Donal Ryan - The Thing About December

JOHNSEY HAD nearly forgotten about the guards. It was hard keeping things in line inside your head. The same two as had originally visited full of auld shapes had called back to him again in the hospital the morning after the day of Siobhán’s special visit to let him know that that fella with the three initials you’d often hear talked about on the news — the Dee Pee-Pee — had sent them back their auld file because it was no good, there was a lack of evidence and therefore Eugene Penrose and the townie lad and the other two goonballs would be left away with their crime. The news hadn’t bothered Johnsey as much as it had Mumbly Dave, who gave the rest of that day giving out stink about the great injustice that had been perpetrated and the Dee Pee-Pee may as well have kicked you in the head himself and what he’d like to do to lads who went four-on-one and they were only scum and them fuckin guards were no use anyway and Johnsey had had to nearly pretend to be more cross about it than he actually was because without the hiding there’d have never been a Lovely Voice or a Mumbly Dave.

He couldn’t be saying that to Paddy Rourke, though. He was rightly up in arms. There were two little clouds of white froth at either side of his mouth and when he looked straight at Johnsey his eyes were shining like something was burning behind them. The best thing about Paddy was you hadn’t to say much to him, ever. He would pour out his few words, there’d be no milk or sugar added, only a big cup of scalding truth and you could drink it or refuse it, it was all the one to Paddy. Johnsey got the impression that Paddy would sooner he just kept completely silent and reached into the attic for the under-and-over and went down to the pump a-shooting, like Clint Eastwood at the end of Unforgiven .

Imagine if he did! There’d surely be no more secret favours from lovely nurses then, that was for certain. Only big old criminals covered in scars and tattoos to share a little cell with above in Mountjoy and doubtless they’d go at him like those fellas went at your man Andy Doo-frane in The Shawshank Redemption . If it was certain that he was going to fall into the darkness in the slatted house for good, then he could for sure try and put a few holes in them boys, if only for Paddy’s sake. It must be easier shoot a man than hit him; you could do it from a distance. Doubtless it would warrant a few more years in Purgatory, but how bad could that be? As far as he knew all you had to do was float about the place feeling sorry for your sins and for throwing the life God gave you back in His face and saying Acts of Contrition and wait to be admitted to paradise. And wasn’t it full of little baby angels who had not survived on this earth long enough to be christened? Or was that Limbo? Or were they the same place? Or hadn’t the pope released all them little innocent souls into paradise lately? Something like that had happened, he was sure. How’s ever, he’d surely never be consigned to hell over a few holes in them bowsies.

Paddy still looked vexed. It looked as though he was going to wait for Johnsey to say something after all. But he didn’t. He turned away from the wall and made shapes as if to leave, then he stopped and turned and started talking again.

One other thing, boy, and listen to me now. Once that auld lease is up, don’t give it to them again in the name of Jaysus. Them McDermotts is fuckin snakes. They’ll take thirteen leases, they’ve already had four, and they know you’ll have notten wrote down about leases nor rent because they knows well you’re the same as your father that way — and next thing they’ll grab all inside in the courthouse by making out you’re soft in the head and they had the use of the land for twelve year under no agreement nor never paid no rent, and the law abhors wasted land and twill be given them because of adverse possession you see. That’s a fancy name they put on squatters’ fuckin rights! Tinkers does it wholesale, Johnsey. And you can be sure them McDermotts will do it too. Clear them now and farm your own land or sell it or sell some of it but in the name of Jaysus don’t leave it to them rats beyond. How it is them Unthanks haven’t all this said to you is beyond me. Poor Sarah hadn’t her right mind after Jackie died; I don’t blame her for leaving things go to pot.

He turned away again and swatted the air once with his hand as he walked as much as to say to hell with this, you’re only a gom, I’m wasting precious time trying to talk sense to you. With a hawk and a spit he was through the gap and gone. Johnsey felt like running after him and grabbing his arm and imploring him to stay a while, to at least drink a mug of tea and maybe tell more about the plans for shooting yahoos and clearing McDermotts and maybe he’d explain the secret of filling lonesome days for years on end and Johnsey could in return reveal his secret about Siobhán and surely Paddy Rourke would think more highly of him if he knew he’d had relations with a beautiful nurse and he might take back some of what he said about Johnsey being like a meely-mawly of a calf. But he knew further talk would only make him feel more foolish. Better to accept that men like Paddy started conversations, had them and ended them with no need of input from the likes of Johnsey Cunliffe, the disgraceful end to a long line of great men. Men like Paddy said their piece and shagged off and wouldn’t countenance backchat.

Johnsey longed for Siobhán and Mumbly Dave. He wondered if he fell and split himself open would he land back inside in his grand semi-private room and would she be there to receive him and would Mumbly Dave still be inside, bullshitting out of him and smiling and laughing non-stop and slagging the nurses and being forward and annoying and forcing people against their will to like him? More likely he’d be consigned to the mental ward if he kept up this auld cribbing and moping about the place.

The morning sun was fairly beaming down and all the trees were heavy with green and there was a haze of flies and bugs and butterflies about the land and all he could do was think about how some lives are full to bursting with people and work and sport and children and fun and his own was all empty spaces where those things ought rightly to be, were he the kind of a man that could close his fist around opportunity and keep a tight howlt of it rather than shrinking from it and hiding inside in his parents’ house nearly too scared to even peep out for fear of failure and ridicule. Why couldn’t he have been born with a full quota of manliness?

HE WAITED until Paddy’s words settled softly on the cracked ground and the air was again still. There was a coldness around the door of the slatted house, despite the sun’s best efforts. The door let out a sigh as he pushed it inwards, as if giving out about his return. He stood in the opening with the sun warming his back and the darkness inside cold on his face. He remembered how he had tried to work out how best to fasten a rope to the crossbeam, how to get himself up to the required height, how to fashion a noose properly, whether it would be best to jump outwards a little off the edge of the enclosure or just drop his whole weight straight down. He remembered thinking first about Mother and then about the Unthanks and even about the aunties and the biddies and how it would upset them in different ways; some would be truly sad and more would be embarrassed, and once or twice he pictured Eugene Penrose and the yahoos and how they’d be smirking about the village as he was waked and letting on to be reverent and full of sorrow as they sniggered with their heads bowed and they crossing themselves as his little cortège passed on its way to the Height and no one who walked behind the hearse would realize he was being mocked even as he was being carried to his place of rest, in between Mother and Daddy in the warm earth.