This Human Season Page 16

  ‘I have to keep the bottle for the last minute,’ the woman was saying.

  ‘I can’t take it in with me.’

  ‘Poor kid.’

  ‘It’ll live,’ said a woman to her left.

  ‘I was talking about the mother.’ They shared a grin.

  ‘I’ve got five under ten, so I have. And he’s been gone two years now. The weans don’t miss him, but I’ve a boy and a girl, nine and ten, and it’s always, when’s Daddy coming back? Mind you, I’ve got it all worked out now – we’re like an army. There’s nothing I can’t handle, me, no with me, it’s “come on then Lord, throw another problem at me, make it a good one, I can take it.”’ The phlegm in her chest and throat set to bubbling.

  ‘When will he be out?’

  ‘He got life. They said he confessed. He never did. It’s worse for him than me. He cries tears when I’m in there, God love him. He’s nicer inside than he was out. I don’t bring the weans down because he can’t cope. Och they’re all right, it’s all “my daddy’s in prison for the ’Ra”. I’ll tell you, this British government, what they’ve done is, made it a fine thing to be in one of their prisons.’ Her voice rose. ‘It’s a badge of honour to be locked up by the Brits in this country.’ There was warm agreement.

  ‘Even so, you should make a complaint.’

  ‘Och, what difference does it make?’

  ‘You might have him home.’

  ‘Aye!’ she retorted with hilarious intonation, her eyes wide.

  The women around them started laughing and it caught on. Kathleen looked at the woman who was still nodding, arms across her chest and laughed again.

  Eventually a screw came forward, held the door open and they were told to get in a van to go the visitors’ block.

  Her mini-skirted friend nudged her as they went through the door of the block: ‘You can get it out here or wait till you get to the toilets over there.’

  ‘Which is best?’

  ‘I keep it in till the last minute. Or I get it out during the visit. You can you see with a skirt like this. My arse is frozen to the bone when I get home.’

  They went in a small van round to the main entrance of the prison and were told to file into a wooden building there. Kathleen looked up and observed the crown-and-castle gate motif above which was inscribed

  ‘HMP Maze’.

  They were taken aside individually at the visitors’ block and a woman prison officer searched the women in a little room. The woman was reservedly efficient. She felt up and down Kathleen’s body quickly and brusquely and asked her to open her mouth, then she let her go. No eye contact.

  Kathleen went to the toilet to take out her contraband. She gave the little parcels a quick rinse under the tap and patted them dry. She noticed in the mirror the prudish little expression on her face. She’d be feeling more nervous if it wasn’t for the tablet. She put the tobacco, papers and flints up her sleeve and the three notes behind her upper lip.

  ‘I look like a fucking chimpanzee,’ she thought, glancing in the mirror. Other women were in and out of the toilets too and there was much less talking than before in the waiting-room. Finally they were called one by one and she made her way into the long room with its two rows of cubicles, left, middle, right. She was directed to one to the left, made to sit down and after a while, coming past the raised desk at the back of the room, she saw her Sean.

  They embraced, he kissed her cheek, and they were reprimanded by a prison officer and instructed to sit down opposite each other without physical contact. As soon as they’d hugged she’d quickly shaken down the two packets she had and put them into his hand. He had his hands beneath the table. She moved the little paper tablets in her mouth so she could speak. The next thing was to try to get them to him. She was keen to get it over with so she could just enjoy being with him, so she put her hand over her mouth and pretended to cough, without making any noise. She stretched both hands across the table to reach for his. He put one out and luckily it coincided with the one of hers that had the notes in and she pushed them both at him. They were visible for a second before his hand receded, as if smarting from the prison officer’s command, ‘No contact!’

  ‘Eejit.’ She gave the screw a filthy look. Then she took the time to have a good look at her son.

  His blond hair was mousey, over his ears, dirty and greasy, he had the beginnings of an uneven beard, the shirt he wore was stained and torn, and his skin was pale. He looked much older than his years. He smelt bad.

  ‘You look well.’ She gave him a smile.

  ‘Any cigarettes with you, Mummy?’

  She placed the packet on the table and lit one for him and then one for her. He took it and puffed away on it with concentration. He laughed and coughed at the same time, shaking his head. ‘You look bloody wonderful. All the fellas will be thinking I’ve got my girl in.’

  ‘How is it love?’

  ‘Not so bad. I’ve got a good cellmate. He’s teaching me Irish and French. He was a schoolteacher. It’s a great group of lads we have on our wing. Our block’s not the worst. Some of the other blocks are brutal.’ He took a deep drag, then made a little jump in the chair, his body leaning at an angle, one side of his arse lifted. He squinted.

