The Gamal (20 page)
—That’s a very interesting point Margaret makes, Dr Quinn goes. Any other thoughts? Anybody?
—Well I just think the part about your father’s lying to ye all was really well done. Like you’d feel so much for ye all. Especially your mother like. Your heart would go out to her like.
They all agreed away mad, all fierce nice again.
—Well said Eric, Dr Quinn goes. I agree. And isn’t empathy a big part of the healing we can find in this writing exercise too? We can empathise with people. Have sympathy for them. Feel sorry for them. And we can empathise and feel a bit sorry for ourselves too, can’t we?
More fucking agreeing mad.
—Somehow we can own what has happened to us when we control it in our thoughts. When we structure our thoughts. And language is the key. Language is the key to help us find our way out of the difficulties our thoughts can give us sometimes.
—I agree, Dr Quinn, says a young fella of about seventeen, and he skin and bone. Books have always been an escape for me. Like friends.
—Yes, goes Dr Quinn. And what your own words can offer you too is
Then some fella of about fifty in a red dressing gown comes to life all of a sudden and interrupts Dr Quinn and the voice he had was so loud and high-pitched it made the interruption even better,
—Reminds me of one time when I was at the beach and we had this kite and the fucking thing ends up diving into the fucking sea and the fucking thing was pure destroyed and I’d the young fella crying beside me asking me why the fuck I didn’t give it back to him and saying do I always have to fuck up everything.
There was pure silence then until Dr Quinn took a deep breath and goes,
—Thank you for that little anecdote Terence. Wouldn’t it be great if you could write us something on that for next week?
—Well maybe sure. I’ll try a few words.
—Thank you, that would be great, goes Dr Quinn.
Next thing the cunt looks over at me and all the nerdynuts turn their heads too.
—So what do you think Charlie? Would you like to join us next week?
I just looked at Dr Quinn and all the other stupid faces. They were looking at me and then back at Dr Quinn and then back to me again. Waiting for a response. Dr Quinn let it go on for a while but in the end turns back to the nerdynuts and goes on,
—Anyway. I’m sure he’ll certainly think about it anyway. But thank you all for allowing him to observe our little group today.
This fella Eric goes then,
—You’re welcome Charlie, and the rest of them all nodded in agreement all smiley kind faces trying to outdo each other with kindness again in front of Dr Quinn.
Then they went on about the power of language again. All misty-eyed ardent talk and reverence for fuck all.
Fuck off. Don’t bore me. Pass the salt. I love you. Once you can say them things and tell a joke, what more do you want? They’re all the same, the languages. Cos they have to be isn’t it? They do the job sure isn’t it? I gave Dr Quinn and them the slip anyhow during the next story and I fucked off. I got the bus into Patrick Street and strolled around for a bit and got the late bus. When I got home the mother told me Dr Quinn was after ringing twice. He rang again then but I wouldn’t take the phone. I just says,
—You can tell him I’m going to no reading group.
But I can’t stop thinking now about the poor madman who destroyed his son’s kite. What do you do with the like of him? A pure God help us. Kindness is what Dr Quinn tries but sure once he leaves the hospital then he’s back trying to deal with real people and kindness doesn’t really figure isn’t it? Anyhow I’ll be back to you later on or tomorrow to carry on with my story and give you a lovely new chapter for yourself. It’ll be called 8. I’m going off to see if a walk will get that poor fucker out of my head.
Thinking About It
I stopped thinking about your man but went back thinking about Sinéad and James then. They’d have been nice to him. Helped him if they could. I shouldn’t be fucking thinking cos that’s when I gets the headaches the worst. Thinking about it. I gets headaches. Said it before two or three times maybe. But I do. And they’re very sore. But I have to keep going with the story cos who else will tell the fucking thing?
Cavity Wall
There was something between. No one could see it except myself. There was something between and Sinéad and James were on one side of it and the rest were on the other side of it. It was a wall. A cavity wall. You could put things into the wall. Things like dreams. And plans. And belief that you could do amazing things. With your voice and your mind and your thoughts. That’s what went into the cavity in this wall. The cavity was as big as your mind could dream.
