Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha (11 page)

—They’re off!

Aidan didn’t do any more commentating after that.

The first fence was easy. McEvoy’s wall into Byrne’s. There was no hedge. You just had to make sure that you had enough room to swing your legs. Some of us could swing right over without our legs touching the top of the wall—I could—but you needed loads of space for that. Across Byrne’s. Screaming and shouting. That was part of it. Trying to get the ones at the back caught. Off the grass, over the flower bed, across the path, over the wall—a hedge. Jump up on the wall, grip the hedge, stand up straight, jump over, down. Danger, danger. Murphy’s. Loads of flowers. Kick some of them. Around the car. Hedge before the wall. Foot on the bumper, jump. Land on the hedge, roll. Our house. Around the car, no hedge, over the wall. No more screaming; no breath for it. Neck itchy from the hedge. Two more big hedges.

Once, Mister McLoughlin had been cutting the grass when we all came over the hedge, and he nearly had a heart attack.

Up onto Hanley’s wall, hold the hedge. Legs straight; it was harder now, really tired. Jump the hedge, roll, up and out their gate.

Winner.

 

I looked over their heads.

—I MARRIED A WIFE - OH THEN - OH THEN - I
MARRIED A WIFE - OH THEN -

My auntie and my uncle and my four cousins were looking at me. They were sitting on the couch, and two of the cousins on the floor.

—I MARRIED A WIFE—
SHE’S THE PLAGUE OF MY LIFE—

I liked singing. Sometimes I didn’t wait to be asked.

—OH I WISH I WAS SINGLE AGAIN-NNN -

We were in my auntie and uncle’s house, in Cabra, but I didn’t know where that was really. It was Sinbad’s Holy Communion. One of my cousins wanted to see his prayer book but Sinbad wouldn’t let go of it. I sang louder.

—I MARRIED ANOTHER - OH THEN - OH THEN -

My mother was getting ready to clap. Sinbad would get the money off my uncle; his hand was looking around in his pocket. I could see him. He straightened his leg so he could get his hand to the coins at the bottom.

My auntie had a hankie up her sleeve; I could see the bulge where it was. We had two more auntie’s and uncle’s houses to go to. Then we were going to the pictures.

—I MARRIED ANOTHER—
AND SHE’S WORSER THAN THE OTHER—
AND I WISH I WAS SINGLE AGAIN-NNN -

They all clapped. My uncle gave Sinbad two shillings, and we went.

 

When Indians died - Red ones - they went to the happy hunting ground. Vikings went to Valhalla when they died or they got killed. We went to heaven, unless we went to hell. You went to hell if you had a mortal sin on your soul when you died, even if you were on your way to confession when the lorry hit you. Before you got into heaven you usually had to go to Purgatory for a bit, to get rid of the sins on your soul, usually for a few million years. Purgatory was like hell but it didn’t go on forever.

—There’s a back door, lads.

It was about a million years for every venial sin, depending on the sin and if you’d done it before and promised that you wouldn’t do it again. Telling lies to your parents, cursing, taking the Lord’s name in vain - they were all a million years.

—Jesus.

—A million.

—Jesus.

—Two million.

—Jesus.

—Three million.

—Jesus.

Robbing stuff out of shops was worse; magazines were more serious than sweets. Four million years for Football Monthly, two million for Goal and Football Weekly. If you made a good confession right before you died you didn’t have to go to Purgatory at all; you went straight up to heaven.

—Even if the fella killed loads of people?

—Even.

It wasn’t fair.

—Ah, now; the same rules for everybody.

Heaven was supposed to be a great place but nobody knew much about it. There were many mansions.

—One each?

-Yes.

—Do you have to live by yourself?

Father Moloney didn’t answer quickly enough.

—Can your ma not live with you?

—She can, of course.

Father Moloney came into our class on the first Wednesday of every month. For a chat. We liked him. He was nice. He had a limp and a brother in a showband.

—What happens to her mansion, Father?

Father Moloney raised his hands to hold our questions back. He laughed a lot and we didn’t know why.

—In heaven, lads, he said, and waited.—In heaven you can live wherever and with whoever you like.

James O’Keefe was worried.

—Father, what if your ma doesn’t want to live with you?

Father Moloney roared laughing but it wasn’t funny, not really.

