The Gamal (24 page)

Only trouble was James went anyway and decided to miss the training Saturday night. All it meant was that he could go earlier. So we all went Friday morning instead. We’d come back Sunday and James’ final was on the Monday. We got the bus as far as Cork cos they’d have seen us hitching with the bags and the guitar. We got off near the roundabout by the Kerry road and me and James hid in the ditch and Sinéad stuck out her thumb. The third car stopped. James got in the front and me and Sinéad sat into the back. The man driving took a few minutes to come to terms with it.

—Ye’re gas out, he says.

—Yeah we were taking turns hitching, you’d be wrecked from the standing, James said.

The man started laughing and we did too. He took us as far as Killarney and then we did the same again to get a lift on to Dingle. Lorry this time so it was a tight squeeze but the view out was worth it. The land out that way would make you think differently. One thing about hills and valleys and mountains and rocks is that it reminds you that all you have is one point of view. Keeps you humble and makes you giddy to explore a thousand other viewpoints for a thousand new rewards. And it all at odds with the ocean and it dead level and straight and for ever. Only way you could describe it all to a blind person is by playing some tune of it. Be even better for them cos they’d be like an eagle gliding through it isn’t it? Or a bat cos they’re blind and that’s where sound came from in the first place I suppose. Let creatures with no eyes know where they were. And they moving through terrains. Sound waves isn’t it? Sound was freedom. Sound was everything.

We arrived into some kind of a dreamplace. There was music everywhere. On the corner a girl of about our own age singing sean-nós. Old style. And twenty or thirty around her and they all so quiet that you could hear the girl draw breath for the next bit each time. On another bit and a young fella sitting on a crate playing the concertina and an old man standing beside him playing a wooden flute. Crowd around them too. Next was two old women singing sean-nós and a girl of about eight tapping on a bodhrán. It lined the streets as far as the eyes could see. Went for a piss in a pub and the inner room was crammed with people listening to a tin whistle player with a comb-over. Sinéad’s face was best of the lot though. She was stunned. Smile would break out in her every now and again and her eyes were bright as flame taking in all the wonders.

We were camping and we’d only one four-man tent. It was my sister’s. They’d no problem sleeping cos the nights were warm and the drink had them immune to the hard ground. We talked and then they fell asleep and I liked to listen to the two of them breathing and the sound of the sea.

On the Saturday night there we ended up in the bar of the hotel in the middle of the street. It wasn’t that full but it was cosy and there was a good session on there. A session is where everyone takes it in turns to sing or play a tune. Sinéad started singing then. She sang a song called ‘Carraig Aonair’ that she learned out in Cape Clear and a change started coming over the place. The murmur stopped and people started coming in from the street to hear her. Crowds at the door looking in. The place erupted when she finished and they called out for more and she went shy and said,

—Ah no, someone else now, so they left her alone.

A few of the musicians started playing a reel then and this woman came over to Sinéad. A blonde English one of about thirty. She said she was a singer-songwriter and was always on the lookout for a great voice. They talked for hours. She told Sinéad how she started out busking outside a tube station in London and went on from there. She said her work is more popular in Japan, mostly piano-based. Some guy came over then and introduced this one to the crowd and asked her to play one of her own pieces on the piano. She said she would only if Sinéad would sing along and Sinéad went all apologetic and said she didn’t know her music and your one just goes sing anything and coaxes her over to the piano beside her.

—Whatever comes to mind, just let yourself go, she said.

—God, said Sinéad, I’ll try.

Your one started playing on the piano then. A fierce nice tune it was. Not complicated. And not slow. But it was kind of innocent or something. Remind you of a small stream. After a while she started to look at Sinéad to encourage her on and then Sinéad started. She sang some phrases from U2’s song ‘Bad’. The same ones over and over. Desolation. Isolation. Revelation. In temptation. Let it go. And so fade away. Over and over and over.

The electricity in the place went bananas. It was like a phenomenon we witnessed. Same as some shooting star or some eclipse or some comet. After all the applause and people congratulating them the woman and Sinéad spent the whole night talking again. James was very drunk. Just smiling and muttering away to himself and saying,

—She’s fantastic. Simple as that. Fantastic.

When we were leaving the woman wrote down Sinéad’s name and address and gave her her own card and asked what we were doing the next day. Sinéad said,

—We’re hoping to get to Mass at ten in the church cos there’s these famous musicians playing O’Riada’s Mass. It’s like this Irish music Mass an Irish composer wrote. Really beautiful.

—My goodness, that sounds amazing. Where’s the church?

—Just up at the top of the hill I think.

—Great, see you there then tomorrow. Ten is it?

—Yeah, said Sinéad.

We were a little bit late cos James was still very drunk. When we went in Sinéad saw her sitting down but was too shy to sit in beside her and walked on ahead. Then we heard,

—Pssst. Sinéad.

It was your one so we went and sat in beside her. She gave us a big wink and smiled. She was on her own. We enjoyed the Mass but the talking bits were boring. At least it was in Irish and we didn’t understand so you couldn’t find yourself listening even by accident. Afterwards your one insisted on buying us all breakfast and wanted to give us money for the bus when we said we were hitch-hiking home but we wouldn’t take it.

—The bus would take twice as long anyway, James said.

—Well you guys mind Sinéad. She’s rather precious you know.

—I know, said James and put his arm around her.

—I’ll be in touch, she said. Have a good summer.

We did have a good summer but it’s long since passed. I could tell you your one’s name but she mightn’t like it, I dunno. If you search hard enough you’ll find who it was. Music is how you’ll find her.