Social Welfare
I haven’t ever once gone into the social welfare office without stealing something. The longer I have to wait the more I steal.
Poor Oul’ Paddy Connell
—Let me do that because you don’t understand. That’s what poor oul’ Paddy Connell used to say. Fuck it he was a beautiful man surely.
That’s what Tim Joe Larkin says to my father yesterday when he was tying the seats from the church to the trailer. The club bought six long seats for the sides of the pitch. For the big matches for the subs to be sitting on.
Denis O’Mahony
Denis O’Mahony rang for the father earlier. When I told him the father was out he says,
—Yera, ’tis all right. I didn’t want him for anything anyway.
Good luck so Denis.
No Holes
—Fuck Sake. Even fucking people who fucking think they’ve no fucking holes have to fucking talk through it some fucking times.
I heard Seán Casey say that one day. Seán Fuck everyone calls him. He was going out the front door talking about some crooked politician fella to the father.
Seen a fella walking up the road there and he reminded me of a time he was a sub at a match with Dinky. Dinky was taken off in a match cos he was playing shit. I went watching Dinky then for a bit. He took off his boots on the sideline and flung them one at a time at the wire mesh around the pitch, and all the other subs going,
—No fault Dinky.
—The goal wasn’t even your fault sure.
—Dunno what they took you off for, it’s crazy.
Dinky said nothing but tears welled in his eyes. Eyes that should have been too old for them kind of tears. He sat down eventually anyhow. Got the subs to make room in the middle. He liked to be in the thick of things, did Dinky, except when he was on the field of play. Anyhow here on the bench he’d a few fifteen-year-olds to lick the arse of him, just like he lick-arses the older lads. That’s how it goes, isn’t it? So anyhow I been watching all this and I decides to just watch Dinky and nothing or no one else. Watch the get up of him, the shapes he pulls. The sulking. The looking for notice. After about five minutes he spoke for the first time.
—Can’t fucking believe it!
—It’s unbelievable Dinky sure. You’re the best defender we have and they take you off!
—Yeah like, you’re one of our best players like.
—That goal could’ve happened to anyone. Can’t blame you for it.
He did it again a few minutes later when the lads had stopped on about it.
—Fuck sake they haven’t a fucking clue.
—No way should you have been taken off.
—Madness.
—Don’t mind them Dinky boy, sure they haven’t a clue.
So Dinky would make noise every few minutes looking for notice again and his new young lackeys would oblige. Was more like Dinky was the baby birdy and the young lackeys were its mammy dropping worms into Dinky’s mouth every now and again to keep him happy.
So I’m watching Dinky anyhow. He seemed to have lost all interest in the game now that he wasn’t playing. He wasn’t following the action at all but he wasn’t looking at the ground either. Or the sky. Dinky’s eyes were glued to James. Wherever he went on the pitch, Dinky’s eyes followed him, whether he had the ball or not, Dinky’s eyes followed James everywhere like a cameraman told to follow one player only.
I remember being in Dinky’s mother’s car when he started driving first. He’d borrow it the odd day and we’d go for a spin. Snoozie, myself, and James were driving through Newport. We’d have been around seventeen and we stopped at traffic lights near a bunch of fourteen- or fifteen-year-old girls. Then the girls start screaming and jumping and holding each other. ‘What the fuck is wrong with them?’ James goes. And Dinky says,
—They’re shouting because of you, you dope!
—What?
—Yeah!
—What are you on about?
—They fancy you, ya dopey bollicks!
—Go away to fuck!
—The girls saw you in the car and you made them get a tickle in their little fannies.
—Shut up Dinky will ya.
—I’m telling ya. You’re after making them all wet!
—You’re a sick puppy Dinky. A sick puppy.
—Only nature sure, Dinky goes.
