Up early. Today’s the day. Wash dream from my eye. Sleep off my face. And my hair can dry in the sunshine that throws all around Prince of Wales Road. Second Years out on the steps in Jacobean rig. Jonson project or. Coming to the party tonight? Pub, upstairs? Might do, depends. Go on in, to the board. Double-check. It’s me for the Emotion Memory later. And all morning it sits there. Then two. Three. Four o’clock. Now.
Nervous? A little, yes. Well, that’s alright. Take a moment to settle yourself — could everyone else please settle themselves too. No going in and out during the exercise. Ready? I think so. Then, in your own time, tell us where you are.
I’m standing in the bath. How old are you? Five. Describe it. Big. Enamel. White. Cold even with water in. One tap’s dot’s red. The other’s gone. What do you see beyond the bath? Dun-coloured lino with an arc scoured in by the door. And a pink bathroom sink with a mirror above with those silver rings for glasses to put your toothbrush in. And are there glasses? No or there are but not there. Be precise. There are two on the shelf to the left with toothpaste and a nail scissors in as well. And a hairbrush that needs a clean. Is that what you think in the moment, or what you’re thinking now? Now. Don’t do that, recreate only what was. There’s a hairbrush with a lot of hair stuck in it. Whose? Mine. How do you know? Because it’s long and blonde and my mother’s hair is short and my father uses a comb so What else do you see? A toilet. The old type, with a chain and a fluffy peach cover that matches the mat under the sink. And what can you smell? Coal tar shampoo. Why does that make you smile? It smells like my father. Is he with you now? No I. Is anyone there? My mother is. She’s washing me in the bath and singing The Spinning Wheel, but swapping Eileen for Eily. Is she a good singer? She is. Describe the walls. Green Anaglypta I think with a plasticky feel, peeling off under the window. Can you see through the window? Yes. So looking through, what do you see? Mountains, in the distance. They’re heathery. Purple and rocks. And closer? A barn. Made of corrugated that’s red with rust. What else? The farmhouse where my friends live. Then a blue car on the road and all the fields between. And closer? Horse chestnuts out our back. Blossoming. Can you get closer again? Fingerprints in Sadolin on the glass my father’s prints. He painted them and he wasn’t very handy at stuff. Present tense. He isn’t very handy at things and a bit messy. Do you know why that thought affects your voice? Yes. Why? The future. No, keep out of that. What time is it? Morning. How can you tell? The radio’s talking, that’s morning. Why does that make you smile? I don’t know. Yes you do. It’s Gay Byrne it’s just so Irish. Make a sound and let that feeling go into it. Ahhhhhhhh. To a hundred people. Ahhhhhh. Now what else do you hear? Still my mother singing The Spinning Wheel. And what’s she doing? Drying me off now. Describe the towel. Pink with roses in white thread rough. Eily relax the tension round your mouth. Go on. I want out but she’s doing the talc. I pretend it’s snow sprinkling on my back. I can hear it make the bubbles hiss. Do you speak? Yes, I ask What does it do? She says It helps you to dry. What’s affecting you? I don’t know. Say the first thing that comes into your mind. I want my father. Why? Because I know what’s next. No, stay in the moment, recreate the smell of talc and the sound of her voice, and once you’ve done that go on. I she asks Have I missed anywhere? And I point down. Point down where? Between my legs. Why? Because I’m still damp there. And what does she do? She looks cross. Why? Because I don’t know yet. Alright, what does she say? She says she I I can’t. Eily, describe what she’s wearing. A blouse. What colour? Reddy brown browny slacks with a crooked crease because she’s kneeling down and I see a thumbtack stuck in the sole of her shoe. Make a sound. Ahhhhhh. To a hundred people. Ahhhhhhh. Now — and remembering precisely — tell us what she says. She says Don’t you ever let anyone touch you there. Make a sound. Ahhhhhhh. To a thousand people, Eily, trying not to hurt your voice. Ahhhhhhhh. Again. Ahhhhhhhhhhh. What’s affecting you? I’m I’m ashamed. Why? Because someone already has. Make a sound. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh and it goes through the Church, to the balcony, beyond, back to the girl in nineteen-eighty who, for the first time, knows she is alone with something she should not know at all. Describe a physical sensation. I Eily, do it now. I Burning. My stomach is. Why? I’m afraid. And what are you looking at? My towel dangling in the suds. And what do you hear? Her asking Do you understand? And do you answer? I say I do. You don’t tell her? I don’t. Why not? Because I’m. Because you’re what? Scared. Because? Because if she knew she would think I’m disgusting and not love me any more.
Alright Eily, that was good work. What are you doing this evening? Rehearsing til eight. Well, make sure you go straight home afterwards, get some dinner, then some rest. The Emotion Memory opens doors it’s important to shut again properly, do you understand? I do.
But there are two shades of light. First, the strip above my head. Second, the flashing Tell Tell. All these years of hiding in case she’d be upset when it’s only what happened to you. Good. Good decision.
Wait until eight.
Phone in the canteen, now it’s quiet. Go dial the O O Three Five Three Sevenone Eightfivefoureightone.
Hi Mammy. Yes. Yes I’m good. How are you? That’s great but listen, I want to tell you something about, remember at Easter? Who we met in the street? Yeah. Him. Look, the reason I was offish was No I didn’t notice that. Really? You seemed fine with him I Really? I always thought you two got along. You were always so friendly when he dropped me off or whenever we went over to the farm. Okay yes I sort of remember that, you always keeping me on your knee when he was around. No, sure I was only five or six, how could I know it was to protect yourself? Really? Every time? Then that was a good idea alright no I suppose that makes sense He’d never try it on in front of a child.