. I only wished I could be alone with Ray to dwell on Spiritual Things, rather than thumping out “Irish Eyes Are Smilin'” with a roomful of cripples. Ray cut himself into twenty pieces and threw us all a morsel. Mary-Lou got the most. It was her hair, I suppose, and those valiant tits jutting through her tee-shirt. Though I had to admit she was marvellous with the boys. Things like piss and dribble or missing bits of people hardly bothered her. One lad didn't even have a neck. His head sort of sprouted off his shoulders, but she stuffed it with biscuits or trickled cider down it, and then wiped its mouth and grinned at it, as if necks were merely optional.

They didn't leave me out. My paper plate was piled with crisps and gingernuts (which I couldn't eat), and one of the boys kept jabbing me in the leg, and another repeated my name over and over (even through the singing) as if it were stuck in his throat and he was trying to dislodge it. Lionel, the deaf and dumb boy, wouldn't leave my side. He had squeezed in the corner beside me and was clutching my hand in his own hot clammy one. He had a list of words printed on a card in big black capitals — things like DRINK, TOILET, SLEEP, BREAD — with little pictures underneath them, and a stick to point to the one he wanted. I could have made my own list — RAY, KISS, GOD, GROTTO, MIRACLE, or (less ambitiously) HOME, BED, PEACE, MEAL, QUIET.

At least the singing had ended. Everyone was talking now, or lying about and drinking. All except me, that was. I'd even refused a Pepsi. I couldn't break my fast until the morning, although it could only be a matter of hours now to the Easter Mass. I should really be preparing for it. I shut my eyes and tried to remember the Prayers Before Communion.

“So who's your guru?” joked the doctor.

I jumped. He had joined me on the floor, his cowboy shirt open to the navel. “I hear you're a nurse,” he said. He was drinking rough red wine out of a Snoopy mug.

“Well … er … not exactly
now
,” I muttered. “I mean, I was, but I've … been ill.”

“Oh? Seriously?”

“A sort of … accident.”

“Make sure you get to the baths, then. That Lourdes water's
amazing
. Filthy dirty half the time, and full of microbes, but I've actually seen people limp and stagger into it and scamper out like three-year-olds.”

“I expect that's just the
shock
,” giggled Val. “I mean it's fearfully cold.
I
sprinted last time, just to stop them pushing me right under.”

“You're just a coward! Val only comes here for the thrills, Thea. All these lads, you know. We can't keep her and Jim apart.”

Jim gurgled with delight. He obviously thrived on being thought a Don Juan rather than a dribbler with no legs.

“Oh
shut
up, Fatso. We all know why
you
didn't come to the service tonight. He's a boozer, Thea. He
said
he stayed behind simply to keep an eye on Derek's drip, but Ron's just told me the only bottle he was monitoring was the Châteauneuf-du-Pape!”

“Liar!” He punched her in the stomach and they laughed and wrestled on the lino.

They were all so relentlessly
jolly
, even in the midst of missing limbs and broken bodies. Only Lionel stayed subdued. He was still in his corner, but had pressed closer to my body, as if he wanted to merge with it. He was like a child clinging to its mother, a six-foot son with neither ears nor tongue. Perhaps Lucian, had he lived, would have been like that. I shuddered. I didn't really want to be a mother. Safer to cling myself. I looked across at Ray, but he was still common property, spreading himself so thin that everyone got only a smear of him. Back in London, he'd been strictly rationed, but at least when I was with him I had always gulped him whole.

He was the centre of attention now, lighting the candles on the birthday cake. He had turned the lights down so they'd make a better show, and his long haggard shadow leaned across and almost touched my own. There was silence, suddenly, as everybody stared at the tiny flickering match. It was like the Vigil again — light leaping out of darkness. I stared around the room. Everyone looked so
hideous
. Even in the gloom I could see the twisted limbs, the twitches, the fat flabby cheeks, the dead eyes. Mike had his shoes and socks off and even his toes were crooked. One boy was hiccuping, another smearing sucked and soggy biscuit on his face. The room itself was disabled — shabby, squalid, badly put together. How could God have created it all? That great glorious God of the basilicas who lived among gold and alabaster, who smelt of lilies, whose back garden was the sky. Could these shambling rejects spring from grace and light and fire?

