A shadowy figure was beginning to emerge from the dark boundaries that surrounded her grandfather and his arcane life. He was all around her now. Nora knew the look of him, could hear the deep resonance of his voice, could sense his detachment, feel his fear and uncertainty, knew of his passion. She could sense too a certain generosity of spirit but it was finely layered and fragile. But the heart and soul of the man remained elusive, shifting like a fog, at times thin and veiled, but mostly dense and impermeable.
She was unsure how she felt about this stranger who was her blood relative, her grandfather. She still had difficulty saying the word grandfather in relation to him, difficulty with the whole idea. It made demands on her that she was reluctant to meet. What if he should, by some miracle, walk in the door right there and then? Would she want to sit with him, tell him about the family he had left behind? Would she want to talk to him about Ireland, about the theatre, about teaching? Would she want to hold his hand, comfort an old man who wanted, above all else, to look upon his grandchild? She dropped her head into her hands. Everything was spinning, confused and muddled. She pushed hard on the hollow spaces at her temples. She felt no affection for the man, pity maybe, grudging admiration and, at times, shame.
We expect too much from family, she cautioned herself. A common bloodline does not necessarily produce people whom we trust, admire and love. Friends frequently fill those roles with greater understanding and sensitivity. She caught Peg’s eye. Steadfast and true, here was the ultimate friend – loyal, generous, caring, understanding – what he had not been able to find in his family.
She took Peg’s hand and squeezed it gently, saying nothing, allowing the warmth of her feelings to flow hand to hand. Their heads came together. “I hope he cared for you, Peg.” There was a shadow of uncertainty there. Nora’s grip tightened. “I hope he truly cared for you.”
Peg fixed a steady gaze on Nora. “Yes, my dear, he was good to me and we cared for each other.” Her voice was soft with contentment, but her eyes, still fixed steadfastly on Nora, said a whole lot more.
Nora searched, looking from one eye to the other, following an elusive shadow that hovered there all but invisible.
Peg never flinched but bright tears, rising to the surface from the deep veins of caring and want, began to form in the corner of each eye. They hung there on the brink, ready to flow but she held on, bravely forcing her eyes to remain wide. “There are things we hope for …” She took her time before trying again. “I ran out of time.” She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand.
Nora could see it all now, wrapped up deep inside Peg Barry like a tight ball of string: the suffocating realization of lost time, lost opportunity, lost youth.
“I might have been your step-grandmother. That would be something now. Imagine.” She laughed, the old twinkle back. “I’d have liked that.”
“So would I.” Then, after a moment’s consideration, she added, “In a way, you are.” They laughed.
“You must be tired, Peg.”
“Yes, I am a bit but we’ll finish off this bit of whiskey, girl. Let me have your glass.” She poured half of what remained in the bottle into Nora’s glass and the rest into her own. Added a splash of water from the jug and then passed it to Nora.
“Best thing we ever done, deciding to stay on the island. We were some happy, even though down the road I could have done with the services they were offering elsewhere.” Peg looked at Nora. She was comfortable with his granddaughter. She could tell her all her long-held secrets, secrets she had never breathed to another soul. There had been some tense moments from time to time, flashes of anger behind those dark eyes but, always, Nora had held back and allowed her to continue and tell it like it was without interruption. Peg was thankful for that, thankful for the blessed simple comfort of having someone listen and not judge.
Now, seeing Nora there in the lamplight, looking more like her grandfather than ever, put Peg in mind of that night eight years ago when her old life had come to an end: everything she had known, her home, her way of life, her relationship with Matt.
She was jolted from her reverie by Nora’s voice. “Most people moved away from the island then?”
“Yes, my dear. In the years following, it was happenin’ all over the place.”
“That must have been terrifying, seeing everyone leave and being left behind?”
