Heap Earth Upon It, page 15
‘We’ll have some craic tonight.’
I hear him from behind me, bolting his words with joviality. I don’t bother turning around to give him the reaction that he wants. Unfair, I know. You would have given him a big smile and listed off two or three things that you were excited for. All your endless patience, which I once saw as performative, but now understand as a gift. If I could capture your grace and make it my own. If I could show you how I’m getting on. If you could say to me, ‘Yeah, Jack, Teresa is stunning, go for it.’
When we arrive, the parish hall is lit up, almost moving with people. We get in and pay Father O’Brien, and I’m hit with the warm wave of all of Ballycrea crammed into one room. Perfume and sweat. Not far from the carry-on we would have had in Kilmarra.
The single lads lined up against one side of the room, and the single girls lined up against the other. Catching up with each other, pretending they aren’t afraid of the other side of the room. Like children. Normally, myself and yourself would have been one of the first couples to break the ice and start dancing. As this thought warms me, I realise I have to send myself to the line of single lads and immerse myself in their nerves. Naggins are pulled from breast pockets and sucked on, even with the disapproval of the women. There was a time I would have joined them for a sly sup. Thanks be to god you grew me up out of that carry-on. I know some of these lads from Doyle’s: Jim Ryan and his crew. If I’m lucky, they won’t know me. If I’m lucky, I’ll get through the night without hearing a cover of ‘I Feel Fine’.
There’s Bill and Betty, talking to everybody that passes them. As though he is the Lord Mayor and they are welcoming people into their grand home. The band introduces themselves. Some jazz trio I have never heard of but who have stirred up some excitement with the locals. Who will no doubt turn to playing polkas on the saxophone. It’s all very familiar, really, and it settles me. No matter how far I go from home, most things seem to stay the same.
Nights like these put me in mind of you. Of course they do. Coming to your door and collecting you. In your nicest dress, in your sister’s satin shoes. A vision. Glowing. Goddess of Kilmarra. What I wouldn’t give for one more night like that. To feel your dress creasing under my hand. To wear the lipstick off you. It’s so sweet to miss you.
Thoughts like this will come to me all night, I suppose. Countless fragments of you, yet never enough to amount to the whole of you. And I’m hit with the fear that I’m only a short sideways step away from becoming like Jim Ryan and his crowd of sad old bachelors, hanging around the hall, looking to snare any young one who is too polite to tell me to piss off. I take a drink, and then I take another.
One of us has to be the first to chance it, so I approach the women against the wall and ask one of them if she will go for a dance with me. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just what a man is supposed to do at a dance. I dance with one, and then another. What harm is it to lean into them when they talk? To be closer than is proper, to know the taste of their breath and the heat of their words as they speak. What harm could it really do to let somebody touch me? It’s only a feeling. Just to remind me that I am alive. Yes. How easily I forget that I am alive. Teresa approaches me, but I cannot handle the lovely panic her attention would bring me right now. As one song ends, I find Anna against the wall.
‘Come on, girl.’
I take her arm as the ‘Siege of Carrick’ begins. It all sounds good by the jazz band. Better than I thought. It’s all going better than I thought. The sweat of Anna’s palms warms my hands. We begin, and the blur of the locals wipes past me. Ah yes, I am alive. And how good it is. Anna laughs. The music picks up. I haven’t heard this song since I was a boy. Suddenly I remember the feeling of freedom. Suddenly it is summer. You are back for a minute, and I feel fine.
Anna
Jack spins me around and around. So fast that I feel the soul will be pulled up out of me. A woman passes before me. Behind me. Before me. Behind me. Betty, Lillian, Betty, Lillian. Beautiful, shocking, these terrifying shapes. Blonde to black to blonde. Beauty to beauty to beauty. Passing and spinning away from me so fast that I don’t have the time to think of how alarmingly lovely and present they are. I can manage them both for right now. I am a perfect evening sky, balancing both the sun and the moon. I can manage.
Just as I am settling in, the strong arms of Ger Doyle pull me off Jack and spin me away.
