Roddy Doyle: Paddy Clarke, Ha Ha Ha

My ma once smelt the smoke off me. She saw my hands first. She grabbed one of them.

– Look at your hands, she said. -Your fingernails! My God, Patrick, you must be in mourning for the cat.

Then she smelt me.

– What have you been up to?

– Putting out a fire.

She killed me. The worst part was waiting to see if she’d tell my da when he came home.

Kevin had the matches, a box of Swan ones. I loved those boxes. We’d made a small wigwam out of planks and sticks and we’d brought two cardboard boxes with us from behind the shops. The boxes were ripped up and under the wood. Wood by itself took too long to get going. It was still daytime. Kevin lit a match. Me and Liam looked around to see if there was anyone coming. There was no one else with us. Aidan was staying in his auntie’s house. Sinbad was in hospital because he had to get his tonsils out. Kevin put the match under the cardboard, waited for it to grab the flame and let go of the match. We watched the fire eat the cardboard. Then we ran for cover.

I couldn’t really use matches properly. The match broke or it wouldn’t light or I’d pull it along the wrong side of the box; or it would light and I’d get rid of it too quickly.

We waited behind one of the houses. When the watchman came we’d run. We were near the hedge, the escape route. Kevin said that they couldn’t do anything to you if they didn’t catch you on the building site. If they grabbed us or hit us out on the road we could bring them to court. We couldn’t see the fire properly. We waited. It wasn’t a house yet, just some of the walls. It was a line of six houses joined together. The Corporation were building the houses here. We waited for a while. I’d forgotten my jumper.

– Oh, oh.

– What?

– Oh janey.

– What?

– Emergency, emergency.

We crawled around the side of the house; not all the way because it was taking too long. There was a barrel over near where I’d put my jumper. I ran for cover. I crouched behind the barrel and breathed in and out real hard, getting ready to go. I looked back; Kevin stood up properly, looked around and got back down again.

– Okay, he hissed.

I took a last breath and came out from behind the barrel and dashed for the jumper. No one shouted. I made a noise like bombs exploding as I grabbed the jumper off the bricks. I slid back behind the barrel.

The fire was going well, loads of smoke. I got a stone and threw it at the fire. Kevin stood up again and scouted for a watchman. The coast was clear and he signalled me to come. I charged, crouched down and got to the side of the house. Kevin patted me on the back. So did Liam.

I tied the jumper around my waist. I put the sleeves in a double knot.

– Come on, men.

Kevin ran out from behind our cover; we followed him and danced around the fire.

– Woo woo woo woo woo -

We put our hands to our mouths and did the Indian stuff.

– Hii-yaa-yaa-yaa-yaa-yaa-yaa -

Kevin kicked the fire at me but the pile just fell. It wasn’t much of a fire now. I stopped dancing. So did Kevin and Liam. Kevin pushed and pulled Liam to the fire.

– Lay off!

I helped Kevin. Liam got serious, so we stopped. We were sweating. I had an idea.

– The watchman is a bas-stard!

We ran back to behind the house and laughed. We all joined in.

– The watchman is a bas-stard! The watchman is a bas-stard!

We heard something; Kevin did.

We escaped, dashed across the remains of the field. I zigzagged, head down, so no bullets would get me. I fell through the gap into the ditch. We had a fight, just pushing. Liam missed my shoulder and punched my ear and it stung, so he had to let me hit him in the ear back. He put his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t try to stop me.

We got out of the ditch cos the midgeys were landing on our faces.

Sinbad wouldn’t put the lighter fuel in his mouth.

– It’s halibut oil, I told him.

– It isn’t, he said.

He squirmed but I held onto him. We were in the school yard, in the shed.

I liked halibut oil. When you cracked the plastic with your teeth the oil spread over the inside of your mouth, like ink through blotting paper. It was warm; I liked it. The plastic was nice as well.

It was Monday; Henno was in charge of the yard, but he always stayed over at the far side watching whoever was playing handball. He was mad; if he’d come over to our side, the shed, he’d have caught loads of us in the act. If a teacher caught five fellas smoking or doing serious messing he got a bonus in his wages; that was what Fluke Cassidy said and his uncle was a teacher. But Henno only watched handball and sometimes he took his jacket and his jumper off and played it as well. He was brilliant. When he hit the ball you couldn’t see it till it hit the wall; it was like a bullet. He had a sticker in his car: Live Longer, Play Handball.

Sinbad’s lips had disappeared because he was pressing them shut so hard; we couldn’t get his mouth open. Kevin pressed the fuel capsule against his mouth but it wouldn’t go in. I pinched Sinbad’s arm; no good. This was terrible; in front of the others, I couldn’t sort out my little brother. I got the hair above his ear and pulled it up; I lifted him: I just wanted to hurt him. His eyes were closed now as well but the tears were getting out. I held his nose. He gasped and Kevin shoved the capsule half-way into his mouth. Then Liam lit it with the match.

We said we’d get Liam to light it, me and Kevin, just in case we got caught.

It went like a dragon.

I preferred magnifying glasses to matches. We spent afternoons burning little piles of cut grass. I loved watching the grass change colour. I loved it when the flame began to race through the grass. You had more control with a magnifying glass. It was easier but it took more skill. If the sun stayed out long enough you could saw through a sheet of paper and not have to touch it, just put down a stone in each corner to stop it from blowing away. We’d have a race; burn, blow it out, burn, blow it out. Last to burn the paper completely in half had to let the other fella burn his hand. We’d draw a man on the paper and burn holes in him; in his hands and his feet, like Jesus. We drew long hair on him. We left his mickey till last.

We cut roads through the nettles. My ma wanted to know what I was doing going out wearing my duffel coat and mittens on a lovely nice day.

– We’re doing the nettles, I told her.

The nettles were huge; giant ones. The hives from their stings were colossal, and they itched for ages after they’d stopped stinging. They took up a big corner of the field behind the shops. Nothing else grew there, just the nettles. After we hacked them over with a sideways swing of our sticks and hurleys we had to mash them down. Juice from the nettles flew up. We built roads right through the nettles, a road each because of the swinging sticks and hurleys. When we were going home the roads had met and there were no nettles left. The hurleys were green and I had two stings on my face; I’d taken off my balaclava because my head was itchy.

I was looking at crumbs. My da put his hand on the magnifying glass and I let him take it. He looked at the hairs on his hand.

– Who gave you this? he said. -You.

– Oh, that’s right; I did.

He handed it back.

– Good man.

He pressed his thumb down hard on the kitchen table.

– See if you can see the print, he said.

I wasn’t sure.

– The fingerprint, he said. -The thumb.

I shifted my chair over closer to him and held the glass over where his thumb had been. We both looked through the glass. All I could see was the yellow and red dots of the tabletop, bigger.

– See anything? he said.