“Well, are we going to
eat
the cake or simply sit and look at it?” That was Desmond, drunk on Double Diamond.

“Eat it, fathead. But we've got to let the candles burn down first. They cost 2p each, those candles, and I refuse to waste them.” Val sounded almost worse than Janet.

“I'll eat
them
if you like. I'm starving! It's hours since supper, and I didn't think much of that spam stuff, anyway.”

“It
wasn't
spam, I'll have you know. It was best tinned ham in peach sauce.”

“Oh,
peach
, I see.
Now
she tells me!”

Val waved the knife in his direction. “Right, if you insult the cook, you don't get any cake. Sorry, mate, not a crumb! Pity, because I'm just about to cut it. Here we go — John first. You get the best piece, John — OK? Some for you, Ray?”

“Just a finger.”

“Thea?”

“No thanks.” I wasn't even hungry any more. One of the boys was lapping his cake straight off the plate like a dog. Another smashed his up and dropped it on the floor. Lionel kept pushing his slice towards me. He seemed to want to give me things. He had already handed me a bent franc and a piece of crumpled paper from his pocket. I smiled at every offering. If he hadn't been deaf and dumb, he might have been a pop star. He was the only boy there who was beautiful.

Sam had changed places with the doctor and was squatting at my feet. “D' you realise, Thea, Lionel's really taken a fancy to you? That's rare for Lionel. He keeps himself to himself most of the time. Even Mary-Lou can't charm him. I don't know how you do it! You'd better stay up here and be a helper.”

All I wanted to be at the moment was a stretcher-case. I was so tired, I was dropping. I wouldn't stand a chance as a helper, anyway. Mary-Lou was universal favourite and there were two other girls both younger and prettier than I was. Even the men, who were mostly older and plainer, had degrees or doctorates or driving licences, or had spent years being busy and important, or could at least mend a fuse.

I felt very spare and stupid. All my Lourdes elation had somehow drained away. It was partly anti-climax. I'd looked forward to Lourdes so long and avidly, I couldn't really square its breezy wretchedness with my high-flown fairyland. Or maybe I could have done if I'd kept away from the hostel. It was the helpers who had really ruined things. They were so smug and pious and jolly, they made me feel a sham. They were all cocky crowing Catholics like the Irish, locked in their special relationship with God. I was just a novice and a new girl, not even a communicant yet, let alone a saint or ministering angel. They were doing their A-levels while I was still at nursery school. And their syllabus included Ray, of course, I'd come to claim him for a measly hour or two, and found they'd grabbed the whole of him as their guru and their Pope. They belonged to him in a way I never could — fawned on him at Masses, lapped him up at meal-times, shared his dormitory. I was simply the intruder and the dunce.

I stared across at him. Even now he was totally preoccupied, feeding John his cake. I was wrong about the lad. He wasn't another Einstein. Even his so-called normal hand seemed to be more or less inoperative. It just lay on his lap, as if it had been cut off and left there by mistake. He had a tea-towel knotted round his neck so that he looked like a huge stubbly baby in his high chair. Ray was crumbling the cake into pieces, dipping each morsel into his glass of water to soften it, then slipping it gently between the boy's lips. John just sat there with his mouth open, a dumb fledgling cuckoo waiting for the next worm. Ray ate nothing himself, just took the odd sip of water from the glass, which was cloudy now and full of cake crumbs. He fed John with a sort of reverence, slowly, graciously, as if it were a privilege instead of a chore. I had stopped existing. I had legs and fingers, so why should the Blessed Raymond bother with
me
?

I sprang up. I couldn't bear to watch him any more. I excused myself, muttering something about going to the bathroom. In fact, I trailed into the kitchen, a glaring, cluttered room, which smelt of cats and cooking oil. The sink was piled with dirty dishes. No one had touched the washing-up. Holy work, Ray had called it, hadn't he?

I rolled up my sleeves, plunged my hands into the filthy lukewarm water, and fished out a saucepan ruffed with cold scrambled egg.

“Oh, you
are
a brick,” said Mary-Lou. She was standing at the door with a tray of glasses. “I was just coming out to have a go at it myself. You don't mind a wee bit more, do you?” She offloaded her glasses on to the draining-board and tipped a pile of ashtrays into the sink.

