Buddha Da (18 page)

‘Liz, ah’m sorry.’

He went tae put his airms round me but ah kind of held him away and he just kissed ma cheek. He enveloped Anne Marie in a big bear hug.

‘Whit d’you need done?’

‘If ah make a list could you and Anne Marie go the messages? We’ll need tae take stuff round tae ma mammy’s for wanst her body comes back tae the hoose.’

‘When will that be?’

‘Ah think it’ll be the morra. And efter that there’ll be loads a folk round at the hoose so we’ll need teabags and biscuits and stuff for sandwiches. And whisky.’

‘Aye, ah mind when ma daddy died we went through bottles of the stuff.’

‘Aye.’

‘Cannae believe it was only two year ago. Right, wee yin, you get your coat on while yer mammy makes up a list. Want a cuppa tea the now?’

Ah spent the rest of the mornin on the phone and when the others came back we went round tae ma mammy’s. Ah wanted tae get the place sorted for her comin back the morra. Jimmy moved some of the furniture in the bedroom tae make space for the coffin when it came. Anne Marie put food away in the kitchen. Ah dusted the livin room even though ah’d only done it yesterday. Ah lifted the remote fae the armrest of her chair and put it on top of the TV then picked up her TV guide and
Woman
magazine aff the table and put them in the magazine rack at the side of the fire. Mammy used tae buy that
Woman
magazine when ah was a wee girl but it had changed that much. Then it was full of recipes and knittin patterns: noo the stories were all aboot soap stars and cosmetic surgery. How come she still read it? Habit, or did she really enjoy all this stuff? Ah’d never asked her and ah’d never be able tae now.

Jimmy came in the room. ‘D’you want tae have a look at the room noo – see if it’s OK?’

He’d moved a chest of drawers out intae the spare room and shoved her bed beside the wall. ‘Ah think there should be enough room for them tae get her in here on they wee trestle things. D’you want the bed moved oot as well?’

‘Aye, you’d better, Jimmy. Folk’ll be comin round for
the rosary and they need room tae kneel doon. Ah’ll gie you a haund.’

Anne Marie came intae the hall. ‘Ah don’t think there’ll be enough cups, Mammy. There’s only four of they flowery mugs and a couple a yella wans.’

‘We can bring some round fae the hoose efter,’ says Jimmy.

‘Haud on. Ah think ah know where there’s mair. Ah went intae the press in the spare room and took oot a cardboard box all tied round wi string. Ah opened it up, unwrapped the newspapers and lifted a bone china cup, white wi a gold rim.

‘Her best. Hardly ever used it. Ma daddy’s funeral, Anne Marie’s christenin, first communion, confirmation. Don’t think ah’ve seen it oot since. Well, we can use it for her funeral. Anne Marie, you wash these and put them in the kitchen cupboard.’

Efter we’d moved the furniture, washed the dishes and tidied up we stood in the hall thegether. ‘Is that us?’ said Jimmy.

‘Yous two go oot tae the van, ah’ll just be a minute.’

Ah walked slowly round the hoose, pullin doon each of the venetian blinds in turn. The wan in the bedroom was a bit stuck and made a rattlin sound. The hoose was dark though wee lines of sunlight spilled ontae the flair through gaps in the blinds. Ah shut the door and locked up.

That night ah fell intae ma bed exhausted but ah couldnae get aff tae sleep. Ma mind was birlin. Folk comin and gaun. Tricia and John and their weans. Helen and Alex. Angie. And the phone never stopped ringin.

Jimmy stayed tae the end. It hadnae seemed strange at the time but noo ah’d time tae think aboot it it struck me
how, when there was a crisis, it was as if we hadnae split up. It was just automatic that he came round, done the messages, helped me wi all the arrangements. No that ah wasnae grateful, but ah wondered if there should of been mair distance somehow. Course it might of been different if Paul had got his act thegether. He never even spoke tae the undertakers, never even came round here the night; Angie came hersel, said he was that upset he couldnae face seein anybody. Just as well we didnae all take that line or nothin would get done. Ah’d never realised there was that much tae get done efter somebody dies. When ma daddy died ah was too young really tae have much tae dae wi it; just tried tae make masel useful makin cups a tea and washin up. Kept masel busy.

The trouble was it still didnae seem real. Ah knew she’d been moved fae the hospital tae the undertakers the night and they’d be bringin her back tae her ain hoose the morra. We’d have the rosary on the nights leadin up tae the burial. Then it’d seem real. 

The hearse parked ootside the hoose and ah watched fae the livin room windae as they lifted the coffin oot the back and manoeuvred it doon the path and intae the close. Ah went tae the front door and opened it. ‘Just through there,’ ah said, pointin tae her bedroom. They set oot the wooden trestles and placed her carefully on them.