We were all giddy coming back. Especially Sinéad. Your one was touring for the summer but had said to Sinéad she’d love to bring her over and do some recordings in her house. She had her own studio. James could come too and me too if I wanted Sinéad said. Sinéad was finally starting to believe it about herself. That she was special.

We got back to Ballyronan Sunday night so James was fresh as a daisy for his match the next day. I went with my father. There was a big crowd at it. They had programmes and everything. I was inside the wire doing the water when I seen James coming over to the subs bench when the game was starting. Roundy and Kerby said they were starting Teesh instead cos he was more committed and didn’t go off to a concert for the weekend. They’d beaten the hardest opposition in the semi-final thanks to James and now he was on the bench cos they knew that they’d win the final easily anyway cos the other crowd were only fair. And Teesh midfield the cowardly prick and he trying to punch the ball away from him instead of catching it in the air. After half time James was still on the bench so he got up and headed for the dressing room. Sinéad met him at the wire and walked him up. I knew James would be OK but I could see his father outside the wire and I knew that’s who James was thinking about. The picture of the team was on the
South Cork Weekly
with the cup and no James and no mention of him either and all the smiley heads up on Teesh and Dinky and Roundy and Kerby and all the other fools too. James put a brave face on it all and acted like he didn’t care but he did. And he knew it hurt his father. People said not very nice things about Sinéad in the pub too for taking him to Dingle. How she was a bad influence and all.

—He should have more sense anyway than be hanging around with that tramp. She’s a bad influence and that’s proof.

—She’s a slapper anyway and she sharing the tent with James and the gamal over.

—Weird shit boy that.

—Isn’t it?

—Weird shit yeah. Not right like.

—They’re no good for each other them two, and the gamal inside in the middle of them then and the clueless head up on him. Name of Christ.

Sinéad’s Father Sick

Next thing Sinéad’s father decides to come down with some sort of sickness or other and the whole Dublin plan goes to shit. Cancer is a terrible illness. Good people get it. Nasty people get it too. Sinéad’s father got it. Bollicks cancer. That’s not cancer of the bollicks, that’s testicular cancer. Bollicks cancer is the kind of cancer bollickses get. He got it in his stomach.

—Oh you’re a nice one. Fuck off to Dublin just when your family needs you. You ungrateful little bitch.

I think Sinéad wanted me in the house in case her mother started trying to hit her. Stuff like that happened her before but I can’t tell you about it cos she made me swear not to repeat a word about it. That stuff and worse stuff as well. Private kind of worse stuff that shouldn’t happen to people any time but definitely not when they’re only small. Cruel things.

Anyhow I used to hang around Sinéad’s house in case she’d get hit or something. Nobody took any notice cos I’m a gamal. And anyhow, I did their gardening for them. Pretended I loved gardening. One time her father told her to fuck off out of it and take the retard with her. The retard was me. But really he liked the way I kept the garden.

—Am I supposed to give up my job now is it? Over my dead body will you go to Dublin you little fucking jade you.

That was her mother again. Truth is Sinéad’s mother drank even more than her father sometimes. One of Sinéad’s older sisters was off in Australia. The other one was married up in Northern Ireland somewhere. Teesh called them the ugly sisters. One of them was in Teesh’s class in school long ago.

I still don’t know why she didn’t go to Dublin. James could have helped her with some money and she could have got a loan. But there was some hold over her. Some unnatural or natural hold over her. She loved the drunken old bollicks of a father I suppose isn’t it? Bit of love from him would’ve meant a lot to her I think.

Roundy’s

So Sinéad’s father got her a job in Roundy’s, the pub.

—You’re not going to be sponging off us no more. Teach you what a day’s work is.

Then there was the time James arrived down to my house after we all thought he was gone off to Dublin. That morning they took me for the spin up to the train station. Me, Sinéad, James and his father. His mother didn’t come cos she doesn’t like goodbyes cos all her brothers had to go away long ago to find work in America. Even the fella who played for Dublin and he was one of the best footballers in the country in his day. Came back later on and settled in County Wexford, he did.

—And I’m not saying goodbye. We’ll see you again in a couple of weeks. Just mind yourself for God’s sake.

That’s all she said. James hugged her and then she said it. By the time James had sat into the car she was after going back in the front door and closing the door behind her.

—Your mother doesn’t like goodbyes James, his father said.

—I know, said James.

In the car Sinéad was quiet in herself. James just entertained his father’s ramblings about his own college days.

—And join the societies. That’s where you’ll meet people. Sinéad will go up to you next weekend. I’ll give you a spin to the train station next weekend if you like.

Sinéad wasn’t listening. James turned around with a smile for her. Then he noticed she was crying.

—Yeah she might take that lift dad.

His father adjusted his rearview mirror for a second to see Sinéad’s face. When he saw her tears he readjusted the mirror and he said,

—Ah. I see. That’s a new kind of pain you’ll be feeling there now, the both of ye. The pain of leaving. Separation is hard for those in love.

James threw back his hand for Sinéad to hold. She squeezed it tight. She’d a crumpled tissue in her other hand. James’ father went on.

—No distance in the world could come between the love you two have for each other. Ye’ll see each other Friday night when you go up to him.

Silence then for a while. At least from human voices. The old Volvo the size of a house droned away up the road and Mozart or Beethoven or Carmen or whatever rusty old classical tape he had on fleeted and flittered and flitted away in the background. Only other sound now and again was Sinéad trying to stifle her crying.

At the station James’ father spoke to me.

—Very good, very good, very good. Gardeners will always have work. In fact I might have a bit myself for you now that James is going. Would that suit?

—Ha?

—Would that suit you?

—Ha?

—A bit of work. I could give you some gardening work. Would that suit you?

—Yeah.

—Very good. Ah yes. Yes indeed. Mam and dad are both good?