The Gamal Read online

  —James what did you get for number six? . . . Don’t have the day long James. Number six, what answer did you get? If I’ve to come down to you now there’ll be trouble . . . Number six, what answer did you get? . . . Right!

  Master Coughlan with a big red head up on him stormed down to where James was sitting.

  —Your copy book isn’t even open. Or your book.

  He picked up his copy book.

  —You’ve no work done. What’s the meaning of this? On strike are we? Right.

  He picked up James hard by the arm and marched him out of the room.

  —You’ll stand there now boyeen until you get a bit of sense. Understand?

  No answer. Master Coughlan came in and started back to the lessons all smug. About half an hour later we were doing History. Someone was trying to read our history text-book.

  —In. The. After. In the after. Mass.

  —Math. In the aftermath.

  —In the aftermath. Of. The. Kive. Kiv.

  —Civil.

  —Civil. War. Indie. Indie. Indipat . . . I’m stumped sir.

  —Sorry. Independence. In the aftermath of the Civil War Independence seemed less a priority to Jesus Sweet Suffering Christ.

  Master Coughlan was after getting stumped himself. He was looking out the window. Out at the tarmac yard which amounted to one basketball court. He was looking out at the very middle of the basketball court. The centre circle. Where James and Sinéad sat facing each other. Master Coughlan marched out. Dinky hushed up the room so we could hear what he was saying to them through the open windows.

  —What in God’s name is the meaning of this? What are you doing out of class Sinéad?

  —Ms O’Connell sent me out to the corridor for not doing my lessons sir.

  —And what has you out here in the yard?

  —I wanted to be with James.

  —And how did you know James was out here? . . . Well?

  —I dunno. I just thought he might be out there if I went out.

  —Jesus tonight, never in my life. Sure that doesn’t make any sense. Are ye on strike or what?

  James spoke then.

  —We just want to be in the same room sir. We don’t mean any harm. We just need to be together.

  —My dear boy you’ve a bit of growing up to do yet before you’ll be needing the company of any girl.

  —I don’t need any girl. Just Sinéad.

  —Get on your feet now, both of you.

  They got up. He grabbed James by the arm and led him away, telling Sinéad to go back to the corridor outside her classroom. She did.

  Master Coughlan dug his heels in. Their parents were called in. Neither James’ or Sinéad’s parents were too bothered about their close friendship. They’d gotten used to it. It was a normal part of life. James’ parents liked Sinéad and Sinéad’s parents never knew much about where she’d be or who she’d be with anyhow. But Master Coughlan was adamant. The school could never yield to a demand like this. The school’s authority must be upheld. It was decided that they wouldn’t be allowed to hang around together after school or at the weekends. James’ parents didn’t have the will to enforce this on either of them. Fact is they’d grown to love Sinéad like a daughter. Sinéad’s parents didn’t really care. That time the Kents was like a free babysitter for them.

  So now Sinéad and James were mute as myself in school. Things came to a head then when Father Scully came on one of his monthly visits to hear the choir practise with no Sinéad and watch the boys practise football at lunchtime with no James. Could see Master Coughlan and Father Scully having it out over on the sideline out of earshot of the kids.

  In Ireland the parish priest is in charge of the primary schools in his parish. They’re in charge of hiring teachers as well. He was related in some way or other to Master Coughlan so he got him the job in the school. But there was no way he was going to go to the Ecumenical Choir Celebration in Cork with a shit choir like they had without Sinéad, let alone watch his school get hammered in the football school blitz without James at midfield. Next morning Sinéad and James were both in Master Coughlan’s class along with myself. They had to write out a hundred lines. Easiest lines that were ever wrote by school children.

  The colour was back in their faces, Sinéad’s and James’. The colour was gone from Master Coughlan’s but he wasn’t long getting fairly fond of the idea of having Sinéad in the class anyhow. Joy as she was to teach and listen to and watch her body and mind grow before your eyes. We were all a big happy family then with Master Coughlan.

