The Gamal (16 page)

James used to sing it cos the voice in the song was a man. Anyhow enough fucking talk. We’ll have the song now from James Kent. Wouldn’t doubt ya James. Good man James.

She like some kinda Marilyn Monroe type

Or some girl out of a Shane McGowan song

Dunno I must have eaten something rotten cos I vomited that time yesterday. I’d to take sleeping tablets then to sleep.

I’m thinking there’s stuff the world doesn’t deserve isn’t it? Like the songs. Sinéad and James’. I’ve recordings of theirs.

You should hear the way this one took off to another level when Sinéad would join James for the chorus.

And the evening shadows fall yeah

Rolling summer evenings slow

And the evening shadows fall yeah

Maybe it’s time that you let go

The tune of the verses was fierce safe, and James sang it just right. Safe. But this made Sinéad’s input in the chorus blow your fucking blah. The way with music isn’t it? Just the right amount of safety and risks. And in music you’ve less to lose. Just time. And you lose that anyhow cos there’s no choice.

The end of the song never got wrote far as I know. Lots of songs never got finished. But I have the recordings and I have their notes.

Anyhow, I suppose I’ll have to explain to you what the summer Irish colleges are before I go any further. Irish is a language. Yeah we had our own language before the English came and beat it out of us. So anyhow after eight hundred years didn’t we finally beat the cunts and Ireland became no part of Britain no more. So there we were with our own country again at last only wasn’t the whole country after forgetting how to talk Irish. The crowd in charge then were trying to figure out how in the name of God to get people talking Irish again. They realised then that there were people in the arsehole of nowhere way out in the west of Ireland and in the little islands on the west coast who were still talking Irish every day. ’Twas how the English had no interest in these places cos there was no good land there worth stealing, only rocks. So for eight hundred years they escaped a right good battering and having to talk English. By the time Ireland was free these places were the only places still full of Irish speakers and diddly-idle-dee music and Irish dancing and weird old-style singing called sean-nós.

Anyhow. Right. So the government started setting up Irish colleges in these places and paying for youngsters from all over the country to spend a few weeks with families there or in the dormitories of the colleges and go to classes where they’d learn Irish. In the night then there’d be a céilí which was like a disco only no flashing lights and no disco music, just diddly-idle-dee music and Irish dancing. Just other youngsters and time. Three weeks of it.

It’s a magical place cos there’s a load of young people who are neither children nor grown-up humans and they are freer than they ever been before. With no one pushing them forward or holding them back. Free to love and be loved. Reject and be rejected. Dream about and be dreamed about. Trust and be trusted. I went on a bit. But that’s what it was. That’s exactly what it was for the young people.

The world was full of pain but that didn’t matter to them cos just like all the grown-ups who ever went before them, they now had perfected the same language too and the same words. And the thoughts these words permit conspire to allow the pain of others to be ignored. We are all proof of that isn’t it? But them thoughts never got into their heads. They had Coca Cola and Tommy Hilfiger and Lynx and Nirvana and seeing how they were figuring up alongside other people their own age. They had how they looked and how they spoke to be thinking about. And they had attractions to pursue or keep under control. And they had fun. More fun than they ever had before, most of them maybe. And I loved seeing every second of it all and even though I was on the sideline of life I wasn’t jealous of them. I was rooting for them all and they fighting alive and fire in their bellies.

I said very few words in Irish college myself. Made people think I was tough and cool in the beginning but at the end of three weeks they probably just thought I wasn’t right in the head. At least they didn’t know I was the village gamal back home. And they weren’t going to find out either with James around. Mostly I just said nothing and people got used to ignoring my presence. James said at the start,

—That’s Charlie. He doesn’t talk. Finds it all too boring. He listens to music. But he’s cool. Charlie’s all right man.

I used to have headphones on all the time. Hardly ever had batteries in the walkman but no one knew the difference.

There was an old fella who was teaching Irish dancing and old Irish music. He was kinda funny and everyone liked him and were nice to him, even the bold kids, but he was a bit obsessed with Sinéad’s singing. He was in charge of the choir at Mass too and he had Sinéad doing all the solos. Sinéad really liked it. I don’t think she was used to all the praise she got. Local old women used to come up to her after the Mass to thank her and to ask her where she was from and who her parents were as if she should’ve been related to some famous singer in the area a hundred or two hundred years ago. But they couldn’t trace her. Only Halloran one of them knew went to America long ago and she said that he had the voice of a bullock and they were glad of the peace when he left. Sinéad was just smiling and nodding her head and blushing a little too but only at the start.

—Beautiful.

—Go hálainn ar fad.

The old Irish dancing teacher caught her eye and gave her a proud nod, as much to congratulate himself too. He knew he’d done good. Charming the young shy talent out of her. The talent beginning to believe in itself. James was happy in the background playing the guitar or the keyboard. He knew this confidence would help her to fly isn’t it?

He used to like watching her dance too – the old dance teacher. Sinéad wasn’t the best Irish dancer of the girls or nowhere near but had something else that the other girls could never have even if they could seem like the ground was electricity shocking them a foot into the air every time their feet touched it. Sinéad had something different. The best was when she made a mistake – she’d frown and smile all at the same time.

The old dance teacher had me in charge of the tape recorder cos I was fucking up all his dances the first day.

—Maith thú, a Sheárlas, he used to say. Good man Charles.

—Píosín ceoil a Sheárlas marsin, le do thoil. A little bit of music so Charles, if you please.

—Bhí sé sin go hálainn ar fad a Sheárlas, Maith an fear. That was beautiful altogether Charles, good man.