“Well, I suppose I have to say it was.” She ran her finger around the rim of the glass. “Sheila was gone, of course, and now Pat and Bride and the children were off, too. That was a hard day, the day they left. I went down on the wharf to see them go. I’ll never forget the sight of it. Seein’ the house, loaded up onto them big oil drums, just like it was a doll’s house sittin’ up there on the water, the curtains still on the windows, hitched up to John Mooney’s boat and ready to be hauled to the other side. That took the heart right out of me. I’d seen other houses on their way, but somehow the sight of my poor sister’s house, the room where she’d passed away givin’ birth to Sheila, bobbin’ about on the water and headed for Placentia, was more than I could bear. And worse again, all their belongings, piled on up the wharf, all the things that made up a warm comfortable home, lookin’ now like they was fit for nothin’ but the dump. When I saw that, in a way, I was some glad to be stayin’.”
“So people took their houses with them across on the water?” Nora was dumbfounded. “I didn’t know you could do that.”
“Oh yes, some did, not everyone. They just rolled them down on the beach on logs and onto a raft and towed them across. There’s times now I sees the refugees on the television, old people, little children, mothers with their babies clutched to their breasts headin’ off down the road with their few things, and I thinks, That was us back then.”
She looked at Nora, the shock of realization on her face. “Eventually when it came my turn to leave, I never did clear out the old place. I left it as it was, just took the few things I needed or couldn’t part with, then pulled the door behind me and left. Thought I might go back for a spell come the nice weather, but I never did.”
“And Matt?”
“Matt died home, on November 14, 1962.” Her finger tapped the table top. We had a few wonderful years on the island after the crowd left. Those who stayed behind came closer together. Survival, I suppose. Times, it was a struggle but we always helped each other out, like in the old days. The biggest change I remember was people comin’ to the house again. They were back and forth all the time. I liked that and I believe Matt did too, although he never did say. He was more comfortable, I think, with the few. We were all in the same boat. There was just no way we would have made it without each other. No way. When you’re happy, girl, it makes a lot of things come together. Don’t you think?”
Nora nodded. “But the isolation, the cold in the depths of winter, the dark, the work to keep wood cut, the fear of being far from help. It must have been terrible.” She wrapped her arms tightly around her body.
“How did he die?” Nora suddenly asked. Then, in an attempt to take some of the bluntness out of her question, added, “My father just slipped away in his sleep at the age of sixty-two, just a few years before his coveted pension came due.”
“It all happened so suddenly, one day he was the best kind, next day everything had changed.” The tone of her voice dropped as she retreated into her world of memories. “He come out of his bedroom one day all wrapped up in his winter coat, the buttons all skew ways. ‘Blessed Lord, what are you at?’ I said. ‘Look at the get-up on you. It’s a beautiful day out.’ Well, girl, he didn’t know what I was talkin’ about, but he let me help him off with the coat and we had a little laugh about it. But I thought it strange.
“By and by, there were other little things he’d do that was not like him. Like one day he opened the door to the back porch and said, ‘I’m sure this used to be the outhouse.’ I said, ‘No, Matt, it’s never been there. It’s out back.’ It was funny in a way and kind of nice to be having a laugh together, especially about personal things like that. But soon it wasn’t funny no more. Times I was frightened. At night he’d usually read for a while by the fire. Always when he’d finish he’d close whatever book it was he was readin’ and lay it on the shelf by the stove. This one night he was rummagin’ about, tossin’ things aside and makin’ the biggest kind of fuss. His book was gone. I had taken it and hidden it away. He spoke quite harsh to me that night, not like himself, and when I passed him down the book from its usual spot, he never breathed a word of apology. He just sat down in the chair like nothin’ had happened. What shocked me most that particular night was he hadn’t the clue what to do with that book.”
She looked at Nora and saw the look of disbelief on her face. “That’s the truth. He turned it over and over, opened it and closed it. ‘Here,’ I said, turning it right way up and opening it at the right page. ‘It’s the poems you were readin’ last night. Remember?’ He was all right then. But now I knew for sure that the man I knew was slippin’ away from me.” Every word carried pain.
“That was the beginning of a long goodbye,” she whispered.
Nora reached for her glass and over the rim stole a secretive glance at Peg, who was studying the diminished contents of her glass, swirling it slowly round and round. Then, she took a carefully measured sip.
“I was embarrassed to begin with, didn’t tell anybody. I was hopin’ it would all go away. But strange things began to happen all the time after that. Mostly, when people were about, he’d act almost normal. He had never been that talkative around others anyway so it wasn’t that noticeable until one day Mary Anne Casey come by right excited.