‘You’re some dancer, Anna!’
He calls over the music, smiling a huge smile. Tobacco stains on his big teeth. What a nice man.
Jack takes women in and out of his arms. So does Tom. And for the length of this song, I move without thinking, fitting seamlessly in with everybody and everything. Let’s all keep moving this quickly, and maybe everything will stay fine. I like set dances. I feel they are one of the few times when I can be sure of myself and what we are all doing. I am taken into the arms of Michael Fitzpatrick.
Before me, behind me, she comes back again, and I feel as high up as the music.
Tom
Yes, tonight is some night.
It’s a long time since I had a night like this. With plans and friends. With loud music and money in my pocket. I catch Anna in the dance, and she is laughing. It’s so long since I heard her really laughing. How nice it is, to spin around in circles with my sister. To hear Jack laughing behind me, too. It’s so rare that we are all happy at the same time. But look at us now, part of a big dance. Touching everyone, known by everyone. Isn’t it enlivening just to be touching somebody?
Dr Desmond passes me by. He smiles and waves as though we are friends. As though we know each other well. And although I’m still half afraid of him, I smile and nod right back at him. As though he was any old eejit.
I see Teresa Doyle catching Jack’s arm, and as the music slows, he brings her in closer for a dance. Her dark blue frock and his dark blue trousers. That girl, with her big doe eyes for him. Always with a cigarette in her mouth or a bag of sweets in her hand. Like a child with a dummy. If she wasn’t so pretty, Jack wouldn’t bother with her, because there’s nothing to her besides that. For once I am not jealous of him.
Jack
Everything that was moving quick and unsteady has stilled with Teresa finding me. The curve of her back beneath my hand, her palm against mine. Something I anticipated, and yet somehow did not see coming. And now that we are dancing together, I am not taken over with guilt. Rather, for the first time in a long time, I feel like myself. Dancing with pretty girls was what I once lived for. I am coming back to Jack O’Leary again.
For a little while, I let Teresa lead. Things seem to be happen-ing here that are beyond my control, and so, for now, I let them happen. I let myself melt while this beautiful girl, who is so mad about me, dances me around the room. And I am happy. Limp-bodied, lightheaded, and feeling love from this new friend of mine. She has fallen for me at my worst. Just imagine how happy I would make her if I could get back to my best.
I think I could probably sway with her like this all night. But in the corner of the room, I see Bill Nevan talking in her father’s ear. And when our third song ends, Ger makes his way to us. She sighs, and a weight lands on my back. Her father, slapping me up straight. His booming voice and straining shirt buttons.
‘Well, Mr O’Leary. You’re after a bit of bar work, I hear.’
Bill stands in the corner, watching, pleased with himself for working his supposed magic again. I wouldn’t be intimidated by Ger if I wasn’t so bewildered by his daughter.
‘’Tis your Teresa wants me working in the pub.’
I say, trying to laugh, trying to seem like an equal. My hand still holding her back. It seems inappropriate to hold on and inappropriate to let go.
‘She’s dead right. A man should work.’
I suppose he is sizing me up as a match for his daughter. This was always a risk.
‘I’ll start you on the days and we’ll see how you get on. Come down at twelve tomorrow in a good shirt.’
He looks at Teresa, and then back at me, as though he is warning us of something. As quickly as he arrived, he is gone. She squeals, she giggles. I love these light, girlish noises. For a minute I don’t really mind what just happened, because she seems so happy.
‘Ah, Jack! This will be so much fun!’
I smile, not only to please her, but because I really can’t help it. Her happiness seems to bleed into me. It has been so nice to have a friend. Let’s chance it, so. Let’s see where it gets us. At the very least, I’ll have a wage coming in again, so I can stand on my own two feet a bit more. Okay. It might be good.
The only trouble is I’ve no nice shirt.
‘How nice is a nice shirt by your father’s standards?’
I ask, but she only laughs at me.
