The doors to the church hall were wide open and held in place by a couple of chairs wedged tightly beneath the handles. Outside, the night air was cool and inviting, but inside, it was suffocating with the smell of overheated bodies and leftover food. Everyone seemed to be on the move, the women hurrying to and fro, carrying stacks of dishes, laughing and calling out to each other as they went. The men, their stomachs full, were heading outdoors, some lighting up as they went.
To Nora, it looked like total chaos but nobody seemed bothered. The crowd was in high spirits, all dolled up and ready for a good time. There were a few familiar faces around, people she vaguely recognized from earlier on in the day, but no one spoke to her nor could she see anyone she knew by name, but the odd nod from a friendly face made her feel better. A young girl standing off to one side looked her over carefully but a smile from Nora sent her fleeing for the door. Nora looked around for Gerry. The last she had seen of him, he was making his way across the hall with Peg by the arm to where Treese sat by an open window with another woman. Along the far wall there were long tables spread with white paper cloths and strewn with the messy scraps from a meal. Chairs had been pushed aside or tipped over. A vigorous clean-up was underway. She decided to move closer to the small stage at the front of the hall where an elderly fiddler sat knee to knee with a young woman who had just slipped the straps of an accordion over her shoulders. Oblivious to the racket all around them, they began to play softly, dipping and swaying into the music, coaxing their instruments to find the tunes that would see them through the night.
“You had your supper, m’love?” A large woman with a frizz of mousey hair and kindly eyes stopped as she went by with a stack of plates. “There’s all kinds out back.”
“Thank you, I’ve eaten.”
“Okay, m’love.” A nod and she was gone.
Over the tops of heads Nora could see Peg settled in her spot. She was in deep conversation with the women. There was no sign of Gerry. A long loud drone from the accordion gave the signal they were ready and sent an immediate buzz of excitement through the crowd. Dancers elbowed their way forward, their necks straining, eyes peeled for possible partners.
“Hello, missus.” The voice came from behind her. She turned, not sure if she was the “missus.” A slight man stood by her elbow. He was about her height, no more; she was looking him straight in the eye. “I hears you’re one of the Molloys from Ireland,” he said without preamble.
“Yes, that’s right.” She smiled, pleased with the distraction.
“Well, missus, I’m pleased t’meet ya,” he said, extending his hand. Small fidgety eyes regarded her intently. A quiff of dark hair rose in a stiff wave above his forehead and fell off into a tail over his left eye. He wore a brightly coloured shirt patterned all over with red and blue and yellow circles, gaudy by any standard. He put her in mind of an exotic bird that had been in a racket of some kind and had emerged looking slightly battered. All the while he spoke he shook her hand.
“I come to speak with ya, missus, seein’ how Mr. Molloy done me a great service. I wants to acknowledge that now. I’m Joe Coady, missus. I’ll call ya missus now, if ya don’t mind, that is.” His grip, bony and urgent, tightened as he continued to shake her hand.
In the background, the accordion player swung into a waltz and the crowd pressed forward. Still gripping her hand he pulled her to one side. “Watch out there, missus.”
“Sorry, what did you say your name was?”
“Joe Coady, missus.”
The name and then the image came to her in a flash: a small boy, white numbers on a blackboard. Nora felt her throat contract and heat begin to rise at the back of her neck. She tried to avoid his gaze but his eyes followed hers until she was compelled to face him again.
“He teached me to read and write, missus, is what I’m sayin’.”
She waited for the harsh words that must come, looked for the twist of bitterness about his mouth. There was none, just a funny little cockatoo of a man who shifted from foot to foot in a restless dance. He still gripped her hand, giving it the odd shake from time to time as if to ensure her attention.
“By the Jesus, he had some hard time gettin’ that stuff in me head, but he done it.” His head twitched a couple of times, dislodging the quiff and causing it to fall forward onto his forehead. She stared, unable to utter a single word, unable to accept the fact that this was the poor little scrap that her grandfather had walloped with a cane because he couldn’t do his sums.
