The Gamal (17 page)

And every year everyone cried leaving Cape Clear, same as all the other Irish colleges. I watched them all. The trying to be hard men, the young beauties, the spotty self-conscious, the lucky confident, the young eyes filling with their first knowing tears. For the friends they’d never see again. They knew it now. That the truth of the world was the truth of leaving isn’t it? New to them all, the old was. And how they might never see the Naomh Chiaráin ferry boat again or the little roads and the old people who watched them being young and the hills and the sea within a mile in any direction. Even me they’d miss and my weird self so hopeless and strange and sad to them. They knew too that life gets hard and cancer and big stuff happens and they’d change and have to work and change into people that could succeed and survive and wear suits or uniforms and behave all appropriate always so they’d succeed and survive. And they knew they’d never be like this again isn’t it?

Could go through the whole three weeks there but it’s not really part of the story so I’ll just go straight to the last night. Some stuff I tell is just so you can kind of know the people isn’t it? Important that you know the people.

The last night was always mental on the island. It was the tiring middle-aged teachers versus the teenagers who were sprouting wings in the dark hours. The worst that can happen is they’re sent home but everyone is going home the next day anyhow. The plan was to escape from the dorms at four in the morning and meet the girls by the ruin for sunrise.

—Henry I’m sorry you can’t come.

—What? Ah come on.

—No. Anything happened you we’d be in fierce shit. You’re too young.

—Nothing will happen.

—We could easily get caught.

—I don’t care. I’ll risk it.

—Not going to happen.

—Who’d wake you Henry?

—I’ll set my alarm.

—You’d better not Henry.

But there was the last céilí first. Went on longer on the last night and there was a disco for an hour after the Irish dancing. Sinéad loved the song ‘You Are Not Alone’ by Michael Jackson. Was on the radio the whole time that time. The DJ was only a teacher. A young bittertwisted fella of about twenty-five called Ó Cinnéide who took a strange dislike to James from day one. Anyhow James asked him to play ‘You Are Not Alone’ when the slow songs were on in the disco but Ó Cinnéide said he didn’t have it but James saw it on the desk and said you do have it and then Ó Cinnéide told James to get lost. James told Sinéad she’d hear it before the night was out but even though James went up twice more to Ó Cinnéide, he still wouldn’t play it.

The last time James went up and asked him to play ‘You Are Not Alone’ Ó Cinnéide had a right good rant and shouted at him not to ask him again. James turned around and walked away but he was after stealing Ó Cinnéide’s Michael Jackson CD unknown to anyone. Except me. I seen it. Ó Cinnéide was all business lining up his CDs and James just lifted it and stuck it into the belt of his trousers under his shirt.

5

Mind for Faces

Some people have a mind for faces. Other people have a mind for names. Other people remember things they see. I remember things I hear. Always did. I could hear a song once and I’d know it. Or a conversation in a pub. I remember these things word for word. Sometimes I wish I didn’t cos when I think of things or people sometimes it’s like voices in my head.

Laugh

I made people laugh. I don’t know if it’s cos I hated them or loved them. I’d get myself into all sorts of tangles and look at their faces then and they all laughing mad at me. Head full of blood on them, pushed up from within with the height of heaving. Make you wonder what has laughter got to do with disdain. Or what has disdain got to do with loyalty.

Seen it the time I got stuck. When I was thirteen I was the water boy at some big under-fourteens’ match and the ball hopped over the gate of the fence that was around the pitch. Cos of the bank it rolled back near the gate so instead of trying climbing it I tried to reach through it and I got my head stuck in the gate. They sent some fella off to get his angle grinder cos every time they tried to get my head loose I let an almighty roar out of me. At half time people were going over to the chip van and the shop and they were all asking me was I all right so I said I was fierce hungry so they came back with some chips for me. They put them down on the grass in front of me where I could reach them.

—Are you all right now Charlie?