  Earache

  Jesus I think I’m getting an earache. I’ve the sheet from my bed wrapped around my neck now and it feels better. Less drafty. It’s half four in the morning.

  Headaches

  I gets savage headaches. Pounding at my brain coming and going like a siren. And I used to get pains in my stomach. That was gastritis. I used to cough blood sometimes. Black stuff. Never thought it was blood until I brought a cup-full into the doctor after she told me to. She stuck a bit of paper in it and told me it was blood. I got tablets that took the pain away. There’s tigers in a zoo too have gastritis so bad they’re dying of it and it’s only the ones in the zoos ever get it. I watch stuff about animals and humans on the telly now sometimes. There was two small kids living in a tribe in some jungle. A girl and a boy and they were feeding their grandparents. Their grandparents were two crows now. The boy said the big one is granddad. They flew off then and the girl and the boy called after them,

  —Bye grandma.

  —Bye granddad.

  Dr Quinn asked me did I have pains in my head or my tummy before the things that happened. I said no and he just stayed looking at me saying nothing. I think he might have fallen asleep for a few seconds with his eyes open.

  Dinky and Teesh

  Dinky and Teesh are central to my story but I don’t want to talk about them two pricks now.

  Religion

  At twelve o’clock the Angelus bell would ring out from the church across the road and with the will of Christ we’d drop our pens and put away our sums or Irish books or English readers or whatever horrible shit we’d be at and stand and say the Angelus. Everyone got a turn to lead the prayer.

  —The angel of the Lord declared unto Mary.

  —And she conceived of the Holy Spirit.

  Then we’d sit down and have a doss talking about how to be good for half an hour until lunchtime. I asked Master Coughlan once in religion class if maybe the Protestants could be right and we could be wrong. He said no.

  Protestants

  So Ballyronan was bigger than Newport or Mullinahone. Once upon a time. That’s why the Protestants came here the time of the Plantations. There was a ford at the river. This was a shallow place where people could cross the river before bridges were invented. People came from far and wide to do business at Ballyronan. Goods of all kinds crossed the river at Ballyronan. And there was this small island in the middle of the river at the ford. The island belonged to Ronan because the townland near the ford is called Innishronan. The Irish for it is Inis Rónáin, Ronan’s Island. The Irish for Ballyronan is Baile Rónáin and that means Ronan’s place. When the English came they changed the names. This small island can be seen to this day and when the tide is low it is a favourite spot for the fishermen. And then there’s Dunronan Castle. Old Master Higgins taught us the poem.

  Where the Bannow swiftly flowing meets the Crandon’s rapid tide,

  The waters, ere they mingle, wash the Castle’s rugged side,

  Whose ivied walls and ruined tower still beautiful and grand,

  Sad remnants of the greatness of our once proud native land.

  That’s only one verse. There was millions. Old Master Higgins told us the story of the king. Or chief as the kings were known in Ireland. The Irish for chief is Taoiseach and that’s what we call the prime minister of Ireland nowadays. We like to hang on to things like that to remind us that we’re different to them English pricks a
cross the water. Anyway he told us about this chief of Dunronan Castle who made this competition for the men. The prize was the princess’s hand in marriage. But the princess didn’t want a competition as she was already in love with a grand lad from the area. But the father insisted that the competition went ahead. And the competition was this. The first man to climb the castle with a rose and to give the rose to the princess at the top would be allowed to marry the princess. The fella she was in love with anyway was winning hands down and he was about to hand over the rose to his sweetheart at the very top only the dopey bollicks fell to his death. The princess was having none of that so over she went too down down down splat stone dead.

  That Dunronan Castle story was the saddest bastard of a thing to happen in Ballyronan until my friends Sinéad and James came along. That Dunronan story is supposed to be true but my story about Sinéad and James is truer cos I was there and I seen it all happen in front of my own two eyes.