Anna
One of the Quiggly girls is called up to sing. It’s all fine, isn’t it? For once, everything is fine. I feel comfortable in the hall. I feel happy. Happier than ever when Betty comes towards me, soft thunder in my ears, white lightning in my eyes.
Behind her there is a young man. Although older than me, I’m sure. A tall, thin man, with fuzzy hair. Betty is all talk.
‘Anna, you’re looking great! Love the hair.’
A brown suit on him, too short in the arm, too wide on the shoulder. Something comes across Betty’s face that I don’t really understand. A look you used to give to your friends, a look I have seen exchanged when I come near.
‘I thought you’d like to meet Liam Hennessey. He’s the only proper dancer in the hall.’
Betty presents him as though she has made him. As though he is something I might be impressed with. Liam smiles, shy but assured, as though he doesn’t want to admit it, but he believes that he really is the only proper dancer in the hall. My god.
‘This one will put manners on you, Liam!’
Everybody around us has started to dance to the Quiggly girl’s song, and we are getting in their way. Betty is acting like a boy.
‘Go on, Liam, show her how it’s done.’
She nudges him towards me, a huge smile on her face. Surely she isn’t trying to set me up?
Liam smiles at me again, wordless, and doesn’t ask before taking my hand and waist, and stepping me around the floor. If he is the only proper dancer in the hall, then we’re in real trouble.
Looking over my shoulder, I see Betty dancing with Dr Desmond, and she glances over at me. Still smiling, and nodding. Wanting, for some reason, this dance between myself and Liam to go well. If it makes her happy, I’ll stick it out.
He’s a nice enough man, only that his breath smells of his fish dinner, and he insists on leaning right into me while he speaks. Still, he seems like a fairly safe pair of hands to be in.
After two obliging songs, I look around for Betty, and see that Dr Desmond is dancing with somebody else. I wish I was happy to waltz around the room in the arms of Ballycrea all night, but without eyes on Betty, my throat has closed, and I am faint.
The back of her head, disappearing out the side door of the hall. A moment of relief in catching sight of her, and a surge of panic in her disappearing again. Gone out without her coat into the cold night.
Where would she be going, all on her own, when the whole parish is in here? When I am in here? Where would she be going without me? And what right has she to disappear from me, unexpected and unexplained?
I want to chase her outside, but Liam Hennessey has a real grip on me. He is going to make the most of every last second he has with me. Big rosy cheeks, fish-breathed. Asking me questions about where I’m from and the things I like. But I can’t remember the name of the town Tom said we came from. Incessant questions. And the music getting louder. With my palms on his chest, I push him off me, knocking into Mary Doyle and her fella. She is too polite to shout at me.
‘Mind yourself.’
Her fella says, and puts his hand on her stomach. Mary Doyle is pregnant. He isn’t happy. I want Betty to step between us. But she is outside. I choke out an apology as I run out the side door of the hall.
I want to cry, to fall into her arms. But when I see her, it all goes away. It’s just the two of us. Finally, at last. Betty leaning against the pebble-dashed wall, next to a heap of bicycles. The soft sounds of the hedge and the sky. Her face lit up in the dark, she looks up at the stars.
‘Why did you disappear?’
I sound more desperate than I would like to. But I suppose I am desperate. Everything inside was too fast and too close, and I need her to bring me back to my centre.
She jumps back when she realises it’s me. I didn’t mean to scare her. I never mean to scare anybody. It’s just hard for me when she leaves so suddenly, without a word. That’s what I need to say to her.
‘I just needed a break. It’s so warm in there. Where’s Liam?’
She’s looking around me, as though Liam is just behind me. But she doesn’t look at me. A tiny little detail that perhaps she doesn’t think I will notice. But I notice everything. I feel everything. What would it cost her to just throw her eyes over me? The cheek of her, to come outside for a little rest when all she does is cause unrest. If she needed a break from everything in the hall, that means she needed a break from me. What did I do to make her feel that way? If I just tell her what I feel, everything will be fine. And still that desperate, rough talk comes from me.
‘Shake a leg, girl, you’re fine.’