She arrived in the kitchen panting, a letter clutched to her chest. “Peg, I got the finest kind of news today.” Her breath came in short gasps as she fanned herself with the white envelope. “My daughter Agnes is goin’ to have a baby.” She finally got the words out. “They’ve waited nine years and here at last it’s on the way. My dear, it was St. Jude, him an’ me done it. We’ve been stormin’ heaven these years, and finally we got through to the Almighty. I has great faith in St. Jude.”
“Well, Mary Ann, that’s wonderful news all together. Did you hear that, Matt? Mary Anne’s daughter, you remember Agnes, the one in St. John’s? She’s to have a baby.” Peg didn’t wait for an answer.
“You sit down there now and take a spell and I’ll make us a cup of tea to celebrate. You’ll be goin’ to St. John’s then, by and by.”
“Yes, but it’s not for a while yet.” She flopped down in the chair by the table. “When we was young, it was tryin’ not to have them, we was. Right, Peg? What with one on the floor and one on the way most times.”
Peg set the tea things on the table. She said nothing. Suddenly the woman realized her error. She leaned across the table. “I often thought,” she whispered, “if you’d done the novena years back, things might have gone different for you.” She gave Peg a knowing look, raised her eyebrows and gave a flick of her head in Matt’s direction.
“You’ll have tea, Matt?” Peg chose to ignore her visitor’s comment but gave her a reassuring smile to show there were no hard feelings. “Sit in to the table now.” She poured tea and set out plates of bread and jam.
“So when is the baby coming?”
“May month. I’ll–”
The conversation stopped abruptly as both women turned to watch the activity at the other end of the table. Matt had tipped the slices of bread onto the table and had pulled the plate close to him. Slowly he picked up his mug and with great care began to pour the hot sweet tea onto the plate. When it was about half full he set down the mug, picked up the plate, carefully balancing it between widespread fingers, and brought it to his mouth. With a loud slurp the tea disappeared. The women stared. There was a soft tap as he set the plate down. He was pouring again, the trickling noise breaking the silence in the room. He worked carefully, setting down the mug, then, just as carefully, he picked up the plate and held it out to the woman on his left. She hesitated a moment, unsure, and then slowly reached for the brim-full plate. The tea slopped dangerously close to the edge. She steadied her hands and took a deep breath.
“Here’s to the child,” she said as she exhaled and brought the plate to her mouth.
Peg watched, wide-eyed.
When it was all gone, the woman set the plate down in front of Matt. “I’ll tell Aggie we drank to the baby’s health,” she said.
At the other end of the table, Peg looked on like an unseen observer. A sudden realization swept over her like the touch of a warm breeze on a cool day. There was no shame, nothing to hide.
“That was a grand cup of tea, Peg. I’m some glad I was able to come by right away and tell the news. It couldn’t wait.”
“I’m glad you came too, Mary Anne. Good news is always welcome.”
Mary Anne got up from the table then, said goodbye and left.
“It was a great relief to know that I didn’t have to hide what was happening anymore, that I didn’t have to face things on my own. Mary Anne was the best kind. She came by again the next day to tell me her grandfather had suffered the same thing years back when she was a child and she remembered quite well how it was. She was a great help to me in the months to come. It wasn’t easy to open up just like that to an outsider but I couldn’t have managed without her. I had never shared my business with anyone, especially with regards to Matt and me, never let them in our private life, but Mary Anne seemed to understand. She had the good sense to take things slowly, lettin’ me find my own way. I was glad of that.”
Peg, her eyes heavy with concern, looked at Nora. “It’s a hard way to go, you know. You need people around you who care.”
A car engine sounded in the distance and grew louder. A bright beam of light penetrated the thin blinds and briefly scanned the room as if seeking them out.
“That will be the crowd from the dance. They’re headed home.”
Nora looked at her watch: 12:30. Another car passed and another right behind. Music blared momentarily, someone yelled, a loud drunken yell. The car sped away and silence settled in again.