  There was the posh school for Protestants and rich Catholics who wanted to be like them in Four Crosses, but his parents felt it would be nicer for him to know and make friends with the kids of Ballyronan, cos that’s where he lived. He didn’t have to say the Angelus at twelve o’clock. Or any of the other prayers at morning and afternoon but was part of the religion class all right cos that was only about Jesus and being good and the Protestants were all for Jesus and being good as well.

  James was the first Protestant that most of us had come across. His father and mother were Mr and Mrs Kent. They had moved home from Dublin to restore the ruin of Kent Castle which had been handed down to them through the generations.

  There’s a big wood around Kent Castle and ’twas there we all spent many a summer killing Indians and other baddies and making bows and arrows. There was Sinéad, James, me, Dinky and Racey and sometimes Gregory, Master Coughlan’s son who was only let out sometimes cos he was the whole time learning violin and Irish dancing and sailing and elocution lessons and every kind of thing you ever heard of and anyhow he was the whole time falling and cutting his knees and crying. It got even better then when the Kents started doing up the castle. The castle was theirs which meant it was ours for exploring and killing baddies. Mostly the girls were Indian maidens or white girls captured by the Indians that needed to be rescued. Mostly I was just a prisoner. Or a dead body. Or an Indian they captured who couldn’t speak English. Or other times I just climbed up on the scaffolding or up on a tree and watched them all play and fight and play again. Then when the tennis court was made we played that too. And there was a basketball net on one end of it. Sinéad loved the tennis best cos she was quick on her feet. She was as good as Dinky but not as good as James. Racey was not sporty. She wouldn’t ask the score, she’d ask how long more. In doubles matches it was Sinéad and Dinky against James and Racey but James always won and he’d be winking at Sinéad when Dinky would have tears in his eyes and fling his racket at the wire at the end of a match. James wasn’t being mean, it was just to calm Sinéad down cos Dinky’s temper used to frighten her. Dinky used to get so mad at himself you never saw anything like it. You’d see the marks on his leg when he hit himself with the racket sometimes. Sometimes Sinéad would go over and hold the racket to try and stop him.

  —Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, he’d say and he belting himself with the racket every time.

  James’ mother was a Catholic from Dublin and her brother had played football for Dublin but she lost her religion and became a pagan so she married a Protestant. You’d see her in the shop sometimes or out walking with James’ father and she like a hobo with paint all over her. That’s what she did. She painted. Morning noon and blah. She wore baggy trousers that were more like curtains. And she was plump.

  There was a farmer once bought a horse off a tinker and when the farmer got the horse home and let it out of the trailor the horse took off and ran full speed straight into a wall and dropped dead. The farmer went back and found the tinker and goes,

  —You rotten scoundrel, you sold me a blind horse.

  —That horse wasn’t blind at all, says the tinker, it just didn’t give a fuck.

  If there was anyone else in Ballyronan bar myself who didn’t give a fuck it might have been James’ mother. Only other thing about her was that she loved hugging people. She used to always hug me and Sinéad when we’d call up and she was hugging James’ father the whole time and he’d say,

  —Watch the paint dear.

  —Yera whisht boy and give me an old squeeze, she’d say. We’ll be dead long enough.

  She had an exhibition sale one time in the hall. I helped James and his father bringing the paintings down. Thirty-six of them. And I helped them bring them back too afterwards. Still thirty-six of them. The paintings just baffled most people as to how anyone would have the cheek to ask someone to pay money for them. And they were called things like, Afterwards and Few and she had a one called Missing too. She got cross with James’ father for not knowing which way was the right way up when we were hanging them.

  She adored Sinéad. Sinéad was good at art but that wasn’t why she adored her. She just adored her. And Sinéad loved her too.