‘Do you want it left open?’

‘Aye, please.’

Ah went intae the hall while they lifted the lid and placed it in a corner of the room. ‘We’ll be going now, Mrs McKenna. If there’s anything else we can do, please don’t hesitate to ask.’

‘Thanks.’ Ah showed them oot, then turned tae Anne Marie. ‘D’you want tae see her?’

‘Aye, Mammy.’

‘You sure now? You don’t have tae.’

‘Ah want tae.’

Mammy was wearin a white robe wi Our Lady embroidered on it – ah’d asked for that specially. They’d done a good job wi her, whatever it was they done wi bodies, didnae like tae think. Ah knew they put some kind of stuff on the face, tae preserve it, make it look as if they were alive, but she didnae look made-up, just peaceful and like hersel.

‘She just looks as if she was asleep, Mammy.’

‘Aye, she does. You’d think she was aboot tae open her eyes.’

When ah seen ma daddy in his coffin he’d looked terrible. Ah was glad that this was the first body Anne Marie had seen.

‘Will we say a wee prayer, hen? She’d like that.’

We knelt doon. Ah didnae know whit prayer tae say. We’d be havin the rosary later when everybody else arrived and it seemed kind of impersonal somehow, the rosary was sumpn you said wi lots of folk round you. And Hail Mary was too ordinary. Ah even thought of makin up ma ain prayer but that didnae seem right somehow, no whit mammy would of wanted. Then suddenly when ah was still kneelin there, thinkin, ah heard Anne Marie, startin tae sing, quietly, but in that beautiful, pure wee voice of hers.

‘
Salve Regina, mater misericordie
.’

Hail, holy queen, mother of mercy.

Ah knelt there and listened as the notes rang oot, the Latin words, makin mair sense because ah only hauf understood them. When she’d finished ah put ma airms round her.

‘That was beautiful, Anne Marie. Pefect.’

‘Ma granny taught me the Latin words. When ah was learnin the prayer at school, she taught me that version, and ah like it better than the English.’

‘D’you think you could sing it at the funeral? Would it upset you too much?’

‘Ah’ll try, Mammy.’

‘Thanks, Anne Marie. Yer granny would love it.’

UP UNTIL THE
Monday everythin had been gaun dead smoothly. Everybody came tae the hoose for the rosary on Sunday and Father Meechan talked tae Mammy aboot whit hymns and readins she was wantin. The only problem was ma Uncle Paul. He was lossin the place completely, just sittin on the couch, starin intae space. Every time Mammy asked him what he thought of a readin or a prayer he said, ‘She’d like that,’ and every noo and again he said, tae naebody in particular, ‘This is no real, it’s no happenin.’ Anyway, they got it all sorted and the priest went aff. Mammy decided she was gonnae stay in ma granny’s hoose till efter the funeral so ma da ran me round tae stay wi ma Auntie Tricia and Uncle John.

‘She’s bearin up well, yer mammy. Ah don’t think she should be stayin in that hoose hersel though.’

‘Ah know. Ah offered tae stay and so did Auntie Tricia but she wasnae havin any of it. Said there was nae room and anyway, she wanted tae be by hersel. Said it was the only time she’d get.’

‘Right enough. It’s been all go since Friday. She’s gonnae be knackered when this is all over.’

‘Aye.’

‘You’ve been a great help though, Anne Marie.’

‘You too, Da.’

Ah kissed him on the cheek and jumped oot the van. Ah meant it though. Even ma mammy thought so, he’d been daein messages and makin tea and generally bein around. Ah should of known he’d blow it.

On the Monday night the wee man fae the St Vincent de Paul who led the rosary arrived at hauf-six and ah made him a cuppa tea. Then Uncle Paul arrived. He’d obviously been on the bevvy.

‘Keep the whisky oot his road, Anne Marie,’ Mammy whispered tae me. Auntie Tricia arrived wi Auntie Agnes and ma Auntie Maria. Ah hadnae seen her for ages; she’s ma daddy’s youngest sister and she works doon in London in some high-powered lawyer’s job; he calls her Ally-Bally McBeal.

‘It’s good of you tae come all this way, Maria.’ Mammy kissed her cheek.

‘Ah’m so sorry, Liz, ah cannae believe it.’

‘Are we ready tae start noo? It’s just efter seven.’

The wee man was lookin at his watch and noddin towards ma Uncle Paul. The sooner we got started the less chance there was of him gettin completely blootered.

‘We’re still waitin for Jimmy,’ says ma ma. ‘Where is he?’

‘He said he was comin,’ ah says.

