I tried not to project the visit to Marisa’s home. I owed her on two counts:
1. She hadn’t yet mentioned Elton John’s dirge “Funeral for a Friend,” despite flaunting a battered copy of Genet’s Our Lady of the Flowers.
2. She hadn’t commented on my not commenting. (Dare one Irish phrase it, that this spoke volumes.)
I went to work. I was then the security guard for Traders’ new supermarket. The usual mausoleum. My brief was to prevent people borrowing the trolleys. I had yet to apprehend one of these criminals. The chances of so doing were remote. The customers usually greeted me by name. Familiarity here definitely bred conspiracy. The security firm sent a van round on Sunday mornings to collect errant trolleys. The blind-eye arrangement was maintaining us in employment. How bad was Traders hurtin’...?
Being Irish means never having to say you don’t know. The accuracy of the reply is purely a wing-shot. Despite the video revolution, going “to the pictures” is still a prerequisite in courtship. I hadn’t yet escorted Marisa to them and was mystified as to her bringing me home to meet her parents. This was stage eight, at least, in the game. “Why,” I wondered during my shift at Traders. “Dunno,” I said as yet another neighbour greeted me and wheeled Traders’ finest into a sunset.
Back at my place, I washed slowly and drank quickly. I had a bottle of Metaxa brandy for special occasions. Taste didn’t matter. Anything that walloped the back of your eyes like this had to be quality. The vague headache I was entertaining testified to the quantity I was having. Next I’d be humming! I put on a black tie. This was in heavy current use... for work and the funerals. I’d miss a funeral today but I could double up on Saturdays. My quota was high... what else... I hummed.
Tear apart
the artificial lines
of ill-defined
communication
would you... like
me as much
if
close... as in the
nearness of a situation
we had been
— Lord strive
that near related
Blood ties
had brought... the
ounce of tolerance
have heard it claimed
as part the heritage
on the birth-right
now obscured
thru pain observed
in Ireland... family
have seen
more sure-d-ly
is peace the licence
to... to hurt
without the consequences
care?
Care I
a murmer less
to mutter twice
blood is
and it has seemed
to long have been
that thicker is
than sense
I might have known
or broach
the furthered cliché
is
to hurt — sign-full
the ones
you’re closest to... I think
on that
could only pray
this cliché then, I hadn’t understood
a family
to plead the years
thru waste
to plead... is given
what is given
un-explained
am better in
the strands of old
denial... here
I don’t apply
and sure
it is
if it is... that far
from what I wish
it might have been
can live
in rough-shaped harmony
with what
it is for now
begin
deliver... from myself
an own
with equanimity can’t say example
— no
from myself I guess
on illustration.
Her family lived in Maunsells Hill. The sort of area where they deposited their rubbish in designer bins. My anticipation wasn’t eased by the brass name plate “La Rosario.” I rang the bell. Worse... chimes, and unless I was badly mistaken, did I detect the strains of “Viva Espana.”
Add my Greek-brandied level, and Europe was thriving. Marisa greeted me. There was no effective way of ignoring the chimes. If she’d greeted me in Spanish I’d have fled.
“For whom the bells chime,” she said.
There is no reply to that. Her parents were lurking in the sitting room. Tunnel vision helped me block out the various bullfighters and flamenco dancers lining the walls.
“Bill and Irene,” said her father.
I’d call them a lotta things. Their Christian names wouldn’t be included.
“A drink?”
“Whiskey,” said Marisa and shoved what appeared to be half a bucket of it into my hand.
“You’re in the Security business,” Bill said.
“I am.”
“The coming thing,” said Bill.
“Tell us about yourself,” said Irene.
I knew of few conversation killers to rival this. I took a near-lethal swipe of the whiskey. Marisa was a huge help. She said nothing. Irene produced the photo albums. I was almost relieved. Double vision obliterated the first two volumes. I muttered “Who”... “Where”... “Surely not”... “janey mack”... at staggered intervals.
Bill told me about the insurance game. He took as given that I knew nothing, and after a brief background, he recounted his coups across the country.
“You’re insured?” he said.
I didn’t know in my floating state, did he ask “You’re innured”... to what... to grief... did he know about the funerals? The whiskey lashed over the brandy. A supremacy struggle. The upper hand was definitely with the whiskey, and I didn’t throw up. I looked at this small plump man in his plump suit. Who the hell was he? I’d read that when you’re threatened by a person, try to see the child in them. I concentrated... and saw a fat kid in a fat suit.
“I renewed,” I said.
Irene was making ferocious hand signals from across the room — to me?
“Do you dwink... no... am... do you drunk yirself?” I asked.
“Never... never touch it... not a drop... nor does my wife. Not that we’re against it... in moderation.”
Would he say it... he did!
“Moderation in all things...”
I made a gigantic effort.
“Clen... clendii... dee... cleanliness is next to... whoa... to Giddiness.”
A total silence.
“Have you met Raoul?” Irene gasped.
Who the hell was Raoul? In fact, who the hell were these people?
“Raoul is our other child. He’s an English language teacher,” she persisted, “and Marisa is heartbroken since he left again.”
Two thoughts collided. The explanation for “And Dark Rain.”
The second thought I verbalized... sort of.
“His... hiss... hiss there a big demand for... fur... English langua... uage here.”
Marisa jumped up.
“We have to go.”
I was thinking “I’ll miss them” when she grabbed my hand. I was half-way down Maunsell Hill before I knew what had happened.
“Jay-sus,” she said. “Oh sweet Lord... oh God.”
“Where’s the fune... fun... the fun-eral?”
Marisa hailed a taxi.
“Where do you live?” she asked.
A long complicated word struggle, as first I had to remember myself. Sharing the information wasn’t easy. With the help of the driver we pieced it together.