—Yeah, says I with a big mouthful of chips and I trying to look up at them best as I could with my head two foot from the ground stuck in the gate.

And they all walking on laughing and shaking their heads saying,

—Jesus Christ, he’s some pity, ha?

—God help us.

We won the match. They got one of the subs to be running on with the water for the rest of it instead of me. The whole crowd stayed on at the end of the match to watch when the man with the angle grinder came and cut me free. And the big cheer then. Ballyronan’s supporters and the other team’s supporters. They were all for me, and they were against the gate and they all laughing and joking together. Not like during the match when they didn’t like each other at all.

7

Ó Cinnéide didn’t know his problem. His problem was that he didn’t like young people and he was after choosing a job that wouldn’t ever let him get away from them. He didn’t trust them. He was afraid of the fire isn’t it?

Anyhow the girls’ dorms were about fifty yards from the boys’ dorms. By half one in the morning they were all in bed asleep or nearly. The teachers had stopped patrolling the corridors. That’s when the wave came. The soundwave that woke the stillness for a dance.

Probably for the first time ever in the history of Cape Clear island or the island when it had no name at all but just was there. And probably for the first time for the goats with the beards. And for the first time for the old people who lived on the island. And the rabbits in the fields. They all woke or stopped dead on their tracks and tried to figure out what the sound meant. In the dorms the young people from the mainland sat up in their beds and knew it was Michael Jackson.

‘You Are Not Alone’

It sounded good coming out over the intercom. Could hear Ó Cinnéide starting to shout. Ó Cinnéide was a zealot.

—Séamus Kent, tar amach as sin! Oscail an doras.

When I went down a few of the older teachers were pulling Ó Cinnéide away from the door cos he was wanting to break it down. They knew he was got the better of but Ó Cinnéide wasn’t inclined to believe it. The teachers were busy dealing with Ó Cinnéide so I walked away out so as to hear what the music sounded like under the stars.

If you can imagine night-time and outside and no wind and an intercom and Michael Jackson playing out over the intercom then you’ll have a good idea of what it was like. No lights came on in the girls’ dorm and the only light coming from the boys’ dorm was the office. I could see the shadow of James. He was standing dead still for the whole thing – just holding the mic to the CD player. Everything different cos it was night. Stilly isn’t it? And not stupid with daytime business. Stones on the ground with the memory of the sun. But Michael Jackson reinvented everything that night. All was new. Even the stones could never be the same again. And the air was new. All was new to the goats on the hill. Michael Jackson made it so. Atmosphere. And I was new myself from it.

So. That was the last night on Cape Clear. James had to stand outside the door of his dorm in his boxer shorts for the whole night with Ó Cinnéide sitting in a chair watching him.

—Did he let you go to bed? I whispered when I heard James getting into his bunk underneath mine.

—No. Ó Cinnéide fell asleep. We’ll have to go out the window.

When James did stuff like that it was like he didn’t know what he was doing. The pros and cons of it didn’t enter his head. Was like he was stupid. Same as the tide comes and goes. Doesn’t think about it just does it. And if you tried to stop James these times you might as well have tried to beat the tide back with a stick. Some things are just going to happen no matter what.

It was just ourselves, the waves, the moon and the old ruin. At half three in the morning we snuck out. We were just up the path and we seen Henry coming out behind a bush. All you could make out first was the teeth in his smiling head.

—About time, he said.

James got him in a headlock and rubbed his head,

—Doubt ya kid. Glad you made it scumbag.

—You too scumbag. What’s with the gas drum?

—We’re gonna light it and it’ll fly out over the Atlantic like a rocket, James said.

—Oh cool, said Henry, the eyes wide in his head like the moon.

Dinky and the Dublin lad laughed.

—When did you get out, the Dublin fella asked him.

—I got out about half twelve.

—Half twelve?

—You’ve been out here three hours?

—What have you been doing all the time?

—Waiting.