‘He’d be late for his ain funeral,’ says Auntie Agnes.

‘We’ll gie him a couple of minutes.’

‘Time for a wee hauf,’ says Uncle Paul.

Just then there was a ring at the doorbell and ah went tae answer it.

‘Just in time, Da.’ Then ah noticed Hammy, Ally and Sammy staundin behind him. ‘Hiya, nice of yous tae come tae the wake.’

Ma da showed the lamas in. Mammy was just comin oot the livin room with the wee man and the lobby was suddenly stowed oot wi bodies.

‘Oh, there you are, Liz.’

Mammy’s face was like fizz. ‘What the hell did you bring them here for?’

She didnae say it that loud, and ah don’t think the lamas heard as they kept bowin and smilin, haudin white scarves oot tae her.

‘Ah tellt you they were comin, mind the other night when we were talkin aboot different rituals and the Tibetan way of the dead.’

‘What are you on aboot?’

‘D’you no remember? D’you want them tae dae their stuff noo or wait tae efter the rosary?’

‘Dae their stuff?’

‘Their prayers for yer mammy.’

‘Jimmy, ma mammy’s lyin in that room in her coffin.’

‘Ah know, that’s why the lamas are here.’

‘And if she wasnae, and if all these folk werenae round here, ah’d probably put you in your coffin.’

‘Liz …’

‘Jimmy, you are the end, the livin end. Please take yer pals and get the hell oot ma mammy’s hoose.’

‘Liz …’

‘What’s gaun on … is he upsettin you?’

Uncle Paul pushed his way intae the lobby.

‘Paul …’

‘Who the fuck are they? What’re you bringin they Hare Krishnas round here for?’

‘They’re lamas, holy men.’

‘Listen Jimmy, ma mammy’s deid. Ma mammy’s deid.’ Uncle Paul stood right in front of ma da.

‘Ah know, Paul, ah’m sorry.’ Ma da put his haund on Paul’s airm.

‘Get your fuckin airm aff me.’ Paul jerked his airm away.

‘Ah’m sorry pal, ah was only …’ Ma daddy turned tae ma mammy. ‘Liz, ah was only tryin tae help. See the Tibetans have this special way a helpin folk fae wan life tae the next … And ah thought it would help yer mammy. Ah thought we’d discussed it … ah thought.’

‘You thought. You thought. You never think, Jimmy, that’s your problem – never use yer brain, just open yer mooth.’

Auntie Tricia laid wan haund on ma mammy’s airm an wan haund on ma daddy’s. ‘Look, this isnae the time nor place. Jimmy, ah think you’d better go.’

‘Aye, you get the hell oot of here.’ Uncle Paul was staundin, swayin fae side tae side in the livin-room door. ‘You go … or else ah’ll … ah’ll …’

He squared up tae ma daddy, who was aboot six inches taller than him, then bent ower and boked all over ma daddy’s feet.

Then he stood up straight again and cairried on talkin as if nothin had happened, ‘… make ye go.’

While all this was happenin everybody seemed tae have forgotten aboot the lamas. Ah thought they’d went ootside but then ah noticed the door of ma granny’s room was shut and ah heard funny noises comin fae inside. Ah slipped intae the bedroom. There they were sittin cross-legged on the flair in fronty the coffin and they were singin. Ah suppose you would cry it singin but it was a funny kind of wailin singin. Ah’d never heard anythin like it though it was a bit like the Gaelic stuff you get when the Mod’s on the TV. They had their eyes shut and it was as if they were in another world. Ah was aboot tae tell them tae stop, tae get oot afore there was any mair trouble, but somehow ah couldnae. Ah just stood there listenin. Don’t know whit they were singin, but it seemed tae haud me in a kind of spell.

Ah love singing and maist of the time ah just dae it, never really think aboot it, but sometimes ah feel as if ma voice is comin fae somewhere else, that it’s no me singing. Ah mind wan time when ah was rehearsin for the concert and it wis just me and the music teacher in the room. Ah shut ma eyes and it was like ma whole body was vibratin, like ah was a musical instrument and somebody was playin me. Ah could hear ma voice fae a great distance. When ah’d finished there was silence in the room. Ma teacher never made any comment, just sat. And listenin tae the lamas ah felt the same way. As though they were musical instruments and the music was comin through them. And the sounds they made, that at first seemed harsh and discordant tae me, had become the maist beautiful sounds ah’d ever heard. Ah sat there and closed ma eyes.

Ah don’t know how long we’d sat there. It seemed like
hours though ah suppose it was only a few minutes for the next thing, ma Auntie Tricia came in.

‘Ah think yous had better go the now, please. They’re gonnae dae the rosary.’

The lamas bowed and left.