Malarky (43 page)

—There were others.

I don't start easy on Grief. Her face brave but pallid. She's getting over a cold, she tells me and it knocked her sideways and how are you?

—There were others.

—There were.

—There were.

—Whatchyamean?

—There were other women.

—Really. She moves the clipboard. To her ‘I must record this' knee. She writes. She looks up. She looks tired. She looks obliged.

—Tell me about the others.

And In Conclusion Grief says sometimes when people die we can learn the worst about them, but in fact in learning the worst about them and up and blah and up and blah and time's
up. I haven't heard much of what she's said. I am still with my husband at the front door, ringing the bell, inquiring, my mother, like you know, is sick and fragile and I'm lookin'. He was gone, Our Woman concludes. Long gone. Gone longer than I could imagine the point at which he left maybe. For it musta been a good while before he rang that bell.

Grief is not unhappy as I tell her how ecstatic I am finally to have been accurately identified as a widow.

—It's important to you isn't it Kathleen.

—It is. It's mighty important.

—Why? She wants to know.

I am just after giving her an answer and she's back with another question.

—Because you told me it was important.

She settles her hands, watches me and nods.

—Did I really? Did I really say that? She says.

 

—Do ya think if you see your child at something you don't want to see you can ever be shut of it? I ask Grief the counsellor.

—Well it depends what they were at and how you felt about what they were doing?

—Let's say you didn't feel good.

—Well now if we don't feel good it's best if we go through it all over again and try to understand why we don't feel good. In fact I'll tell you something, to be free of something you've to get closer to it than you might imagine.

 

Jesus Janey Jesus Janey.

 

—But when I was seeing the naked fellas you told me to scrub the floor?

—That's right. I did. And did it work?

—I dunno.

—Are you still seeing naked fellas?

—No.

—Well now.

—I am now seeing half clothed ones.

—The half clothed ones may need a new approach, she admits. They're a different formation. It would be like trying to move a square to a pyramid.

—I've had a change I told Grief in the last session before she turned me over to them.

—That's great. What kind of a change?

—They're not naked anymore the fellas I am seeing.

—OK. Great. This is good.

—No, they've clothes on them.

—Hats and coats is it?

—No, little red underpants.

—Right?

—And I am wrestling with them.

—Whatchya mean?

—You know wrestling.

—Wrestling?

—Yes one at a time.

—And do you like it?

—I do, I assured her, I like it very much indeed. I can't get enough of it. It's keeping me awake all night thinking about it.

She grew quiet and then issued some terminal words.

—I am beginning to worry about you, she said.

No matter how I explained it to him, Halim did not comprehend the pressure of being a widow.

—You must no longer visit me.

—I will visit you every Sunday.

—You don't understand I am a widow now.

—Yes I do understand. I will visit you every Sunday. I must help you.

Now she was a widow Halim could not visit her anymore. It was a simple rule that she respected about widows.

Joanie said I was to lock the door. I had to remember. Bina said if I didn't lock the door she'd personally come down here and attack me herself if only to teach me to lock the feckin' thing. Still I didn't lock it. There was no particular reason, other than the matter of them both telling me, I had to let them know just because I was a widow I wouldn't have anyone telling me what to do.

Jimmy came home to me in 7 boxes. 6 small black ones containing his belongings and one containing his body. I allowed the 6 discreet postal delivery, but his body I met in Dublin. I stepped off the train at Heuston Station wearing my good coat. I walked the length of that platform, absent, because I had walked this platform so many times rehearsing his collection. Remember I had known how he'd come home to me. I shunted between two people with big cases, one minus a wheel, remember I was ahead of them all. They'd tried to send his body to Shannon, but I'd told them no. My son would come home to Dublin. His cremation arranged on arrival. I asked them to deposit the flag that accompanied him, wrapped him like an envelope, into the fire. Mossie at the local funeral home was obliging when I had a quiet word with him. My son will be coming home, I'd appreciate some discretion, it'll be a quiet affair.

They asked if I wanted to see him, one last time. I approached, put my hand on the edge of the coffin. We'll only show you his head and shoulders they said. They were gentle whoever they were. He was in a desperate state my Jimmy. On one half of his face especially. His skin was cold, I'd never considered how cold he'd be. Honestly they had pieced him back together and stitched him into his uniform. He wasn't my son in that box, the way they had covered him in cheap purple satin. Take it off, I said. I want to see his hands. They didn't advise it. Get him out of those clothes you have on him. But in his face he was young, that was what struck me the most, how young a man my son was. Nothing could obliterate it.

Sand down the windowsill before winter came, did I realize how damp the house was, we're living in a puddle, these were the words that woke me.