  One time there was this nun came to the school and she collecting money for some art gallery she was trying to set up in Africa. But she seen Sinéad’s paintings and wanted to buy some but Sinéad was very embarrassed and went all red and said she couldn’t cos they were going to be album covers. The nun was nice and said that was fantastic and asked if Sinéad would do one for her like the one that was her favourite. She said, it would be a commission. Fifteen euro. Sinéad couldn’t believe it. There was tears in her eyes with joy. Or disbelief. Or belief. Dawning, isn’t it? The painting was of the human brain. Prawny pink-looking slugs and it faded away into darkness and there was some kind of a living thing up at the top right corner kind of like a seahorse and a bird at the same time and there was a bit of some planet showing in the bottom left corner all bluey and pinky and the rest of it then was all blackness. It was like the other stuff she’d be looking at the whole time in the book she had of paintings by a fella called Joan Miró. All I knew about painting and paintings ever was that it made Sinéad happy and that was a trillion times more than enough for me. I remember looking at it when the nun unwrapped her commission. She kept looking at it, the nun did, for ages just saying,

  —Wonderful. Just wonderful.

  I couldn’t see what she was seeing cos my brain was in the way. To me it was just blaggarding same as Joan Miró and James’ mother used to be at, but the nun was moved. Sinéad gave the fifteen euro back to the nun for her art gallery but the nun would only take a fiver back. Sinéad bought me and James a choc-ice with the tenner after school. She got a tape of Billie Holiday and a record of Edith Piaf in the second-hand bookshop in Cork Saturday. It was called The Second-Hand Bookshop but mostly it was young people were in there, up the top floor where the second-hand music was. Sineád kept her album covers and the rest of her art in James’ mother’s studio for safe-keeping in case her mother and father threw them out. They thought the painting was just a waste of time and just James’ bad influence. They used to say the Kents have fierce high and mighty notions of themselves.

  James had flowing locks when all the rest of the boys had tight haircuts. He played rugby, the posh boys’ game. James spoke in a strange accent. He was quiet in himself for the first few weeks. He was the cause of them all having a great laugh the first time he played Gaelic football. That’s an Irish sport played in a field. Fifteen against fifteen and you can catch and kick the ball or hand-pass it with the fist. Anyway, the first time he played in the school at lunchtime he threw it to a fellow. What a laugh. Then, next time he got it he took off running about thirty yards to score a try at the endline and sure you can’t do that. You have to score goals or points. What laughing. Any other lad would have been embarrassed I suppose but James just laughed away at himself. The other lads didn’t know what to make of this new fella.

  O
nce he got out of the habit of throwing the ball he turned into a fine footballer and before the year was out Master Coughlan had handed over the free-taking duties from Dinky to himself. Dinky wasn’t too pleased about it. I seen the tears in his eyes and he walking into class after lunchtime. He’d be all pally pally with James after school though. But I seen the tears in his eyes. He was not a happy boy. Everything would have been fine if James had never come to Ballyronan. That’s what Dinky’s eyes said and he looking over at James that time.

  I remember seeing the same expression on Dinky’s face one time years later in the pub after he’d been telling James some big long important load of shit and asked him what he thought then at the end of it. ‘Sorry I wasn’t listening,’ James said. ‘I’ve that new Pearl Jam song in my head.’ ‘You’re fucking unbelievable, you know that?’ Dinky said, and the tears welling in his drunken eyes and he looking up at the ceiling and licking his top lip trying to keep things under control, and he twenty years of age. All because James wasn’t listening to him going on and on and on with the greatest shit you ever heard.

  ‘Fuck are you looking at Gamal?’ Dinky snarled at me for staring at him and he trying to hold back the tears that time. That was another thing about acting the gamal. That’s a phrase. In Ireland if you’re making an eejit out of yourself people will tell you to stop acting the gamal or acting the gam. But no one thought I was acting. Anyhow you could stare at people away when they thought you were a bit simple. When you’re not a bit simple you can’t be staring at people. Usually people don’t mind cos they know you’re special. Except Dinky when he’s trying to hold back a tear or two in peace.

  So anyhow James he was a mighty fielder too – that’s when a player jumps high into the air and plucks the ball out of the sky with both hands. ’Tis few players have the gift for it but ’tis a sight to behold. James was fast too. When he got away they didn’t even bother to run after him, some of them. Some of them would fall and hold their ankle like they’d sprained it or something.