As if reading her mind, he laughed, his whole face gathering into tiny weathered wrinkles, his mouth opening slightly to show gaps in a row of narrow yellow teeth. “Ya know somethin’, missus, when the Yanks come durin’ the war and was buildin’ the base down to Argentia, Joe Coady was ready. Yes, b’y. I was good with me hands and I could read them Yankee blueprints best kind, and I could make anything they wanted with a bit a wood and a few nails, I could so, anything they wanted, and they sure wanted plenty. Made some good money, I did, enough to build me own house handy to the base.” He was in full flight now, shifting from one foot to the other as he pumped out his story. “Yes, by the Jesus, the women was after me then. I had the pick of the bunch. Mad for me they was.”
He laughed again, batting at the quiff of hair with the back of his hand. “Before that, Joe Coady was nothin’. Pussy Boils, they used to call me. Yes, indeed. But once I had the few Yankee dollars in me pocket and a good job to the base, the women was plentiful as tomcods. And he done it, Mr. Molloy did. Nobody paid me no attention ’til then, thought I was stunned. But we showed them, him and me. Mind now, missus, he beat the livin’ shit out of me doin’ it. Those days I didn’t want to know nothin’ about school but not now. No, b’y. My youngsters, they all been to the university.” He leaned forward. “Education is the key, missus,” he whispered philosophically, his eyes shining like polished marbles.
Nora was transfixed. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words dried up on her tongue. Around her the music and the dancers swirled fast and wild. For an uneasy minute it crossed her mind that he was having a bit of fun with her but his eyes were so utterly serious, she quickly dismissed the idea. He waited, expectant, and when she still didn’t speak, his jaw dropped, the exuberance wiped clean from his face but he continued to look at her intently like a sad clown, willing her to say something. She swallowed hard, ran her tongue over her lips and said the only thing she could think of saying, “You’re a bit of an actor too, I hear.”
“No, girl, nothin’ like that, but I tells the odd yarn time to time.”
“I heard you did a fine imitation of Father O’Reilly one time.” She was beginning to find her voice.
“Ah, that oul’ would-be politician you been hangin’ round with been goin’ off at the mouth again. Likes to hear hisself, he does, all wind and business he is, mostly wind.”
A cheer went up from the crowd, followed by clapping.
“The men is dancin’ up,” he said, straining to see what was goin’ on. He urged her forward. “Give the missus a bit of room there now. Clear the decks, b’ys.”
In a small clearing, an elderly man danced alone, his legs jiggling about in a complicated shuffle, punctuated every so often with a loud stamp on the floor before taking off again. When he finally showed signs of tiring, another dancer took over, trying in turn to outdo the previous performer with fancy footwork. Up on the stage the accordion player leaned into her instrument, while by her side the fiddler whipped his bow back and forth, his foot tapping out the rhythm. The crowd whooped with delight. When Joey Coady took the floor the yelps grew wilder, and the more they yelped the better he liked it. His bony legs, as if rubber below the knees, waggled hither and thither, his feet stamping the boards, rocking side to side on the outer edges of his shoes, kicking out randomly to the point where Nora was certain he’d end up in a heap on the floor. But Joey was surefooted and now his arms were into the action, swinging back and forth in front of his body. All the while he looked at his feet. The quiff, having bobbed along with him for quite a while, had now come undone and hung in a sweaty mass across his forehead. The fiddler continued the frantic pace, the accordion player waltzed her instrument back and forth to keep up, and Joey danced, his steps becoming more exaggerated by the minute until just as suddenly as it all had begun, the music stopped.