As if I was playing the accordion and not just pressing the play button on the tape recorder. Maybe he thought that he could even give a fella like me a bit of confidence. Old teachers think anything is possible cos maybe they seen it done. I’d say this old fella definitely, he believed in miracles.

In the last day of dance class he asked Sinéad to sing for himself and the class. She agreed. She sang the old Irish song called ‘Ar Éireann Ní Neosfainn Cé hÍ’.

There was just silence after for a bit when she finished and wherever it brought the old teacher it made his voice break a bit when he thanked Sinéad.

—Go hálainn ar fad.

I could have given ye the lyrics of the song for free cos they’re ancient and the fellas who wrote them songs a hundred or two hundred or three hundred years ago were only tramps and beggars who walked the byroads, cos the Irish chiefs were all after getting beaten. It’s the same song I mentioned earlier that was played on the uilleann pipes at a funeral one time. But Dr Quinn said no one would understand it cos it’s Irish and ye wouldn’t be interested.

Anyhow Dinky used to be doing monkey impressions in Irish college to make people laugh. He’d stick out his chin and somehow pull his bottom lip up as far as his nose. Then he’d bend over, tickle his armpits and go,

—Ooo-ooo, ooo-ooo, ah-ah, ah-ah, ooo-ooo.

People found it funny and stupid.

James told him he didn’t think he should do it any more and Dinky went spitting thick.

—Fuck you James. I know what you’re at all right. I fucking know what you’re at all right. Lord Haw Haw.

James just looked at him and said nothing. Dinky went ranting.

—Think you can tell me what to do. Is it? Do you think you can fucking tell me what to do? Who the fuck do you think you are like? Think you’re fucking great that’s your problem.

James still said nothing. That night in the céilí everyone was asking Dinky to do his monkey impression. Especially the older lads so they could be taking the piss out of him and get a laugh off the girls. Dinky was known for the rest of the week as the lad who does the monkey impressions and if it wasn’t for the fact he was always around with James, the nickname Monkeyface would’ve stuck. James caught one of the bigger Dublin lads by the scruff of the neck and told him if he heard him call Dinky Monkeyface again he’d kick him back to Dublin. Threw him on the bed then and called him Jackeen.

The Dubs used to call the country lads boggers and we’d call the Dubs Jackeens. That’s from the time the Queen of England was let into Dublin long ago and all the Dublin lads got free Union Jack flags and didn’t they wave them like mad all along O’Connell Street and she passing. Fucking Jackeens.

Anyhow, Dinky got on fine in Irish college after. Just had a bit of a hairy start but people soon forgot about calling him Monkeyface and got to like him as James’ best friend. One of the Tipperary girls that was there asked him about it at the end of the course.

—Hey Denis.

That’s what people called him before he was Dinky.

—Yeah?

—What possessed you to do that monkey thing?

—I dunno. I think I did actually get possessed by a monkey.

—Everyone thought you were crazy you know.

—I thought everyone else was crazy from where I could see them up on my tree.

—You’re funny.

—I think I did it for my nephews who thought it was hilarious but they’re only five or six.

—Ha! Really?

—Yeah.

—That’s mad.

—Yeah.

—I’d say your nephews just think you’re a bit of a fool, she said.

Dinky blushed and laughed along with everyone else.

On the third day we heard a commotion in the dorm next door to us. When we went in there was a fat younger kid on his knees crying. Pink head up on him same as a big old balloon that lost some air. Dimpled from the fat. Few other young lads scampered back to their bunks when we came in. The fat lad was all snots and tears but he managed to answer James eventually,

—They were calling me skunk.

Started sniffling and panting again then and wiped his nose with his sleeve and said,

—And they kept saying I was farting and I wasn’t. Whenever they see me they block their nose and roar ‘Skunk’ at me.

Then he got fierce angry and shouted at his tormentors, ‘Fuckers!’ and started banging his thighs hard with his fists, wild angry face with tears streaming down his face. And then he pointed at two of them and shouted,

—And they call me lagging jacket.

The two bullies were a bit shocked by this outburst. James put his arm around the fat boy and told him that as long as we were around it would never happen again. James took hold of the boy’s wrists to stop him hitting his chubby thighs in rage, all the while saying,

—Easy. Easy.

Then he said,

—Come into our dorm for a while, will ya?

The kid didn’t answer. I think he thought James wasn’t being serious.

—Come on. We’re listening to the new Nirvana album. Have you heard of Nirvana?

—No.

—Well then it’s time to commence your education. Come on.

He followed us out. James stuck his head back into the dorm at the end and said,

—Anyone else mocks my cousin they’re going to have us to deal with.

James put his arm on the fat kid’s shoulder and said,

—
Never mind.

—I know, said the fat kid, snorting like a little pig.

—No.
Never mind
. It’s the name of the Nirvana album.

He tossed him the CD cover and laughed. The fat kid smiled.

—What’s your name cous’?

—Henry, said Henry.

—Hey scumbags, James roared. I wanna introduce an honorary member of Nirvana.

Nirvana was what we called our dorm as well.

—Henry is his name.

All the lads who were around on bunks shouted out a hello to Henry and went back about their business. Poker, computer games, car magazines. One lad had a tabloid.

—He’s staying in dorm three but they all keep farting in there, Dinky said.

Henry laughed. There was another chap. A big lanky Dub that hung around with us all the time as well. He was the biggest Nirvana fan you ever saw. He’d sit on the bed and play the imaginary drums along to the songs. Then there was Sinéad and her friends.

So. We went on like that. Three weeks. A kind of freedom. Except for the teachers who as long as you stayed put and didn’t go killing or hurting anyone they left you alone. And you had to make an effort to talk Irish when they were around of course. So it was a bigger version of freedom than any of us were used to.