“I watched him slip back to his childhood. His garden became a playground. Days I saw a little boy playing in the mud, building castles, rapt in his own imaginings. He’d haul out the new carrots and turnip and then fill up the holes with water. It was terrible to watch. Other times he’d come in the kitchen and say, ‘I’m off to school now,’ and head off out the door. I was afraid for him to go out on his own, afraid he’d go too close to the cliffs. Times he couldn’t find his way back. He seemed to have no sense. There was one time when I tried to stop him goin’ off on his own, he turned and hit me hard. Knocked me right over, he did. I cut my head open on the door frame.
“I was about to give up after that but when Mary Anne come by and seen what had happened, she was full of wisdom. ‘Peg girl, he does that because he’s frustrated. He wants to go to school and no matter what you say it won’t make no difference. What my mother would do with Poppy when he’d be like that is she’d say, “Very good then, let’s go to school.” Then she’d lead him off down the road or into the garden or wherever until he’d forgotten all about school.’
“Sometimes I could laugh at things he’d do and the things I’d do to keep him happy.
“One day I realized that he could recite a lot of the stuff he’d learned off in his head. So sometimes I’d start him off with a few words I knew and off he’d go like one of them tape recorders. He’d be happy as a clam then. I got so I’d have a line ready in my head, ready to distract him. Not everyone understood what I was at, especially Pat. There was one day in particular when he came across from Placentia to check on us.”
Peg was in the yard hanging the washing on the line when Pat came around the corner of the house carrying a box of supplies.
“That’s a fine load of washing you have there, Aunt Peg.” He set down his load and then bent down to draw a heavy white sheet from the basin and throw it over the clothesline. “Matt should help with this. It’s hard on you.”
“Yes, he does normally but he’s at the garden now and content so I won’t bother him.”
“How is he these days?”
“Oh, best kind. We manage, the two of us.”
Pat stood next to her, helping to get the wet laundry on the line. When it was all done and neatly pegged she stepped back, and had he not been there to catch her, she would have tumbled to the ground. At arm’s length, he took a good look at his aunt. “You look exhausted, Aunt Peg, and that dress looks like it could do with a wash and a button sewn on.”
She looked down at her dress and was taken aback to see the front gaping open and the white flesh of her breast exposed.
“Come in the house now and we’ll get you squared away,” he said. Picking up the bags, they headed towards the back door. “Bride’s got a job for the summer. She starts Monday,” he called over his shoulder.
“Them few things should be dry by suppertime if the rain holds off. Maybe you could empty that water for me, Pat. Soon as I get clear of this, we’ll have a cup of tea.” It was as if she hadn’t heard him.
Peg sat down. Her arms, heavy with exhaustion, rested on the table top.
“You can’t continue like this,” he said, beginning to clear up the remains of the washing. “He needs to see a doctor and so do you.”
As he spoke, the back door opened and Matt Molloy stood there, the wet laundry clutched in his arms. He took a few steps into the kitchen, stumbled on a loose end, quickly flipped the dirty straggling end over his shoulder and furtively searched the room. He paid no attention to the two sets of incredulous eyes watching his every move. A few quick steps and he was across the room, the white sheet trailing the floor behind him. One last look around and he disappeared into his bedroom.
“Christ Almighty!” Pat said. “He’s gone in the head.”
Peg was on her feet, her open hand thrust forward, blocking what he was about to say. “Leave this to me. I know what to do.”
She hurried towards Matt’s bedroom door, knocked once and entered.
“But they’re mine.”The whiny voice came from behind the door.
“Yes, Matt, they’re yours but we must dry them first. We’ll hang them on the line in the sunshine and we’ll dry them and then you can have them back.”
There was a lengthy silence. Pat stood ready, tense.
“Let’s see. What about … ” Peg’s voice was soft and cajoling. “Friends, Romans, countrymen … That’s a good one. You remember that one?”
“Lend me your ears. I come to bury Caesar not to praise him.” The words were running off his tongue, strong at first and then petering off to a mumble.
Peg came through the door, the laundry in her arms. “Put that on the line for me, Pat. It’s all right now.”
“They’re dirty.”
“No matter, just get them on the line.”