“Lionel was quite upset when you got up, you know. We're all amazed at how he's taken to you. He's usually quite sullen.”

I suspected she was only sucking up. I liked her even less now she was standing next to me, swishing her hair about and making mine look mousy. She kept jabbering on about what
wonderful
work it was helping the handicapped, and didn't I prefer it to ordinary nursing, and wasn't Ray
fabulous
, and how long was I staying.

“I'm
not
staying,” I snapped. Actually, if you cut off her hair, she'd look quite ordinary. Her eyes were too close together and a boring shade of blue.

“Well, how d'you plan to get back then? It's nearly two o' clock. I'd take you myself, but I'm not allowed to drive the bus. It's not insured for all of us.”

“Ray'll take me,” I said, sort of airily.

“
Ray?
Come off it, Thea, I don't think that's really fair. Ray's needed
here
. Mike won't go to sleep unless he reads to him. And then he always says the rosary with us when the boys are all in bed. He's dead tired, anyway. He didn't sleep a wink last night. You could always
walk
, you know — it's not that far. The doc'll go with you. He needs some exercise.”

I banged a plate down on the draining-board. Mary-Lou was a stupid sort of name. Hyphenated people are always troublemakers. Leo had a friend called Matthew-John. He actually had the hyphen on his birth certificate. Of course he turned out gay. Mary-Lou looked all too heterosexual. I could just imagine her and Ray saying the rosary — the Glorious Mysteries of course, never the Sorrowful. I dunked the last glass in the clogged and smelly water, wiped my hands on my jeans, and walked out. I'd done my stint of Domestic Holiness — now I wanted the real sort. I'd go and find Ray and more or less insist he drove me home, with a detour to the Grotto on the way. Mike would have to read to himself for once.

I marched along the passage which was empty. Most of the group had already moved upstairs and I could hear them giggling and talking in the dormitories. Lourdes was meant to be a place of miracles. I'd clearly need one to get Ray on his own.

There was a step behind me. I swung round. It wasn't a miracle, only the deaf and dumb boy holding out a broken piece of biscuit wrapped in an empty crisp bag. This time, I didn't smile. OK, I was flattered that he fancied me, but I'd had enough of him, of all of them. Just because they were dumb or deprived or crippled, everyone had to be so fucking nice. You couldn't say “piss off” or “drop dead” like you might to a normal person. That would be discrimination or mean you were a Nazi. Lionel was pointing to something on his list. I wished I had my own list and could show him the words bore, nuisance, and pain in the arse.

The word he'd chosen was TOILET. Christ Almighty, surely he wasn't suggesting I should accompany him
there
. He had legs, didn't he, and could walk? Anyway, what were all the helpers doing? That was
their
job, wasn't it? I had no intention of taking some six-foot mute to the lavatory and showing him how to crap or pee in sign language.

All the same, I didn't like to simply walk away. It would be different if I could say something — “Must dash”, or “Train to catch”, or “Babysitter waiting”. All he'd hear was silence and rejection. After all, I was the only one he'd ever responded to. Hadn't they all said that? It was quite an achievement, really — better than mending fuses. Perhaps I could ask Ray's help and that would give me my chance to be alone with my private confessor. It wouldn't be too romantic, holding our spiritual communion in a toilet, with Lionel peeing and trickling in the background, but at least it would be a start.

I peered at his card to see if it said RAY on it, or even PRIEST. It didn't. If I shouted for Ray, the doc might come instead, or worse still, Mary-Lou. I dithered. Lionel was standing absolutely still. He was like a huge dark wounded animal. A lion. I realised suddenly, he had the same name as Leo, more or less. They were both lions — Lionel and Leo — a young lion and a Latin one. I smiled. His whole face lit up, as if I had handed him a jewel. He was like Karma, crushed if his master said, “Down Sir”, exultant if he fondled him.

He was staring at me with his dark worshipping eyes. I had a sudden nervous feeling that maybe he could see right into my mind. I'd read somewhere that the deaf and dumb have strange uncanny powers, to compensate. Perhaps he knew I'd been contemplating euthanasia for people who couldn't speak or had claws instead of hands, or had even seen my private mental picture of rows and rows of little jars like Lucian's, each one holding a tiny pickled boy. Lionel was too big to fit into a jar. Far too big to be taken to the toilet.