The Gamal (18 page)

Mostly talking it was. There was a second round of tea made. Then the Dub suggested a party piece from everyone, as long as he himself was allowed to go first. Dubs are different.

He sang ‘Boolavogue’. Never heard a Dublin accent singing it before. He was brutal but the accent made it nice. Bew-la-vowg was how he said the word. Sang it. He said he learned it off his grandfather. His grandfather was a Wexford man. He taught James the words of it.

And he taught James one called ‘The Ould Triangle’ too about a fella in prison in Dublin thinking of women. The other girl, Michelle, after a load of coaxing said an ancient poem-prayer that we’d learned in class. ‘Gile Mo Chroí.’ Means light of my heart. The next time I heard it was at a funeral.

Sinéad then sang ‘Táimse im Chodladh.’

No one could remember what the words mean but it didn’t matter. The tune of it with Sinéad’s voice and the sea and moon is what mattered. I didn’t sing anything, and they didn’t push me to either. James recited that thing he used to often be spouting, even in class before the teacher would come in, or walking along the street. You can write a few verses cos that’s all James ever said. It’s called ‘Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie’.

Henry recited some poem he’d learned in school called ‘Mid Term Break’.

—Now look what you’ve done, joked James.

—Sorry Sinéad, Henry said.

—No, it’s just so beautiful, said Sinéad, sniffling away her tears. I’m such a dork it’s unbelievable.

—You’re just nice, Henry said.

—Hey back off now, said James and they all laughed.

They were talking about Detective Crowley’s little boy who was killed on the road long ago cos the poem reminded them of it. No one could really remember him in school. Just that his name was Shane and he had dark brown hair.

—Imagine, he could be here with us right now if he lived, James said.

—Maybe he is, said Sinéad quietly and her eyes welling up on her again, and she looking out to sea at the moon’s reflection.

Lull then for a bit. Just the waves and the sky and the shadows from the moon and crackling fire. Some of them were praying maybe. Then Sinéad said,

—I’m going to sing again now, if that’s OK.

We all went quiet. Ready for Sinéad to blow our minds and our hearts. She soaked up the attention for a moment, went all serious and then started singing ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.’ We laughed and Sinéad did too but kept singing so we all joined in.

Then everyone sang some song one of the women teachers taught us. It was some Lionel Richie song and all the girls loved it. ‘Love, Oh Love’. Except we learned it in Irish. Grá is the Irish for Love. Ó is the Irish for Oh. Just in case you want to write it out. But it’s not essential. It wasn’t a major part of their minds, this song, in any language, but it was really nice then and they all singing it together and they all huddled up together and the blankets and the fire and a hint of a tint of the sun and it about to rise up out of the sea on the horizon yonder.

We watched the sunrise together before going back. Dazzling isn’t it? In Ireland when people think of life they don’t ever think of sunrise. People don’t see much sunrises. I wonder did anyone ever say it had to be like that.

The Library

We lived in the library of Kent Castle that year. Especially in the summer holidays. This is a drawing of the candle stand that was in the library.

I could spend for ever trying to explain the look of it and you still wouldn’t have it. I’m handy enough at drawing. Spent my whole life drawing at the back of the class sure. Anyhow some things I think you need to know the look of. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know myself. Anyhow the writers who describe things get pages and pages out of it so why shouldn’t I get a few pages out of my drawings?

Sinéad would ask me to light the candles every time we went into the library. She’d say,

—Let out the dark there Charlie. It has no place here with us.

That meant light the candles. I’d say real quiet,

—Get out dark.

One time then she said,

—Get thee hence to endless night.

She had other candles over the fireplace and on the bookshelf and on the floor. Fat ones that stood by themselves and other little hour-lights – the ones the believers and the hopeful light in the churches for the souls of the dead and the bodies of the dying. I didn’t bother drawing the candles. Or the flame. Can’t draw fire anyway. No one can. Only a fool would try. Especially a fire that can burn no more. You can use your imagination for the flame. You can imagine the flame can’t you? The fire? I hope you can.

When I’d the right half of the candle stand drawn I folded the page and pressed it over on to the left side, leaving an outline of it for me to trace. Mirror image. Be hard to get it right otherwise. Anyhow I think the candle stand is a credit to whoever made it a hundred or two hundred or three hundred years ago. The drawing left an imprint on the page behind it.

Some people leave things after them after they’re gone isn’t it?

The carpet and the curtains were the same kind of red that drying blood is.

The ceiling was fairly high so the light that hung from it doesn’t really matter. James would be your man for a description of the ceiling, he spent half his time lying on the ground looking up at it.

The piano was a grand piano.

Grand pianos are hard to draw.

This was the doorbell of the castle. Still is. But it doesn’t work any more. I tried it.

There were two big long windows in the library. I liked them. I used to stand at the window looking down at the village and the football pitch and the river and the woods while Sinéad and James were at the piano or guitar and making their music. It was nice. There’s not much nice any more. This is one of the windows. I wanted to draw a bit of the roof and the castle walls too to give you an idea of where the windows were. I made the grey bits around the bricks by spitting on my finger and rubbing it. This was the last drawing I did. My biro ran out colouring in the roof.

This is the other window.

I used to be sitting in with Sinéad and James when they used to be making songs together. In the library room in the castle Sinéad would be sitting on the couch with her guitar. James would usually be lying on the floor. He’d jump up sometimes suddenly and go to the piano when he had an idea for notes to play in that part of the song. Other times they’d sing parts of the songs they worked on. James didn’t sing much, just sometimes, but he was only singing in the way a grown-up would sing along with a toddler. To encourage them along isn’t it? Sinéad needed encouragement after being told she wasn’t worth a fuck by all belonging to her, all her life. I still know the songs they had. Some of the words were a bit babyish maybe. Sinéad singing about saving all God’s children from hunger and shit like that. We can change the world with love, yeah yeah yeah kind of stuff. That was one of Sinéad’s. James’ efforts were a small bit more grown-up but they were only learning isn’t it? They were still copying a lot of the shit that they heard on the radio. And a lot of that stuff is only shit.