The Herbalist (6 page)

How like him not to explain or apologize.
Probably felt he was eternally in the right as someone so badly wronged. It wasn’t
just the will; it stretched back further than that, to the day Nancy had cleared any
trace of his mother from the house and shop.

Finbar told Carmel everything he had seen,
and everything he had heard, then and after. He’d made it her memory too. Frances
had died when her son was five. Cancer, they’d declared. Consumption, they’d
whispered. When Nancy came on the scene, all photographs of her predecessor were
destroyed. According to Nancy, it wasn’t ‘the done thing’ to mention
the past, no exceptions. She had wanted to burn all the bedding, sheets and blankets, to
get rid of the germs, even though it was over a year since Frances had passed. Her new
husband had let her remove the sickbed mattress, but drew a line at the bed itself.

Nancy had hauled the narrow mattress through
the back door, past the vegetable patch, and down to the end of the garden, where the
nettles and brambles ran riot. It was early autumn; the sun was setting in a pink sky.
Finbar remembered how his mother’s mattress had dragged on the ground, making a
dark path through the golden leaves, and how Nancy had hummed as she rambled to and fro,
building a pyre of dried branches and twigs, blankets, shoes, clothes, books,
embroidered tablecloths, paintings, photograph albums and, one by one, the collection of
miniature musical boxes. She wound each lacquered box carefully as she set them on the
heap, and then she lit a match and dropped it. The music waned as the fire
smouldered. It took an age to light up, yet everything was burnt to
cinders in minutes. And then there was silence.

Nancy went into the house; Finbar stayed
outside shivering, his back against the wall. After a while, he walked over to the dead
fire and picked through the blackened remains. He recalled the stench of scorched horse
hair, the heat on his face, the search that turned up nothing, but, strangely, he
didn’t recall any pain as he burnt his fingers.

But Finbar had been only six years of age,
so maybe, maybe in his grief, he’d made it all up? Maybe his hands were burnt some
ordinary way, like on the stove? Carmel asked her father once. ‘The stretch of
Finbar’s imagination is matched only by his boundless capacity for
self-pity.’

What kind of answer was that?

Carmel’s mother wasn’t much
clearer when she eventually dared to ask her.

‘Ah, now, pet, use your head. Would it
be like me to do such a thing?’

It would be just like her, but Carmel
didn’t say so.

Finbar had moved into this room, where his
mother had died, when Carmel was born. Mother never went into it herself, because of
Frances perhaps, not even to tidy. That made it a good place to be, Finbar used to say.
Carmel liked the fact that her mother hadn’t spent time in here. Was that a bad
thing to think? It was a peaceful room, so full of light now and perfect for a baby.

She had no memory of any blackbirds. Finbar
had a habit of darkening things. And if there had been blackbirds flying from the
chimney every June, she hadn’t seen them. No, she hadn’t. Carmel had slept
in with her mother, snug and tight, most nights. Then where was her father? Oh, yes, in
the box room that was supposed to be Carmel’s, dying in the company of his
dictionary.
May he rest in peace.

Funny where the mind travels, especially
when people return that you thought were lost. Strange what you think, and strange what
you see. For, as the soft breeze and the moving curtain lulled Carmel towards sleep,
soot marks silently appeared on the walls and ceiling, and wings brushed past her hair,
till she heard
the frightened trapped beating of something used to
freedom. She opened her eyes: there were no soot marks, there was no bird, there was no
sound at all except the sound of her heart. No movement except the pain darting through
her back. She fumbled around her neck for the medal that wasn’t there.

Carmel adjusted the pillow behind her. She
felt panicky. From being woken suddenly – by what?

Settle. It’s all right.

She rocked gently to ease the back pain. The
bloody pain. Was it starting? Was this what it was like?

Carmel didn’t know. It felt like the
agony of the curse, not like a baby coming. Oh God, oh God, she was alone, and with no
breath to shout out. The pain around her waist was like a brace tightening, again, and
again, and again.