—Then you can go and live with her; it’s quite simple.

—What if she doesn’t want you to?

—She will want you to, said Father Moloney.

—She mightn‘t, said James O’Keefe.—If you’re a messer.

—Ah there, you see, said Father Moloney.—There’s your answer. There are no messers in heaven.

The weather was always nice in heaven and it was all grass, and it was always day, never night. But that was all I knew about it. My Granda Clarke was up there.

—Are you sure? I asked my ma.

—Yes, she said.

—Positive?

-Yes.

—Is he out of Purgatory already?

—Yes. He didn’t have to go there because he made a good confession.

—He was lucky, wasn’t he?

—Yes.

I was glad.

My sister was up there as well, the one that died; Angela. She died before she came out of my ma but they’d had time to baptise her, she said; otherwise she’d have ended up in Limbo.

—Are you sure the water hit her before she died? I asked my ma.

-Yes.

—Positive.

—Yes.

I wondered how she managed, a not-even-an-hour-old baby, by herself.

—Granda Clarke looks after her, said my ma.

—Till you go up?

—Yes.

Limbo was for babies that hadn’t been baptised and pets. It was nice, like heaven, only God wasn’t there. Jesus visited there sometimes, and Mary his mother as well. They had a caravan there. Cats and dogs and babies and guinea pigs and goldfish. Animals that weren’t pets didn’t go anywhere. They just rotted and mixed in with the soil and made it better. They didn’t have souls. Pets did. There were no animals in heaven, only horses and zebras and small monkeys.

 

I was singing again. My da was teaching me a new one.

—I WENT DOWN TO THE RIVER
TO WATCH THE FISH SWIM BY-YY -

I didn’t like it.

—BUT I GOT TO THE RIVER—
SO LONESOME I WANTED TO DIE-EE-IE - OH LORD—

I couldn’t get the DIE-EE-IE bit properly; I couldn’t get my voice to go up and down the way Hank Williams on the record did.

I liked the next bit though.

—THEN I JUMPED INTO THE RIVER
BUT THE DOGGONE RIVER WAS DRY-YY—

—Not bad, said my da.

It was Sunday, the afternoon, and he was bored. That was when he always taught me a new song. He came searching for me. The first time it had been Brian O’Linn. There was no record, just the words in a book called Irish Street Ballads. I followed Da’s finger and we sang the words together.

—BRIAN O‘LINN - HIS WIFE AND WIFE’S
MOTHER -
THEY ALL LAY DOWN IN THE BED TOGETHER—
THE SHEETS THEY WERE OLD AND THE BLANKETS
WERE THIN—
LIE CLOSE TO THE WAW-ALL SAYS BRIAN
O’LINN—

It was all like that, funny and easy. I sang it in school and Miss Watkins stopped me after the verse about Brian O‘Linn going a-courting because she thought it was going to get dirtier. It didn’t but she didn’t believe me.

I sang the last verse in the yard during the little break at eleven o’clock.

—It’s not dirty, I warned them.

—Sing it anyway; go on.

-Okay, but—

—BRIAN O’LINN—HIS WIFE AND WIFE’S
MOTHER -

They laughed.

—It’s not—

—Shut up and keep singing.

—WERE ALL GOING HOME O‘ER THE BRIDGE
TOGETHER -
THE BRIDGE IT BROKE DOWN AND THEY ALL
TUMBLED IN -
WE’ LL GO HOME BE THE WATER SAYS BRIAN
O’LINN—

—That’s stupid, said Kevin.

—I know, I said.—I told you.

I didn’t think it was stupid at all.

Henno came over and broke us all up because he thought there was a fight. He grabbed me and said that he knew I was one of the ringleaders and he was keeping an eye on me and then he let me go. He didn’t have our class yet - that was the year after—so he didn’t know me.

—You mind yourself, sonny, he said.

—SHE’S A LONG-HONG GOH-HON -

I couldn’t do it; I didn’t even know what Hank Williams was singing.

Da hit me.

On the shoulder; I was looking at him, about to tell him that I didn’t want to sing this one; it was too hard. It was funny; I knew he was going to wallop me from the look on his face a few seconds before he did it. Then he looked as if he’d changed his mind, like he’d controlled himself, and then I heard the thump and felt it, as if he’d forgotten to tell his hand not to keep going towards me.