The mumbling continued from beyond the door.
Pat took the wet sheets in his arms. “Aunt Peg, he’s not right in the top story. You know that, don’t you?”
“He’s sick, Pat, I know that. He just needs carin’ for, that’s all.”
“That’s not all, Aunt Peg, and you knows it. He needs a hospital. He needs puttin’ away.”
“Yes, into that hospital in St. John’s!That’s where they’d put him. I won’t have it, Pat.”
Behind the closed door they could hear him pacing the floorboards, back and forth, back and forth, his mumbling punctuated by the odd shout.
Peg had seen the hospital in St John’s. The Waterford Hospital they called it. She had walked by there once. It was just down the road from the sanatorium. In the spring of the year, when she was on the mend, oftentimes she’d go for walks to build up her strength to make ready for goin’ home. It was a grim-looking place, she remembered. High brick walls with empty windows and not a soul to be seen about the place. “That’s the loontic.” Annie Walsh had grabbed her arm and steered her across the road. “It’s where they puts them loontics to. Locks them up in the basement, they does. We’d best hang on to our wits, girl, or that’s where we’ll end up, too.”
“It’s you I’m concerned for, not him.” Pat’s voice startled her. “You’re out here in the middle of nowhere.” He dropped his voice. “Livin’ with a friggin’ lunatic.”
She looked across at her nephew’s dear earnest face. She loved Pat to pieces but she wished he wouldn’t use that word. That was Annie Walsh’s word and she didn’t like it.
“Well, it’s Matt I’m concerned with. I’ll never allow them to take him away. Never! So don’t keep on about it.” She rubbed at the back of her hand. “I knows how to handle him. I’m gettin’ better all the time and Mary Anne Casey, she–”
“Sh, sh, sh.” Matt poked his head around the kitchen door, his finger to his lips. “Sh, sh, sh.”
“Sh, sh.” Peg brought her finger to her lip.
Quickly he darted to the big chair and sat down, quiet and content.
“See, he’ll be all right now a while.”
“Aunt Peg.” Pat spoke in a low voice. “I’ve spoken to the doctor in Placentia. He explained to me how things will be later on. He’ll come to be like a baby again. He’ll need cleanin’ and feedin’ and he might even …Well, he might get out of hand.”
“I know all that, Pat, but right now I can manage. I have good friends here and if things get to be too much, I’ll say. But he’s not goin’ to that hospital and that’s the end of it.”
“I know what you’re like. You get an idea in your head and there’s no movin’ you. But I’ll be out every weekend so long as the weather’s there, to check on you. There’s things you’ll be needin’. I’ll look into that.” He threw an exasperated look in Matt Molloy’s direction and then headed outside to hang the sheets back up on the line.
“Pat was right. Things got to be a whole lot worse and it happened that quick I could hardly believe. ‘Who are you?’ he said to me one day. It hurt me terrible at the time. I remember thinkin’, I’m nobody! It was like all the good had suddenly gone out of me. I don’t know when I ever felt so lonely. Those days he’d slip in and out of my life, sometimes he’d be right here with me; more times he’d be back in Ireland or another place altogether. I couldn’t go with him no more. But it was hard, girl, hard to watch, hard to keep going.”
She looked down at her arthritic hands. “I wasn’t so bad as I am now, but times I’d be that exhausted I’d fall in bed at night and not be able to sleep. When he could still get about, I’d bar the door at night, so he couldn’t get out, but that wouldn’t stop him roamin’ around the house knockin’ things over. Sometimes I’d get up and guide him back to bed but other times, I’d just lie there and listen and hope that God would soon see fit to bring it all to an end.”
She looked at Nora, a long inquiring look. “By and by, he got the pneumonia and that took the good right out of him. He never got out of the bed after that.”
“He don’t look too good, Peg. His breathin’ is shockin’ bad. Maybe we should get the doctor to come from Placentia or maybe Father O’Reilly.” Mary Anne looked from Peg to the wizened man in the bed.