She was on the floor panting – she
couldn’t get up. Someone passed outside the window; a high laugh rose up. Birdie.
Please.
Please.

She moaned.

It’s too quick, not like this. Oh, Dan!

If only longing could bring a person
home.

Don’t be afraid – you’ve waited a long time for this. Don’t be
afraid.

It was hot, too hot, yet she was shivering.
The pain had eased. Everything was still for a second. She took her bearings – she was
on the floor by the chair, on her hunkers, rocking back and forth. Her underwear was
drenched; she must take it off. She tugged it free.

She never knew it would be like this. The
unbearable urge to press down, the soiling. A roar came out of her. And another. She
didn’t care that she was hunched on the floor, she didn’t care. She let
instinct guide her and bore down. She screamed.

The baby slithered silently from between her
legs. It glistened. A beautiful baby boy, so perfect. His hair sleek and dark, his face
round and calm, eyes closed and delicate lashes sweeping over his cheeks. His tiny mouth
pursed into a cupid’s bow, his fists closed tight, each fingernail a pearl. Carmel
held him to her breast. Could a baby be born sleeping?

One of the best days of my life was the one
when Carmel nearly fainted in the shop and I was the only customer. It got me the
part-time job.

‘I’ll have to close.’ She
was grey in the face.

I stepped up to the mark.

‘No need, Mrs Holohan. I’ll take
over. You lie down.’

‘Can you add and subtract?’ she
asked, not a bit embarrassed.

‘I’m quick at my numbers and can
read as well as most.’

I hadn’t left school because I was
slow. A well-off woman like Carmel Holohan wouldn’t understand that. I had been on
my way to the market to get a proper look at the herbalist and give him an opportunity
to catch sight of me, so I was done up lovely for what turned out to be my first day of
work. I wore blue serge with a deep sweetheart neckline, all made from a pattern out of
my own head. And what did Carmel do, only tie a big old apron around me? Said my
homemade dress was a bit ‘showy’. What would she know? Practically living in
a shapeless gansey since the previous week when she’d taken badly.

After a while I realized that Carmel
wasn’t coming back down. No wonder: she looked atrocious. After all her swooning
these past months, didn’t the babe go and die on her? So much for ‘I’m
not an invalid, Emily.’

The shop was quiet and I decided I might as
well have a good look around. I’d been coming to Kelly’s since I was a tot,
but I’d never been in the back. I couldn’t wait to see the decorating Carmel
was always boasting about. ‘Dan’s a Trojan – he never stops. You should see
the kitchen extension he’s built.’

A short hall led from the grocery, so thick
with cerise wallpaper you could press your thumb into it. There was a wedding photo on
a what-not facing into the shop. As if Carmel wanted everyone to
accidentally see her looking young and pretty.

‘Oh, yes,’ I’d heard her
say, edging the door shut with her foot, ‘that’s my husband and me, the day
we wed.’

Plums in her mouth, shite on her shoes.

I examined the picture up close. Dan
hadn’t changed a jot. Carmel had. Her face was heart-shaped then, not square like
now. Her hair was waved back as if she was facing a light breeze. But I knew those
lovely soft waves were stiff from setting lotion. She wore a dark suit, single breasted,
with a cinched-in waist.

The living room was dim and stank of turf
and laundry. A clotheshorse laden with sheets hunched over the hearth. The walls were
painted olive-green. Good-quality tan lino was laid right to the wall. A plush armchair
with wooden arms like paddles had a pile of books slipping out from under it. I sat and
sank almost to the ground. The ceiling above me was yellow from nicotine. Carmel’s
mother had been a wicked smoker. Three embroidered cushions on the settle bed caught my
eye:
Home Sweet Home
,
God Bless This House
and
Níl aon tinteán mar
do thinteán féin.
The stitching was loose and careless; the colours were dire,
browns, mustard and violet. Carmel must’ve decorated in a fever, or maybe it was
her mother before her. There were knick-knacks on every surface; the sideboard and
mantelpiece were crowded with china and brass, there wasn’t a saint or politician
left out.