He dragged his sleeve across his forehead and saluted the crowd. Some reached out to thump him heartily on the back. He caught Nora’s eye, gave her a nod, and disappeared into the crowd. She looked around again, hoping to spot Gerry. He was nowhere to be seen. She spotted Joey heading outdoors. She followed and found him on the steps, his legs spread wide, elbows resting on his knees, a bottle of Pepsi in his hand. A dark sweat stain spread between his shoulder blades, dulling the brightness of his shirt. A car spun away out of the parking lot, leaving behind a cloud of dust.
“It’s nice and cool out here,” she said.
“Yes, girl.” He turned to look up at her.
“Do you mind if I sit with you? It’s hot in there.”
“Yes, girl, I mean, no, girl, you sit down.”
“You’re a great man to dance,” she said, taking a seat on the steps.
He set down his bottle, reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a packet of Craven A cigarettes and a silver Zippo lighter. He tapped the packet against his index finger and picked out a cigarette, pushed it between his lips and held out the packet to her. She shook her head. The lighter lid flipped back with a clunk. It flamed, a tall arrow of white light, and for a brief moment the deep pockmarks on his face and neck were clearly visible. He inhaled deeply and with his right hand pushed back the hair from his damp forehead.
“I’m glad you think of him kindly,” she said after a while.
Smoke came from his nose in little puffs and then from his mouth as he spoke. “Don’t you go feelin’ bad,” he said as if reading her mind. “Him and me, we was the best kind.” He hesitated a moment. “Buddies, we was.”
“You were friends?” Her surprise was a shade too obvious.
“Well now, missus, far as I’m concerned, he was my friend. I’d ’ave done anything for that man.” He tapped the white shaft of his cigarette, rolled it about in his fingers and tapped again. He inhaled. The red tip glowed hot. “Isn’t that what a friend is?” He looked across at her through the curtain of smoke.
She nodded, then nodded again.
“When he come back that last time, he was in hard shape. I mean to say, not right in the top story, ye know.” He touched the side of his head with his cigarette hand and waited a moment before taking a deep draw. “I seen him one day, walkin’ out across the headland toward the Big Gulch. It was the spring of the year, freezin’ rain comin’ down and the ground hard and slick. He had nothin’ on his back but that suit of clothes he always wore. It come to me that was a strange thing to be doin’ on a day like that.”
He kicked at a stray pebble and it landed on the gravel below. “I made out across the path after him, keepin’ an eye on the black flaps of his jacket as they batted about in the wind. He was goin’ at some rate and when I caught up with him right by the gulch, I calls out. ‘Mornin’, Mr. Molloy sir, tis good to see you come back. It’s Joe Coady,’ I says, but he just kept lookin’ in the distance like he’d not heard a word I said. Enough to scare the livin’ shit outa ya, it was. So I just kept talkin’. ‘I’ve got work down to The Base in Argentia now, with the Yanks,’ I says, ‘steady work. I’m back to see me mother. I’ve done good, and I’m gettin’ married the fall. Tis all thanks to you, Mr. Molloy… me bein’ able to read and all. You done some fine job, you did, more power to ye.’”
He stopped to take another drag on his cigarette. “Jesus, girl, I didn’t know what to be sayin’. All I knowed was that I’d best keep talkin’. So I took a step closer and coughed a bit, the way he’d know I was still there. After a spell he says, ‘Thank you, Joe.’ Just the same, he never budged, just kept on starin’ ahead. So I starts up again. ‘The seals is whelpin’ down to Rook Cove. Maybe we could take a walk over.’ He said nothin’ for the longest while but by and by didn’t he turn away from the edge. ‘I’ll be going on home now,’ says he. It was all I could do, missus, not to reach out and catch hold to him for fear he’d slip and be gone over the side. He started to walk away and then he turns back and says, ‘I’m sorry, Joe, very sorry.’ He made like he wanted to say more but gave up and then took off back across the barrens, the wind tearin’ into him.”