Sometimes I think Dinky was jealous of James and Sinéad and I’m not sure who he was most jealous of sometimes. If he wanted to marry Sinéad he wanted James for a best friend maybe. I dunno. Dinky’s father drinks with Sinéad’s father and they live near each other and maybe life would have been nicer for Dinky if Sinéad liked him instead of James. They could all play happy families then. But you have to let a girl decide for herself isn’t it? Every fella has to accept that.
Hold on a minute. The mother and father are arguing about me downstairs.
—Out in God’s air picking spuds for ten hours. Then he’d sleep at night, the father says.
—Sure you’re an expert aren’t you? Dr McCarthy here.
—Very smart. I’m for the boy’s good and all we’re doing, all we’ve ever done is kill him with kindness. From day one we’ve been too soft on him.
—Keep your voice down or he’ll hear you for God’s sake.
—Christ, about time he did.
—Charlie’s different John.
—Different. Sure we’re all different woman.
—And he’s been through a lot.
—Yeah. So have the fucking Serbians and they don’t stay in bed all day and stay up all night.
—Dr Quinn knows what he’s doing.
—Dr Quinn is only a padhsán.
Anyhow, Dinky. One thing Dinky could never figure out about James was why he actually enjoyed spending time with his family. Dinky’s idea of family was probably the same as the one Sinéad grew up with. That they’re just people who are related to each other, live in the same building but don’t have a whole pile to say to each other. And if you weren’t bringing in a few bob by the age of seventeen or eighteen you were selfish and ungrateful. Dinky used to make fun of the way the Kents treated dinner. Sat at the dinner table for a good hour and discussed anything ranging from how things were at school to international politics. Dinky used to call it the heated debate. James would laugh and Dinky would too. In the good old days.
He Who Dares
Another thousand words for ye now. I’m eating grapes. A bit bitter. I always steal a grape or two when I walk past them in a shop. Just grab one and gobble it up without anyone looking. Never got caught. Ever. He who dares wins. That’s what James always said when the shit hit the blahblah. In a London accent. Just like Del Boy from the telly. He’d make everyone laugh and forget for a minute that things were gone fucked up on them. Like the time we stole Racey’s father’s car when she had a house party. Racey was Sinéad’s best friend who was a girl. Her best friend was James. And me. Anyhow Dinky was driving her father’s car and wrapped it around a tree. We were all sitting in the car in stunned silence. Then James pipes up with,
—He who dares . . . wins, and we all in stitches laughing.
The Cup
Heard Master Coughlan one time out in the yard telling Mrs O’Riordan that he’d bring James down to size and that he’d make a man of him yet. I thought of that years later when they went to the primary school with the cup. When the lads were about seventeen the club won the Junior Football Divisional Final. That was a right big deal for the parish. The team went up to the school to show the kiddies the cup and to make a big deal of it and all that kind of stuff. So it was a warm October day and Master Coughlan brought the kids out into the yard and had them all sit on the basketball court while all the players were introduced by name to the kids by the Master. I only went along cos I was involved with the team too. I was the water boy. Not cos I wanted to be the water boy. Just so as I could keep an eye on things. On James. And on Dinky. And on how they got on with the older fellas. James, Dinky and the Master’s son were the only young fellas on the panel. Anyhow so the Master is introducing everyone and all the kiddies clapping and cheering away like mad. Then Master Coughlan came to James and pretended to forget his name.
—And aah, sorry what’s that your name is again?
James only laughed.
—James, one of the lads said.
—O James Kent, of course, sorry James.
My hole he didn’t remember his name. James’ was the first name on the front of his mind the whole time. It was embarrassing for James in front of everyone, especially seeing as he remembered every other player’s name. James was acting all hard and everything as usual, laughing the slight off like he didn’t give a flying fuck. I often wondered when he’d stare into space, was it getting to him at all. I think he convinced himself ’twas all only innocent mistakes. He must have known though. Somewhere in the back of his mind he must have known that a lot of people didn’t really like him at all, and wished he’d never have set foot in Ballyronan in the first place. Or worse.
