looked so young, so tiny, compared with the others.
And the man on whose arm her fingers lay? I
knew the answer as soon as I’d thought of the question – that was the man who had
turned into my father.
Let the other women stay at home – I was
going to the funeral Mass. They couldn’t stop me if they tried. I always felt weak
in chapel, but this time was the worst, when we were seated at the topof the church and our mother was in the centre of the aisle in a wooden box and the
priest looked straight at me every time he spoke.
The brothers always made a laugh of how
afraid I was of that Father Higgins. Whenever I saw his gaunt white face, all I thought
of was the first time he’d come to our house. I was only seven but I never forgot
it. He came in without knocking. Mam was all about him –
‘Father’ this,
‘Father’ that.
I just looked at my plate. It was blue and white.
There was a bridge over a stream, and on the bridge was a maiden wearing a round-brimmed
hat. Pastures and blue skies – that’s all you want underneath your Sunday dinner,
under your potatoes, ham and cabbage. The more you eat, the more you see the whole
picture. I looked harder. Didn’t taste a thing. Tried not to listen to what Mam
and the priest were saying.
A blessing … a casting out … yes, Father … of course,
Father.
There was a smoking chimney on the roof. The whole picture appeared as
I cleared my plate. The woman in the wide-brimmed hat was leading a cow over the bridge
to market. When he came back into the kitchen, the priest had a rope.
Charlie carried me out of the church. Said
I’d fainted. He didn’t make me go back in, said I’d been through
enough.
14
Dan was asleep, but Carmel couldn’t
rest. Yet she was so tired all the time, couldn’t manage to stand and wash over
the tin, felt ill at the line, kept wanting to curl up in the hedge at the bottom of the
garden. The house felt alive with dust, like it was calling her to get up and clean it.
So she pulled back the covers and quietly got out of bed. She had already spent the day
getting the place ready for the help that was coming. She had intended to put her in the
spare room, to leave Samuel’s room as it was, ready, in the hope of another
chance. Carmel walked down the hall, opened the door and switched on the light.
She sat in the rocking chair. She had been
expecting the last time she had done that. There was bird noise from the chimney. She
listened carefully: no. No, there was nothing; just the usual night rustling. She would
leave this room be; it had witnessed his silent birth. Carmel would use the spare room
if she was lucky enough to be blessed. This bedroom would do the woman coming.
Carmel wondered what she was like, this
Sarah? Carmel hoped she was strong and able. She felt bad for sacking Emily. With her
poor mother passing, it was unfortunate. She must make up a parcel of food for the
Maddens next week, that would be the appropriate way to help out. She would send the new
help, so she didn’t have to go to the house herself. The wake tonight had been bad
enough.
And she would find a way to be soft towards
her without giving Emily the impression there was any chance of her working in the shop
again. She wasn’t a bad girl, but she was going the way of her mother before her,
besotted with an unsuitable man far too old, making a fool of herself, and look how that
had ended for Maureen? Living in poverty with a shell-shocked alcoholic. Everyone had
warned her at the time: what would a travellingsalesman – if
that’s what he was at all – know about land? All Brian knew about was drink and
women. God, he was lovely in his day, though, had put the
d
into dashing. But
Maureen had paid for her silliness, God bless and save her – all her lovely fields were
eventually let out to neighbours, and for half nothing at that.
Perhaps Carmel should also take it upon
herself to talk to Mr Don Fernandes. He must be mortified by the moony-eyed
And the man on whose arm her fingers lay? I
knew the answer as soon as I’d thought of the question – that was the man who had
turned into my father.
Let the other women stay at home – I was
going to the funeral Mass. They couldn’t stop me if they tried. I always felt weak
in chapel, but this time was the worst, when we were seated at the topof the church and our mother was in the centre of the aisle in a wooden box and the
priest looked straight at me every time he spoke.
The brothers always made a laugh of how
afraid I was of that Father Higgins. Whenever I saw his gaunt white face, all I thought
of was the first time he’d come to our house. I was only seven but I never forgot
it. He came in without knocking. Mam was all about him –
‘Father’ this,
‘Father’ that.
I just looked at my plate. It was blue and white.
There was a bridge over a stream, and on the bridge was a maiden wearing a round-brimmed
hat. Pastures and blue skies – that’s all you want underneath your Sunday dinner,
under your potatoes, ham and cabbage. The more you eat, the more you see the whole
picture. I looked harder. Didn’t taste a thing. Tried not to listen to what Mam
and the priest were saying.
A blessing … a casting out … yes, Father … of course,
Father.
There was a smoking chimney on the roof. The whole picture appeared as
I cleared my plate. The woman in the wide-brimmed hat was leading a cow over the bridge
to market. When he came back into the kitchen, the priest had a rope.
Charlie carried me out of the church. Said
I’d fainted. He didn’t make me go back in, said I’d been through
enough.
14
Dan was asleep, but Carmel couldn’t
rest. Yet she was so tired all the time, couldn’t manage to stand and wash over
the tin, felt ill at the line, kept wanting to curl up in the hedge at the bottom of the
garden. The house felt alive with dust, like it was calling her to get up and clean it.
So she pulled back the covers and quietly got out of bed. She had already spent the day
getting the place ready for the help that was coming. She had intended to put her in the
spare room, to leave Samuel’s room as it was, ready, in the hope of another
chance. Carmel walked down the hall, opened the door and switched on the light.
She sat in the rocking chair. She had been
expecting the last time she had done that. There was bird noise from the chimney. She
listened carefully: no. No, there was nothing; just the usual night rustling. She would
leave this room be; it had witnessed his silent birth. Carmel would use the spare room
if she was lucky enough to be blessed. This bedroom would do the woman coming.
Carmel wondered what she was like, this
Sarah? Carmel hoped she was strong and able. She felt bad for sacking Emily. With her
poor mother passing, it was unfortunate. She must make up a parcel of food for the
Maddens next week, that would be the appropriate way to help out. She would send the new
help, so she didn’t have to go to the house herself. The wake tonight had been bad
enough.
And she would find a way to be soft towards
her without giving Emily the impression there was any chance of her working in the shop
again. She wasn’t a bad girl, but she was going the way of her mother before her,
besotted with an unsuitable man far too old, making a fool of herself, and look how that
had ended for Maureen? Living in poverty with a shell-shocked alcoholic. Everyone had
warned her at the time: what would a travellingsalesman – if
that’s what he was at all – know about land? All Brian knew about was drink and
women. God, he was lovely in his day, though, had put the
d
into dashing. But
Maureen had paid for her silliness, God bless and save her – all her lovely fields were
eventually let out to neighbours, and for half nothing at that.
Perhaps Carmel should also take it upon
herself to talk to Mr Don Fernandes. He must be mortified by the moony-eyed
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