My upset is coming out like disgust. Well, I suppose that in some small way, I am disgusted with her. I’m disgusted with myself, with my over-familiarity. But something about Betty wanting a moment to herself is infuriating, and I don’t know how to order my feelings. I don’t know how to pause long enough to articulate my frustration, to know what is an overreaction and what is justified. I wish I knew how to separate things like that; I wish I knew how to clear my thoughts. Instead, everything melts into one feeling, and I can’t speak it without causing damage.
‘Come on, Betty, come back inside with me. We could have a dance.’
Something within me is about to crack. I don’t know how to make it stop, or how to feel something else. In any other circumstance, with any other person, I could allow a bit of distance. It’s just that she seems to know me, to understand me in a way that nobody else does. When you finally feel understood, it’s a very hard thing to let go of. I suppose you won’t know what that is like, because everybody loved you and wanted you, and nothing for you was difficult.
I just want her to tell me everything is fine, and to come back inside with me. But she won’t even look at me. I can’t stop myself from talking at her. She is yet to start listening.
‘Betty! Would you look at me.’
I had a sense of what I was feeling when I stepped outside, but it’s gone now. I don’t have any words for this, it’s just a flood of feelings. Her arms cross, and at last she looks at me, from the side of her eye.
‘Have you been drinking, Anna?’
I hear her speak, but it’s like something said on the radio, that I’m not supposed to reply to. The ground under me feels further away by the second. What’s going on? I thought that Betty and I understood each other. That she could see me and hear me. Even when I have felt like a supernova, dying in so deep and silent a space that nobody even knows that I am here, Betty knew. And suddenly, that has all gone. Suddenly, she is deciding not to see or hear me anymore. Not to understand.
If she would just smile at me, get up and come back inside with me. If she would only acknowledge me and let me know that I am still here. Betty, please just give me that smack of attention that I am craving.
‘You’re as weak as water.’
A woman like Betty should stand up to me, but all she does is look up at the stars. As though if she ignores me long enough, I will go away. As though she is afraid of me. Just looking up at the stars, at a reflection of herself. Admiring her shine, no doubt.
If I could just tell her that I love her. I love her as she is, I love the smell of the dead blood between her teeth, I love the phlegm in her throat. I love her as a woman, and I would love her as a man, as both or neither. Regardless of the form she takes, I love her. It makes no odds to me. If she exists, I love her. Would she look at me then, if I told her that?
It isn’t that I need the intensity of my fingers in her mouth again, or my blood on the back of her tongue. I just need a roll of the eyes. My name squeezed into a sigh. To be dismissed would be infinitely better than being ignored.
‘Why are you being so boring?’
Grappling for attention, like a child. So embarrassing. But I can’t stop. Just as I open my mouth to swear at her, the door opens behind us again.
‘All okay, ladies?’
Ciara Moore stands in the glow of the hall. And looking as though she has just seen her saviour, Betty stands up and moves towards me. Close. Closer. Far closer than I would have expected a moment ago. So close now that our cheeks could touch. We share a breath; I have never known something so intimate. From here, I could count the creases that lie against her eyes. I can almost taste the sherry that she drank inside. Almost touching. On the edge of almost everything.
And then she steps back. And the inches between us feel infinite. I wonder if I will ever feel close to anybody again. Just as I think she isn’t going to give me anything, her eyebrows worry themselves, and with a hand on my arm, she tells me,
‘Cop on, girl.’
Oh, the heat of her words. Isn’t this the right fire to be warmed by? Isn’t it good to bathe in the flames? I might let Betty burn me alive, just for the thrill of her acknowledgement. She walks past me into the hall. I watch once more as the back of her head moves out of reach. And while I still feel I’m falling, this time I feel I am falling into her. As she dwindles into the crowd, I wonder if she is the jesus that I have heard so much about, and what an honour it would be to be a louse on her scalp, living off her body and blood. She goes inside with Ciara, linking her arm. The best friends. Let them be best friends, I don’t want that title. She and I are tethered by the soul. Friendship doesn’t begin to describe it.