A long white ash had formed on the tip of his cigarette. It hung there precariously and then fell to the ground, making a little white mound between his feet. He stared at it for a moment and then scattered it with the toe of his shoe and, taking a last draw, flicked the cigarette butt onto the parking lot. It made a little arc of smoke and sparks and landed a few feet away in the gravel, still glowing. He picked up his drink. The muffled sounds of the music came from behind. The dancing was still in full swing.
“Next time I come on him was months later. Aunt Peg was after takin’ care of him and he was shapin’ up finest kind. Always spoke to me on the road after that, asked after me mother and the like, but we never said nothin’ about that day ever again and I never told no one ’til now.” He finished his Pepsi and set the bottle down by his feet. “He liked to keep hisself to hisself.”
The community of Shoal Cove stretched out below them. On that lovely summer night it looked idyllic and peaceful, tucked in close to the water, tight to the land, protected by the headland.
“I’m glad that we met, Mr. Coady. I’m glad he had a friend like you,” Nora said. The cigarette still smouldered on the ground, glowed like a tiny beacon in the black gravel. “He was my grandfather but I never knew him, knew nothing about him until I came here.” She looked across at him.
“I knows, missus. I knows what ye mean.”
Nora wondered if he did know, if he could understand what it was like always to wonder where you had come from and what might have been.
His voice broke in on her thoughts. “We spent a bit of time together, him and me. If ye wants I can tell ye how that come about.” He turned to look at her and she nodded.
“After Aunt Peg took sick and went to St. John’s, I used to come back to the island the scattered time. One weekend me mother says to me, ‘Here, take a loaf of bread and one of them chickens in the yard to that poor man above to Peg Barry’s. He’s got no one now to do for him.’ So I picks out a nice hen, ties up the legs, shoves her in a brin bag and heads up to the house. By and by, he comes to the door and opens it just the smallest bit.”
“I’ve got a bit of new bread and a chicken here, from me mother,” Joe said, and tipped the squawking chicken onto the doorstep.
“I can’t accept that. Thank you.”Matt Molloy began to close the door.
“I hears you’re a good hand with a gun,” Joe persisted. “Maybe ye could show me sometime. I’d like to bring in a few birds for me mother for the winter. If ya don’t mind, that is. I could come along sometime when you’re goin’ by yerself.”
Matt didn’t answer for a while then he said, “We’ll see.”
“You think on it, sir. No rush.” He set the loaf of bread on the doorstep and before her could utter another word, he left.
“See ya now,” he called back over his shoulder.
“After that, when I’d be home, we’d often go in the woods. He’d set up a target, a bit of sod or the like on the branch of a tree and show me how to load and take aim. One day we was in the woods practicing. I was to one side watchin’ while he was showin’ me what to do and didn’t the sod fall to the ground before he got the shot away. Like the foolish gommel I am, I runs up to set her back in place and BANG! The gun goes off. I falls to the ground. He’s by me side in a minute, holdin’ me head. ‘Oh, Mother of God,’ he’s sayin’. ‘What have I done to this decent, lovely man?’ He brings his head down to me mouth to hear if I’m still breathing and I whispers in his ear, ‘Ah, b’y, yer not such a great shot after all.’”
His thin shoulders heaved slightly as he recalled the incident. “But I tell ya somethin’, missus. I was the one got the shock. When I popped me eyes open I’m lookin’ right in his face, and here the two eyes in his head is filled right up with tears. I never told that to no one neither. It was between him and me.”
Nora didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Was that the end of the shooting lessons?”
“No, missus. I learned to keep me head down, and by and by, I got me own gun. I wasn’t good like he was but he always shared his bag with me, said it was for me mother. She’d take him up the few bottles of turrs in return and do him up a bit of bread. He was the finest kind with her, gave her the run of the garden. She could have all the cabbage, potatoes, turnip she wanted. That’s how we became buddies, him and me.”
Behind, in the hall, the accordion played a slow waltz and she could hear the crowd singing along.
“Will we try a waltz?” he said suddenly. “I likes the waltzes, I does.”