Colum McCann - Fishing the Sloe-Black River

And a big journey it is too. The foundation now, Moira, is on like a dream. Trust me. And, as you say, you want to be traveling like a princess. And that you will be. We got so handy with the makeup, didn’t we? Even when the kids were born, and the beauty parlor was shut down, we’d always find some time for it. Trying out the lemon to get rid of the freckles. And those oatmeal face packs, Lord, they were great!

But, and let me say it, here and now, I’ll never ever ever forget the time you messed up my hair. I was a crotchety old bear for months afterward, and I’m sorry for it. But you have to think about it in the light of the time. Not two months after Matthew was born. You saying I’d look great if I got a bit of the stray gray out of the hair. Pushing the auburn look. Auburn this. Auburn that. Auburn the other thing. My head was down there in the sink in your bungalow saying, “Moira, are you sure about this?” “Sure, I’m sure,” you said. Not a bother on you. And for five weeks afterward my head was a fluorescent orange. Like a nuclear carrot, I was! Luminous! A tourist attraction! Everyone thought it very funny when July twelfth rolled around. All of them saying: “Oh, we can send Eileen up to Belfast for Orangeman’s Day.”

I was fuming, and I’m really sorry about what I did with your sunflowers. I know I never told you. But it was me. I’m very sorry. Lopped their heads off with a scissors, I was so mad. But the hair was really awful, you must admit. Come off it now! It was! Don’t be fooling me. Eoin wouldn’t touch me for weeks. Not that he was a mad passionate man anyway. He kept calling me a left footer. The kids all thought I’d gone barmy. Me, having to wear that awful scarf, the one with the pictures of the pound notes on it, all around town for God knows how long. Rinsing my hair every day, trying to get the dye out. But, that’s said and done, and we can laugh about it now.

But we were pretty handy all the same, weren’t we? Even when it was rationed, we could always find some. Sure, remember when we got those red stones that when you licked them, they’d give off a bit of paint? Down by the river when we were kids. And using the sugar water to keep the hair up. And the berry juice we’d smear on our cheeks when we had nothing else. The fun we had with those. Speaking of, Moira, here we go with the rouge now. Yardley. That rose perle tint you’ve always been fond of.

Strange that. Never really thought of it that way. Those stones we’d find, down by the river, us little girls, in exactly the same place where your Sean and young Liam wanted to build your bungalow. Moira, those lettuce-and-tomato sandwiches! Those flasks of tea! Weren’t those the times? Your Liam there working on the house. Up we’d go with his lunch and he’d say, him hanging out of the rafters: “Mam, Auntie Eileen, are you sure yez put enough salad cream on these things today?” Always mad keen on the lettuce and tomato. And then us down to the town with another flask and a few brown bags for the men. Us meeting in the park and spreading out the big white tablecloth. Your Sean forever leaving all those dirty thumbprints on the tablecloth. Terrible. And don’t you remember the day I took the driving test! Sean leaving that dirty great spanner in the middle of the passenger seat by mistake. Me so nervous that I forgot about it and along comes the driving inspector and sits on the damn thing. Moira, it must be said that he was a bit of a poofter, wearing those cream pants, don’t you think? Him so snotty and dignified and stupid that he didn’t say a thing. Him failing me and all. And me not even hitting the curb on the three-point turn. Livid, I was. But it was worth the price of admission, that was. That big slobber of oil on his arse pants. Him waddling off. A teapot, as your Kieran would say.

This rouge is fabulous stuff. Blending in wonderfully. Amazing what they can do nowadays. Listen to me ramble and me making a mess with the makeup! God! Your sunflowers. I’m still thinking about your sunflowers. And the way you were going to enter them in the flower competition. Sorry now. I really am. Along I came and snippety-snip, they were gone.

Well, it’ll be family now, the next few days, us all back together again. The children never understand at times like these, and it’s just as well that they have a bit of fun. We’ll get little Orla and Fiona and Michelle and we’ll teach them how to put on some makeup. Maybe even see if some of the young girls at the beauty parlor will allow me to take up a chair and teach the kids some tricks of the trade. Oh me, oh my, wouldn’t that be a racket! We’ll take the boys and bring them down to the bridge, lash together some fishing poles and maybe even go for a plunge, what with the hot weather we’ve been having. Give the rest of us time. All of us adults together. I know I said some bad things about my Eoin, but I really wish he was here. But. Well! I’m happy enough. I really am. The letters from the kids and all, keeping up the house, and baking the odd bit of bread. Up to Dublin occasionally to baby-sit. And just walking about the town. The river’s bad, though, as you know. That chemical factory has been sending men down here with all their Geiger counters or whatever it is they call them. Soon we’ll all be walking around glowing. Another go-around with the orange hair for me, I suppose. Just a little extra rouge here. Don’t be worrying. Moira, you have the most gorgeous cheekbones! I’ve always envied those cheekbones.

Now let me just have a minute here now and we’ll start on the eyes. A dab with the pencil first, I think. The moss-colored one. Up above the lashes here. Ah-ha. Anyway. Umm. Just a touch here. Isn’t it terrible, though? There they were, promising a hundred jobs and all we get is a river we can hardly swim in anymore. But, my God, I was down there the other day and you should see some of the bathing suits the young girls are wearing! Little thongs thin as twigs. Pieces of cloth no thicker than thread. Down there flossing, Moira! I ask you. Leaving not a thing to the imagination. But why not? When you have it, flaunt it, I suppose. To hell with God and country. Now, I don’t really mean that, Moira, but you know what I mean. It’s not as if we were the purest things since snow or sliced bread. I mean, we were given to a bit of wiggling too, weren’t we, when we had it? Not that we ever wore swimsuits like that. Let me stand back a minute and size you up.

A sight for sore eyes, you are. What do you think? Some more? All right so. Here we go. Marvelous. Jiminy cricket, but you’re looking great. Then we’ll see what we can do with the eye shadow and the mascara. We’ll give you that green, a bit of light color under the eyebrows. Those eyes of yours always so green. Ah, Moira. You made me happy with that note of yours, strange as it may seem. Your Sean woke up this morning and the first thing he did was he phoned me, told me the news, saying that he had this envelope that he had tucked away for years in the bottom drawer of his dresser. Drove over to the house and handed it to me. Both of us crying. No airs about you. There’s never been an air about you. That’s how I’d like to do it myself. No fuss or bother.

It was a lovely note all the same. Such a lovely idea. When in the world did you write it? Sean said he had it for years and that many’s the time he wanted to open it. Anyway, we went down to McCartan’s in the rain to arrange the arrangements, and old man McCartan saying: “That’s a very strange request, I’m not sure if we can do it.” And your Sean — he loves you so much, he really does — taking him aside and saying that he’d give McCartan a few extra bob if he’d let me do your face. McCartan’s a bit of a rat for the money sometimes. Hemmed and hawed for a moment. Sean slipped him another fiver and McCartan got everything ready for me — fixed you up in a way of peace and all. But him still trying to tell me that it might overwhelm me. Overwhelm me! I ask you! After all the times I’ve done this self-same thing. Go away out of that, Mister McCartan, I said to him. There’s nobody better for the job. I’ll do her up right. Sure we’ll have a little natter and we’ll talk about old times.