Eimear McBride - A Girl Is A Half-formed Thing

What’s going on in here she shouts. Caught you by a scrag of hair. What in God’s name are you doing to your sister? Stop it. Stop it calm down. I mean it. Stop it. Dear God in heaven stop it. She struggle. Struggling with you. Struggle while you pull her struggle off. While you push. Shouting roaring off your head. She saying this no way to behave. You’ll never make a priest like this. And pushed over. I see she fell. Jesus. Jesus all I say getting up. Putting hands out for blows. And she and she too. Stop it Jesus calm down. She is saying if you in carry on this way they’ll never take you in. You give her other push. I don’t want to be a priest a fucking fucking fucking priest. That’s no way to talk my boy as though you’re on TV. I want to escape you say I want to get away from the pair of ye. And strike out. We’re not struck at all. It’s going in you. Beating up against the walls. I want to be in the SAS. And you turn. She. Hit her between the shoulder and the neck so she cries. I. And then you ran. Out the door. Out the hallway. Out the house. Running to. Running like mad.

That’s a lash I’m quiet under. All the night you were away and she me sat and holding hands or piece and jam or cup of tea. Is that him knocking at the door? Her neck blacken and red. It was not you at all. Where were you? And when she had gone to bed I locked the door in secret. Let you stay out there.

But the next night you came home. It was a very quiet way. Say not a thing. No one say and that was the end of that.

Wander about the months sucking my teeth that you hurt. Touch and touching-up my eye. Packed in and up that life between my thighs. Keep it now for alone at night, for my thoughts to blister on. Can I meet you round the back at lunch? Just fuck off. You all can.

It’s only ever going home. You watch me. Crucified on the bus to hear them going Ah I wouldn’t mind a bit of that or the fine thing’s arse or I’d do her raw and red. For now taking it away they have me. I am at their mercy. And you push me down the bus steps. Push me out the door, saying see now see what you are? Everyone’s embarrassed at what you did. Everyone thinks you’re disgusting like a maggoty pervy type I’d kill if I went to war. That’s the job for you. You’re very sure. But did you tell? You’ll never say and she says nothing. I don’t see so I don’t think you did.

The last day is off school and you’re finished. All your exams the same. I don’t mention but I’m aching for the moment you’ll be leaving. The summer’s come. Something’s good in that for me. It dry up each my wounds of nasty thinking what I did. Now very nice do dishes for Mammy or rake the fire out instead of you. You never note, for that’s that now. Dirty beast and go away. Alright. I will. Leave or. I would. If I could.

And you are gone for army trials. Up the country. Long weekend and say yes that’s the life for me. It took two months. For your exams. For army invite coming through. That’s a loose summer working in the shop for you. I think you might at stacking shelves. It’s boring but you never say for August’s coming. She says prays for the right thing — please God a vocation — whatever that may be.

Remember O most gracious Virgin Mary that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection implored thy help or sought thy intercession was left unaided inspired by this confidence I fly unto thee O virgin of virgins my mother To thee do I come before thee I stand sinful and sorrowful. Oh Mother of the word incarnate despise not my petition but graciously hear and answer me. Amen.

August comes.

And when you come back that last day there’s envelopes. Two on the window ledge get damp with condensation she says exciting look at this for you. You tear them. It’s the start of the end of this life. Well it seems so. Then. Maths F Irish E English E History E Geography E Chemistry Incomplete. Oh love I’m sorry. It’s not that that counts you say. So that one’s that but one the next. Oh Jesus. From the Irish Defence Forces. Stamp.

We’re sorry to inform you height weight IQ and eyesight are are but we wish you the very best.

You there staring across the table. Weeping mother press her faces into hands. Oh what. Oh what. What will you do? Eighteen years and no exam. You mumbling things like join the navy. They’d soon teach you to be a man. Not soft as shite with all the women in this house. Stop that talk. Conspiracies walling in around. God will I never get a break you said. What’s waiting to jump out and be reason for your failure? Ha ha ha. Not you. Never your fault. The fucking army. No need for that filthy talk. Who needs all that anyway? you say. They’ll never be their own man.

Slinking I if I could past. I don’t want to talk about this. With her. Near you at any rate. It’s your problem. Hers to fix. But your brother. Don’t tell me. He would make a lovely priest. Fuck off off that. I’m still your mother. True. And don’t talk to me that way.

Before there’s anything else though I’m out the. I’m out the very. Quick. Quick.

Back to stacking shelves for you with all those ones you hate. Shot to the ground they’d be if you could. Still it’s sixty quid every week. Twenty for her. The rest for you for buying sweets. More packets every day that you conceal. Up your coat pocket. In your sleeve — when you’re walking through the kitchen. But my job’s the bedroom bins. Colour foils off been all stripped. Plastic twirled in tissues but I saw I see it. Ever pack of Murray mints. Scoffed them when us two weren’t around. Glut glut gluttony I decide to say if I decide to. Out you. Stick you on a greedy spike. That’s if I need to. If I will I don’t know. Yet.

So we’re doing Lent this year she say we’ve been too lax now look at us. And all our groan was no effect. Giving sweets up. All things sweet up. Yes and literally good for the soul. Oh my god those magic words. Set me to flight. In my secret world I’ll find some way to rebel. Smiling offer up my fudge for Christ and for all the angels and the saints. Hey presto or Olé! And give up sugar in my tea. And give up milk. I drink it black and eat burnt toast for indulgence of. The dead. I like this very much. Sacrificial virgin self I seem to be.

Much dourer you than me. This is such a waste of time you say. We’ve swapped places for these mortifying days. Say effing praying what’s the good of that? I said my night prayers every night and look at what they did to me. Who? They did. They all. Didn’t want me to succeed. I see. Good. Oh yes? You just have it so easy look at you. What? All the things you did but your life’s always so. You’re always doing well, you say. I am, am I? Just leave me by myself you stupid dirty sow. Cow.

Morning mass at seven o’clock up the convent every day. Trup trup trup St Theresa echo wax parquet. Say prayers for your exams she says to me. We’ll see what’s to come. So here’s to holy acceleration but all I see is the wall ahead. And you say alright I will too. Liar faker. I do not look at you your eyes when I can manage not. Think about your daily sweets.

Clap. Trap. We go on slugging chest and head when we can. But I always swerve from you are so fucking dim though that’s what I prize now the most. Not for being clever gets you what you want. Just where you are, I won’t be.

Mad lust of it you get for computer games go blip across a screen. That’s your eighteenth birthday gift improve your mind with. Further education she says. Thinks of analysts in rows in shirts and saved up tokens with the milk. You blip it often. Your room at night. Going. One another and another one after that. From the morning til you went to work and after tea after rosaries after watching some TV. The new love take up all your time. Eating sweets and Jupiter Landing. Come on and have a go. No. I don’t want to. It’s killing all your brain cells. So?