“No, Mary Anne, we’ll do none of that. He wouldn’t want it. I’ll give him a nice wash and a change of bed sheets and clothes and he’ll do better then.” Peg went to the kitchen and filled a basin with warm water and reached for the towel above the stove. She pressed it to her face. It was warm and full of the sweet smell of the outdoors. She smiled tiredly and tucked the towel under her arm.
“See that the clean sheets are put to warm,” she called over her shoulder, and we’ll need a few beach stones from the fire to warm the bed.” She disappeared into the front room and closed the door. He lay on his back, inert, a thin grey man in striped flannel pyjamas, his eyes closed as if sleeping. She paused a moment to look at his skeletal image and turned to place the basin on the side table.
“Who are you?” The voice, surprisingly strong, startled her. It was like some hidden demon had awoken inside of him, had mustered up the strength to be hurtful. His eyelids slipped back in a smooth mechanical movement and she was looking into two eyeballs that were pale and moist like a clam. Peg could just as easily have asked the same question. There was so little left of the man she knew: bones covered with folds of slack yellow skin, dull lank hair, a mind sucked dry like a bone cleaned of its marrow.
“Good morning, Matt. It’s me, Peg. How about a shave and a wash?”
His eyes rolled open but there was no reply.
She lathered the shaving brush like she had watched her father do so often. Early on, when Matt first took to his bed for good, she used to think about her father as she did this part of the job. He always hummed to himself as he shaved and usually burst into song when the job was done. It put her at ease and in a happy frame of mind to remember him. Now, sitting on the side of the bed, she thought only of Matt. She chatted to him as she scraped his hollow face and neck, telling him about the weather or any bit of news that was about and sometimes just making it up. His eyes followed her. She dampened the end of a small towel and wiped away the soapy remains, rinsed once more and then gently patted dry his damp hairline, mouth and neck. All the while he stared with blank eyes.
Bit by bit she followed her ritual: first one shoulder, then the other, his chest, thin arms, the long bony fingers of his hands. Only now, now that he was gone from her, could she touch him, look at him, feel the warm pulse of his body. He could no longer turn away. She continued, tucking the warm towels about his upper body while she washed his withered buttocks, his legs and genitals, carefully parting the slack folds of skin and wiping him clean. Her face remained serene, no flinching, no grimacing, no longing. It made no difference now; all she could do was care for him and make him comfortable. She was glad to do that.
When she had finished, she put on his fresh pyjamas. “There now, that feels better, I’ll allow.” There was no reply. At this point she liked to sit on the side of the bed for a spell, hold his hand and search his eyes, hoping to see that faint glimmer of recognition that told her he was still there. Sometimes she was rewarded with what seemed like a faint ray of light behind his eyes, the very beginnings of a smile or a slight pressure from his hand. These were the private intimate moments in her day when she could be close to him. Somehow in his need, something had changed between them. The touching of flesh to flesh, the salve of fresh clean water, the cleansing, had brought to her a new feeling of love and contentment, one that she would never have dreamed possible in the circumstances. It was a feeling at once powerful and gentle, a deep tenderness that had not been there before, and it filled her with a kind of happiness that needed no explanation, a happiness that would remain with her forever, warming her soul in years to come, making her firm in the knowledge that they were steadfastly bound to each other.
She leaned over and stroked his forehead and then called out to Mary Anne. Together they rolled him over and slipped the clean sheets onto the mattress and placed the hot beach stones wrapped in wool socks between the blankets but clear of his feet.
“I’ll see to the sheets now while you get him something to eat.” Mary Anne departed with the bundle under her arm.
It was a waste of time getting food for him. Peg knew that, but nonetheless she went to the kitchen and mixed up a couple of spoonfuls of the white powdery baby food that Pat had brought from Placentia. She took it in to him and sat on the bedside, spoon poised. “Just a small drop,” she whispered, pressing the spoon to his lips. She watched silently as the thin gruel, mixed with a trickle of saliva, slid along his lips and ran from the corner of his mouth. She scooped the runny liquid onto the spoon. “Look,” she said, tasting the sticky mess, “it’s good.” She brought the spoon back to his mouth. “You must eat, my darling,” she whispered urgently, her eyes bright with tears. But he stared back at her with wide frightened eyes and finally she gave up and took the food back to the kitchen.