Malarky (34 page)

—I want to move into it.

—You want to move?

—Not exactly. I want to move into it.

—I don't quite follow you now. Whose house is this?

—It's belonging to a fella gone to Limerick, years since anyone was in it.

—And do you know this man?

—No.

Grief pauses and then gently explains how with a significant death our minds can become carried away with the urgency to do things – things she stresses that are unachievable and not in our best interests. Might this be one of those things?

—Not at all, I said. This is very achievable. It has already been achieved.

She marked a note on her notepad and I knew I was in trouble again.

—He's given his permission.

—Well that's great then.

The conversation is back at me, out here, under the open sky. I believe Limerick intended to give his permission, he was just not certain how to give it. I would hazard a guess that between my asking and his verdict he'd very bad luck with the horses or a pipe in his house burst, something incidental to our situation. He was hostile, he was unhelpful and he did chase me away, but I believe he longed to have me living in his house. He and I knew it was the best arrangement for the three of us. You know the way fellas are sometimes, they don't know
what's good for them. It's why there are women on the planet. It's why they make such a mess of things. Oh the way they make a mess. It's unparalleled. I can't think about it now out here, laying here like this in the muck, it'll only depress me.

Obviously I am still stuck out here in the dark and it's not a great place for me to be and I am not a bit happy about it. Who'd be happy about being wedged in the muck when you've only stepped out to pursue your dreams? Honestly, find a man who is and I'll shake his hand with this broken arm. I've just remembered the diabetes. I shouldn't be out here with the diabetes I bet. That'll be another reason they'll squash me if they catch me. I think I am supposed to push the button with the diabetes. Did I push the button below in the house? If they come out with the ambulance I'll be finished. Everyone'll know and they'll say sure she can't cope. The ambulance came, did you hear? God love her, she can't cope.

If I hadn't believed he wanted me in his house I never would have gone. I am not a simple woman. I understand complexity. If the man's face had said no I woulda listened. I took the bus to find him. His face didn't say no. It said I dun know now.

Why had she gone to Limerick at all, why was she there asking permission about a house the teenagers just delved into? What is wrong with the aged the way they think and complicate every small thing?

Jimmy and his teenage friends went into the faded Blue House with the gaping hole in it. She remembered how they paid her no heed, and made their own of it, claiming it was
comfortable enough. Was that what drew her to it? The knowledge it had been a place her son was comfortable, and when she reflected on their home and those last months – the same could not be said of it.

—But what is it you're doing in there? She would ask Jimmy.

—Ah nothing to speak off. Just hanging about.

Nothing to speak of. A leg. Another leg. A lip. A hip. Another's hip. From what she'd seen the day back the field, there was plenty to say of it. Perhaps they do not speak when they're doing it, perhaps that's what Jimmy meant. Wouldn't it hurt tho? she wondered. Maybe that's why they didn't speak when they did it. In case they'd let out a yelp of pain and upset each other. What if one or the other were not enjoying it? Would he call out?

Anois, anois, out here tonight in this mud she cannot find the exact story of how she came to know the Blue House. Just as she cannot find the precise blue, it used to be.

Well that wasted a bit time out here, the remembering is great, but the cold is at me, maybe it's time to call out, even timid. I've accepted I'll be out here the whole night 'til someone figures I'm missing. I've begun thinking about rabbits, they're out here in it too and somehow they live. Oh Jesus now I'm thinking of rats. I hate rats. Are there rats up here? There probably are. And foxes. I don't mind foxes. But I don't like the idea a rat might run across my hair. Now I am really sick worrying. I'll look at the sky to stop thinking about the rats.

And so here she is exactly from that thought, her big plan in ruins. Would you credit it? Perhaps there's no getting around these fellas and their permissions. If she comes out of this alive without hypothermia she will:

The vow is made. She can feel how wet her hair is, how the base of her neck, her collar, all of it has absorbed every drop from the soil underneath it. It's starting to itch and she's shivering.

The stars are lovely in this part of the world.

There is nothing else to say about the sky.