*
When it’s back she is, her husband has little to say. He speaks in factual clips.
I came down to see whether you’d be on the early bus and you are.
A kind of what about that for a revelation, as he opened the boot of the car. Of the magazine in her hand,
Give it here to me I’ll put it in the boot.
— I’ll hold onto it sure, she, clinging to it.
The nose of the car traces out the bend of the road and gives way, as and when another approaches. You’re so squeezed in these parts, she thinks, there’s no sharing the road, you’ve to roll into the ditch or slide past sheet metal. A neighbour, Matty, chooses the slide, he pulls up and ceases, the window down before he stops.
— How’re ya getting on?
Her husband must lean and call to Matty even though he’s right beside him.
— Where are ya coming from? Matty wants to know. But he doesn’t wait for the answer before another ceist lands.
— Did ya hear poor Dick Gaughan was taken in the night, says Matty.
— I did not, Her husband. Sure I was down to see was she on the bus and she was. I didn’t hear the notices, hadn’t I the house left before they came on. What happened him?
— I don’t know, I don’t know at all, Matty repeating only that it was on the death notices this morning, I am on my way to get the story beyond.
Almost as an excuse for having nothing to add to the news of poor Dick’s demise, or his having missed the notices this morning on account of her not being present to turn on the radio for him (she’s certain he omitted to turn it on) her husband shouts over again that he hasn’t heard.
I hadn’t heard I had not, he repeats. Sure she was up in Dublin, I’m only after fetching her off the bus, up visiting Jimmy she was. I didn’t know would she be on the early bus, I only went down on the chance to see was she and she was.
And she’s livid. She’s livid with no explanation the way she has lived with no explanation. But today will be saved by talk of a funeral, talk of a funeral provides for them all.
*
Jimmy phoned, he phoned while his father was out in the fields.
— No, no I don’t want to speak to him. How are you?
He inquired again and again. Grand, she said, I’m grand. I had a good time with you and we must do it more often. I’d love a picnic in the Botanic Gardens, just the two of us. But he doesn’t extend another invitation. Instead he asked again whether all is well? I’d love to see those pink signs again, she replied. What were the words? Repeat them to me. The one above City Hall. And the other on the bar.
— There was none on the bar mam, Jimmy said softly.
— God bless now, she told Jimmy as she closed the line. She promised to write him a letter tomorrow. He loves letters does Jimmy. I’m seeing them pink words everywhere, she sighed to him. She saw one on the bar alright, no matter that Jimmy didn’t see it, he only had eyes for his lads. She searched for the words. He’ll never find another the like of me to put up with all his nonsense, wasn’t that it?
Episode 6
She regards her husband carefully. His face? Droopy. There’s no other word for it. It’s unkind, but the man is droopy. Two long lines surround his mouth, give up to jowls that jostle when he shakes his head. His eyebrows remain above his eyes, but are nothing remarkable. His ears are the only aspect of him unchanged. His forehead and flimsy hair have held up well, but when she takes it all in she cannot fathom how or why another woman would let him near her. There’s so little to recommend him. And yet a woman has taken him and he has taken this woman and there’s nothing for it, she must investigate the very bones of this transaction. She must undress this mystery vest to its threads. She can stand here in this kitchen and continue to know nothing, or she can head off out into the world and figure this muck out.
*
I would have to go out and figure this muck out.
*
At the time I began looking and carefully looking: Himself slid to sitting. In his sitting he was constantly looking. And where I was once looking only at him, now I was looking at everything but: I was looking out from him.
*
I, still furious, took a while to notice that he was now seated.
As I had stood up, he, strangely, had sat down, sat right down and stared.
And I hadn’t done anything yet.
*
Still he caught my eye.
The first morning he stared into the middle distance like he was examining dust in the air, waiting on it to form an image, a message, an answer.
*
Slowly he emitted. Dribbles at first. After Tuesday’s auction in Ballina: a man by name, the price not got, on the cow so deserved, the sinking of them all. Everything handed across to the fate of another’s cow that didn’t sell at a fair price because at that time there wasn’t a fair price to be got. We’re being skinned, he said. Farmers are being skinned alive.
*
I, remaining furious, paid little heed. I’d paid so much heed, now I was on strike.
*
See how I went back and forth?
*
I found him sat in the chair in the middle of the night once.
I went to bed with him still sat in the chair and woke to find him still there in the chair.
I was glad not to share the bed with him. I stretched out and enjoyed myself. But I worried when I saw him in the chair, relentlessly in the chair.
*
He started not changing his jumper. Socks stayed on him several days. I could hardly bend down at his feet and remove them. I could have I suppose, but I chose not to. Have her remove them I thought. Had he removed them in the bed of Red the Twit? Let her take them off him.
I did give in.
I gave in because the smell off him would knock a pig.
— Give me those socks you have on ya, I said. He obliged, robotically stretching out his foot so I might retrieve them. And when I saw the state of the feet on him. Painful and neglected they were.
He was, I must say, obedient in this state and that was not inconvenient. I still hadn’t done anything.
*
Soon however it became difficult to watch him sat there and so wasn’t I forced to leave the house. We had swapped: him inside, me having the car, off to Ballina to pick up feed at the Co-op, for the cattle would die for the lack of food and care.
When I was out and about I began to see an odd cut of the world I’d never noticed. Like Himself advised I would go in and sit places and sometimes have a bowl of soup or a cup of tea for my trouble. Once I even had a piece of pie in the morning.
And since he wasn’t rising from the chair I opened the back door and started to attend to things. It wasn’t pleasant nor unpleasant. It was a chore. Another chore. Chore after chore. The neighbours asked after him. And I told them a sort of truth.
— Sure he’s killt with all the work, I said.
Oh it’s a killer, they all agreed.
— It’d drive you to despair, I said.
It would, they agreed.
I was glad to get out and about a bit in it. For too long I had been inside.
*
It was more difficult when day after day he sat in the chair. Speechless, he sat. Read the paper without remarking much. Unusual, disturbing. While he was ranting Our Woman worried less. Now she worried hard. She had no idea what to do with him. She thought the cattle prices had him in the chair and sure there was nothing she could do about the cattle prices.