The big window looked out on to a makeshift
kitchen extension. Dan did everything himself, according to Carmel. He suited her so
well: neither of them would part with a penny if they could help it. The lace curtains
were open. The effect was strange. The window-frame and the curtains seemed to open on
to a different world altogether, like one of those Pathé documentaries in the picture
house. Beyond the frame was a table set with a big brown teapot and two cups and
saucers. And beyond the table was another window, through which I could see hawthorns
trembling in the wind.

I stood there for a few seconds, half
waiting for something to happen, for something to begin. Then I felt someone watching
me.
Of course there was no one, but it gave me a shiver. And the
Sacred Heart pictures gave me the creeps. Half a dozen pictures in a row, all those
upturned brown eyes, raised hands and poor barbed hearts with blood dripping from them.
Lord help us, it was too much; it was like a grand general Jesus convention.

The door that led to the kitchen was so
heavily painted it wouldn’t close properly. It seemed Dan got his excitement from
painting things. The kitchen was a short and wide affair, a black stove, a small table,
a dresser full of willow pattern and books. Beneath the window stood a churn of water;
next to it was a cluttered sideboard that was none too clean. Three steps across and I
was at the window, and looking out at the biggest pig I’d ever seen in my
life.

So this was it. I had arrived. I had finally
witnessed Dan Holohan’s miraculous extension.

The shop bell reminded me why I was there. A
craggy voice called out. I ran out to the front and slipped in behind the counter. It
was Lizzie Murphy with her yellowed Woodbine fingers. I gave her my best smile.

‘Well, Mrs Murphy, aren’t you
looking splendid? And what can I get for you today?’

‘Come out from behind there, Emily
Madden – before I have you arrested.’

It didn’t get much better than that.
Did every single soul that walked through the shop have to be told exactly why I was
there instead of Carmel, or count every penny of their change so thoroughly? Did they
think I was an amadán, a thief or a bit of both? While the rest of the town were getting
themselves healed by an exotic stranger, I was being treated like an imposter just for
helping a woman who was weak as water.

After an hour of general interrogation and
unpleasantness I was in for a change. Who strolled through the door at half past twelve
but the very man himself? The herbalist. The hat, the suit and the pure smoky wonder of
his skin – it couldn’t be anyone else. He caught the bell to stop it clanging. He
was a slim man, not as tall as
I’d imagined. I saw his gold eye
tooth when he smiled, oh Lord, he had a wonderful smile. He was as dark as a maharajah
from the newspaper, and as strange as anything I’d ever seen. He picked a russet
from Nash’s apple box, shone it on his sleeve and bit into it with gusto. Then he
went and tapped a penny on the counter as if I was busy doing something other than
gawking at the wonder of him.

‘Is that a sombrero, amigo?’ I
said.

‘A panama hat.’ He tipped it.
‘Where have they been hiding you?’

‘I’m just taking a break from
Hollywood. Mr Spencer Tracy writes often. He misses me, the poor thing, he’s a
broken man.’

He waved my nonsense away; maybe he
didn’t understand.

‘Your name?’ he asked.

‘It’s Emily.’

‘Well, it’s very nice to meet
Emily,’ and, with that, he tipped his hat again, smiled and took his leave.

Dan blustered in then, all hot and bothered.
Wanting to know where Carmel was, was she all right, what was I doing with the change?
He got quite the surprise when he found out I’d been working there the whole
morning. He wasn’t pleased, but I explained the situation and kept a cheerful face
on me. I was still thrilled from meeting the herbalist, no matter that it was only for a
minute. I wanted Dan to see me all efficient and think it was a good idea to give me a
position. Mam would be proud, and I’d be earning.