—Why’d ya leave at half twelve?

—That’s when Ó Crualaí was down in the kitchen. I could hear him talking below so I knew I could sneak out the front door. If he was in his room he’d hear me leaving.

—Good thinking Sherlock. So you’ve been out here three hours.

—Yip.

—Jesus.

—Have you any provisions?

—What’s provisions, like blankets? I have my sleeping bag here in the bag.

—No I mean food.

—No. I’d a packet of chocolate digestives but I ate them to pass the time.

The lads laughed.

—Seriously, I wasn’t even hungry. Feel a bit sick after them.

He burped and the lad laughed again.

—Henry, Henry, Henry, said Dinky.

—Yes, yes, yes, said Henry, moving his bag to his left hand now, his fat little legs starting to struggle.

—All right there Henry? asked James.

—Yeah, said Henry.

—Good man, said James.

All the drink had been found by the people running the Irish college so we hadn’t a drop. But James borrowed a gas cooker, a tea pot and a fist of tea bags. The worst was the big orange gas drum that we took turns carrying. That’s what made us about fifteen minutes late. The walk was a laugh. Dinky dropped the gas drum on his toe and let a yelp out of him. I can hear the voices.

—You couldn’t carry a fucking virus, the Dub said.

—I think my fucking toe’s broke!

—Ya dick!

—Seriously, it’s fucking agony.

—Walk on the other foot, we’re nearly there. Charlie take the gas drum the rest of the way there will ya?

—Thanks Charlie!

—No bother. How’s the toe?

—Broke.

Once we reached the final horizon the sight of the skeleton of the old ruin against the Atlantic and the moon’s reflection way out south beyond was reward enough for our escape. But the faint sound of the girls below was even better. I can hear the nervous excited giggling. It told the night-time’s eerie silence to go away and fuck off.

—Jesus Christ we thought ye were after getting caught.

—What have ye got there?

—Sure ’twouldn’t be right if we couldn’t have a cup of tea.

—James borrowed the kitchen and we helped him to carry it!

—Jesus Christ.

—Ye’re gas.

—Jesus I’d murder a cup of tea.

Within twenty minutes everyone had a hot cup of tea in their hands. Sinéad was delighted she got to hear her Michael Jackson song and we all had a great laugh about it and thinking about Ó Cinnéide waking up and seeing James gone and going into the dorm to get him and seeing him gone again and his head exploding with rage. We sat around the gas ring of fire, duvets and sleeping bags over us.

—Thank fuck it’s not raining.

—Chalk it down.

—We wouldn’t have come out anyway if ’twas raining.

—Someone’s watching out for us.

—God maybe. Maybe he wants us to have a great fucking night here on our last night on Cape Clear. Maybe he kept the airí asleep when we escaped.

—Getting cold now it is.

—That’s why God invented fire.

—Let’s find some wood.

—The fire would be seen.

—Sure let’s face it, if they find out we’re missing this will be the first place they’ll look anyway.

—There’s shag-all fire wood around anyway sure.

—There’s the palm trees down the valley.

—You get them so.

I got them with James and the Dub. Two armfuls of palm branches and one whole palm tree that the Dub pulled clean out of the sandy earth. Fell back on his backside with the tree up on top of him. Pissed themselves laughing with the mad night sea air in their lungs. Different to the air we’d be breathing if we were asleep in bed where we were supposed to be. Sweeter isn’t it? Everyone helped break up the tree and the branches for the fire. The seven of us sat around. Two half moons. Myself, Sinéad and James on the north side, looking south at the ocean. The rest more or less facing us, with their backs to the Atlantic. The fire crackled and cracked and hissed and sparked same as a jazz drummer competing with the human voice of our talk. Fits and starts. Sinéad liked random drumming like that. Like sparks from the fire, she said. Best thing was I was near Sinéad and I could see the tiny tiny image of the fire reflecting in her eyes and the warm colour of it on her face.