He hadn’t lifted the needle.

—A MAN NEEDS A WOMAN THAT HE CAN LEAN
ON—
BUT MY LEANING POST IS DONE LE-HEFT AND
GONE

I rubbed my shoulder through my jumper and shirt and vest; it was like it was expanding and shrinking, filling and shrinking. It wasn’t that sore.

I didn’t cry.

—Come on, said Da.

He lifted the needle this time, and we started again.

—I WENT DOWN TO THE RIVER
TO WATCH THE FISH SWIM BY-YY—

He put his hand on my shoulder, the other one. I wanted to squirm it away but after a while I didn’t mind.

 

The record player was a red box. He’d carried it home from work one day. You could pile six records in it, over the turntable. We only had three; The Black and White Minstrels, South Pacific and Hank Williams The King of Country Music. When he brought the record player home we only had one, South Pacific. He played it all Friday night and all the weekend. He tried to make me learn I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair but my ma stopped him. She said if I ever sang that in school or outside they’d have to sell the house and move somewhere else.

It played 33s and 45s and 78s. 33s were L.P.s like the three we had. Kevin smuggled his brother’s record, I’m A Believer by The Monkees, out of his house. It was a 45. But my da wouldn’t let us play it. He said there was a scratch on it; he didn’t even look at it. He wasn’t even using the record player. It was his. It was in the same room as the television. When he was playing it the television stayed off. He once put on the Black and White Minstrels at the same time they were on the television and he turned the television sound down but it didn’t work. The singer’s mouth, the black fella that sang the serious songs, was opening and shutting when the record was over and the needle was about to go up, but it didn’t. It kept going over the scratch. Da had to lift it.

—Were you messing with this? he said to me.

—No.

—You then; were you?

—No, said Sinbad.

—Somebody was, he said.

—They didn’t touch it, said my ma.

My face burned when I was waiting for something else to happen, for him to say something back to her.

Once, he put on Hank Williams during The News. It was brilliant; it was like Charles Mitchell was singing NOW YOU’RE LOOKING AT A MAN THAT’S GETTING KIND O’ MAD, I’VE HAD A LOT O’ LUCK BUT IT’S ALL BEEN BAD. We all roared. Me and Sinbad were let stay up half an hour later.

 

When we got the car, a Cortina like Henno‘s, a black one, Da drove it up and down the road, learning how to drive it, teaching himself. He wouldn’t let us into it.

—Not yet, he said.

He went up to the seafront. We followed him; we could keep up with him. He couldn’t turn it to go back down to the house. He saw us looking and called us over. I thought he was going to kill us. There were seven of us. We all baled in the back and we reversed all the way back to the house. Da sang the Batman music; he was mad sometimes, brilliant mad. Aidan had a bleeding nose when we got out. He was whinging. Da got down on his knees and held Aidan’s shoulders. He wiped his nose with his hankie and got him to blow into it, and told him he’d have great crack picking the dried blood out of his nose when he went to bed later and Aidan started laughing.

They all went down to the field behind the shops to find the big boys’ hut and wreck it but I didn’t go; I wanted to stay with Da. I sat beside him up and down the road. We went to Raheny. When he was turning he went right over the road and brushed the ditch.

—Stupid place to put a ditch, he said.

A fella honked at him.

—Bloody eejit, said my da, and he honked back when the fella was gone.

We came back to Barrytown along the main road and Da put the foot down. We rolled down our windows. I stuck my elbow out but he wouldn’t let me. He parked outside on the verge two gates down from our house.

—That’ll do us, he said.

Sinbad was in the back.

We went on a picnic the next day. It was raining but we went anyway; me and Sinbad in the back, my ma beside my da with Catherine on her knee. Deirdre wasn’t born yet then. My ma’s belly was all round, filling up with her. We went to Dollymount.

—Why not the mountains? I wanted to know.

—Stay quiet, Patrick, said my ma.

Da was getting ready to go from Barrytown Road onto the main road. We could have walked to Dollymount. We could see the island from where we were in the car. Da made it across and right. The Cortina jerked a bit and made a noise like when you pressed your lips together and blew. And something scraped when we went right in to the kerb.

—What’s that sound from?