Then this fag comes rolling in under the door. I don't know how many I smoked when I was in there. Hundreds maybe. The doors opened and there's Bubble standing in the light but he wasn't his usual self tugging away at his sleeve and looking away from you when he was speaking. You didn't often see him doing that. Well my fine fellow are you ready to behave yourself yet?, he says.
I knew by him he was afraid I was going to say no. For he had no idea what he was going to do then. But I didn't. I liked old Bubble. But Tiddly he was a different story. It'd be God help him if he ever came near me again.
Its not my job to cut effing grass verges, says the gardener. If he says it to me one more time, that's it. I'm out.
What do you say?
I didn't say anything, just looked at him advancing on the inch of ash with one eye closed.
Or have you quit talking altogether?
The way he said it I thought I'd be as well to say something before he took into me with the graip.
Cut no verges, I said. No verges now and that's all's about it!
He nearly burst open with excitement. He whacked his corduroys with the battered cap.
Now you said it!, he cried.
Not a one! I said.
Not a shaggin' one he says with the fag shaking, by Christ you're a good one, here have a fag he said and shook a few of them, a fag for every fucker of a sky pilot that gets his arse kicked! Go on!
He chuckled away as a ballerina of sparks did a twirl. Did I ever tell you about the time I sprung Michael Collins from the Bridewell jail? he says.
No, I says.
I didn't?
He licked his lips and little infantrymen ran from one eye to the other. And what would your business be says the officer? Oh I'm aHoly Ghost Father officer, I says. Very well he says, proceed padre. So off I went and not half an hour later there's me and the head of the Irish Republican Army rattling through the streets of Dublin in a horse and cart! Good man says Collins from under a pile of turnips you'll be remembered for this!
The light was failing outside and they were all heading towards the refectory for tea.
The more I tried to get the goldfish out of my head the more it kept coming back.
One wet day I seen Tiddly climbing into a car and he was never seen again, probably away off to the garage to rub some bogman with his mickey good luck and good fucking riddance. Bubble called me up to his study and I could see he was on for a bit of detective work. Every time he thought I wasn't looking he'd look at me over the rim of the teacup. If I turned he'd look away again quick as a flash. He was trying to think of the right words for he knew if he got the wrong ones I'd tell him nothing and maybe if he did I'd tell him nothing anyway. I sank into the big leather chair and he says do you like Scots Clan I do indeed I says. He asked me a few questions about how I was getting on now. I said OK and yes and no to them all. His face was all creased up trying to find the right way of saying things it was like trying to turn the corner on two wheels. Sometimes I just shrugged my shoulders and looked out the window. Then Bubble stands there staring out knotting the fingers together behind his back wondering what way would he start his speech. It was a different speech this time there was no jokes or any of that for he knew what I thought fuck the jokes and he was right. He said life was difficult, people had their troubles. Some of the things people did were hard to understand. A soggy football went sailing past the window and a clatter of bogmen chasing after it. He said Father Sullivan was a good man. I said nothing. He starts to tell me this story then about him going off to Dublin to visit his sister. He's been working hard lately too hard if you ask me, he says with a watery laugh. His sister will look after him I said and sipped the tea. She will, he says, she's very good to him. He's lucky has her. I didn't mean to laugh but I just had to when he said that. I was chuckling away to myself. Sister, for fuck's sake! Poor old Tiddly was probably climbing up the walls of the garage by now shouting I love you bogman! to some young farmer lad.
Bubble knew I was laughing but there wasn't much he could do about it. If he said: Stop laughing, I'd only go and do it worse. I'd push him out of the way and shout out the window: Hey bogmen! Did youse hear about Father Tiddly the Rolo man!
That was what Bubble was afraid of. That everybody would hear. But he didn't have to worry about that. As long as he left me alone and minded his own business I wouldn't say anything about old Father Big-Mickey I mean Tiddly. Now he was gone I didn't give a fuck. I just wanted to be left alone. I hope you're happy here says Bubble. I said I am. Then I said: I'm going now.
Yes Francis, said Bubble holding the cup with one finger up in the air. I wasn't going to tell about Tiddly. But he didn't know that. All he knew was he'd seen him lying whinging in the corner saying I love you to me. I don't think poor old Bubble was used to seeing things like that. The last thing I seen as I went out the door was him standing there all helpless and pained-looking. He was thinking: Why can't all these bad terrible things be over so as I can sing a little happy song. Like Michael Row The Boat Ashore maybe!
After that the days were all the same, they just drizzled past, days without Joe without da without anything. I didn't have to worry much about getting the Francie Brady Not a Bastard Any More Diploma anymore after the Tiddly business for I knew they were going to let me go the first chance they got I was like a fungus growing on the walls they wanted them washed clean again.
The day I left Bubble gripped my hand and said it did his heart good. I gave him a big smile. But it was all different now it wasn't like the old days when me and him used to have jokes. He knew why I was smiling. If it did his heart good he wasn't long about letting go of the hand.
I said good luck to the gardener. He said: Its just as well you caught me for I won't be here tomorrow. I've had it with them and their verges. He looked right into my eyes and tapped his chest. Its not my job, he hissed. The last thing I seen was the soggy ball sailing up into the air.
House of a hundred windows, goodbye and good fucking riddance, I said.
I called straight down to Joe's but he wasn't there. Where is he, I said. Mr Purcell looked me up and down. I have no idea, he said and closed the door. I wondered what was eating him.
I called down to the house a few more times but there was never any answer they must have been away, at the uncle's or someplace. In the end I waited at the bottom of Church Hill and met Joe coming home from school. He was in the second year in secondary now. He was carrying a big bulging bag of books. There's some amount of books in that bag, Joe, I says laughing. There was some other lad with him I don't know who he was I told him to run on ahead. What? he says. I said: Run on ahead – are you deaf?
I'm back Joe, I said, back from the house of a hundred windows. I laughed myself when I said that it just sounded funny saying it there walking round the road with Joe. I didn't know where to start telling him about all these things. I told him it made no odds about the goldfish or any of that that was all in the past now. Then he looks at me and says: What goldfish? I hit him a thump on the shoulder. What goldfish! I says, for fuck's sake Joe!