  ‘God save us.’

  ‘Tricky business. How’s our Liam and Aine?’

  ‘Aye, dead on. I’ve written in the—’ she nodded, looking circumspect.

  ‘Aye, right.’

  ‘Liam misses you though he won’t say it,’ she said, tears beginning suddenly to well up. When Sean was on the run, on the odd occasion he’d come into the house before dawn and get into bed with Liam, and she’d wake up and hear the low tones of Sean answering Liam’s excitable questions. Nothing had given her more pleasure than to hear them together like that, complicit. The last time, she’d not interrupted, even though she wanted to see Sean herself, she’d let them have their time, only grabbing a kiss for herself as he went out through the back garden.

  ‘I miss him too, the big baby.’

  ‘That shirt’s bogging. Is it your own?’

  ‘You know we don’t wear the clothes.’

  ‘I wish you’d get a trade. You can learn one in here, can’t you? You’ve got to think of your own future a wee bit as well, you know.’

  He used his dying cigarette to light another one.

  ‘You know I’m with you, Sean,’ she went on. ‘I’ve joined the Relatives Action Committee. I know you’re fighting for all of us. But I can’t help but wish . . . Well, when you get out you can start a new life. Just do your time. The war’s not in here, love. I can’t help thinking this is all my fault. Sean I think about you all the time. I think about you and Granny, how good you were to her. I’m so proud of you. You’re such a beautiful boy. And all I hear is how you’re on the boards, on punishment. Why do you have to be the one to save the world? Just use your head, love, stand a little bit apart from the others, get yourself out of here in one piece.’

  He looked aside. When he looked back at her she knew she’d lost him. He looked her straight in the eyes.

  ‘You can’t come here if you’re going to say those things to me. Listen to me! I won’t ask for you to come again. There’ll be no trade, no life worth having until we have our own country. They’ll always find a way of keeping us down.’

  She bowed her head.

  ‘Mother. Mother, are you listening?’ Their eyes met. ‘You don’t understand how it is. There’s men going to die here if they have to.’

  ‘Sean.’ She wanted to say, come on, come back to me. She wished she could say, come on, let Mummy take you home, put the tea on. ‘Sean.’

  ‘We need you to be strong. All of yous. We can’t be broken no matter what they do to us. Go back and tell that to everyone.’

  Her eyes were swimming suddenly.

  He softened, stretched out his hands across the table. The screws passed about beyond the focus of her eyes. Their fingertips were just an inch or so part, aligned, each one
tending towards the other’s. When he was born, her first child, the first thing she did was to count the fingers and toes. Perfect. She’d lain back with him on her chest for those first five minutes, wondering, bleeding.

  ‘Every night there’s singing or telling stories, quizzes. We stand up at our doors and everyone takes his turn. And me being new I had to sing a song my first night and all I could think of to sing was the record you used to put on over and over again.’

  ‘Well we only had the one record back in the early days. It was that Do you know the way to San José?’

  ‘Aye, well now my nickname’s Dionne. Some of them didn’t get to see me until the mass on a Sunday and they’re all saying, Oh it’s a terrible disappointment to see you in the flesh, Dionne.’

  ‘Why didn’t you sing one of the rebel songs?’

  ‘I couldn’t remember the words,’ he said, rueful, the Sean she knew.

  ‘All them years listening to them! The other night that Christy Moore one came to me though, “As I Roved Out”. Will you get me the words to some of the others Mummy? Write them down for me.’

  ‘Aye, I will love.’ She lifted her head and gave him the smile she taught him to wear the first day of school or when things were going wrong, that cheek-lifting, bright-eyed look. He’d copied it perfectly, made it his own. With the shape of their brows just the same as each other, he was the mirror image of her now.

  ‘You know, your Auntie Eileen had you down for a singer. She got me drunk the other night, so she did. On the bottle Mary gave you. Your father came in and walked back out, thought he was back in The Fiddlers, the house smelt that strong of drink and fags.’

  ‘How is the oul bastard?’

  ‘Still old, still a bastard, God love him – someone’s got to.’ Sean smiled.

  The prison officer beside them leant into their table and tapped on his watch. ‘Three more minutes.’

  The tablet had worn off.

  ‘I had so much I wanted to say. I can’t take my eyes off you, Sean; don’t be cross.’ Her eyes filled.

  ‘There now, lovely,’ he said, reaching out and touching her arm.

  ‘No contact, please. Just two more minutes now.’ She put a hand over her lower face.

  ‘Don’t speak,’ said Sean.

  He put his middle fingertips to his lips, kissed them and offered them to her, then he got up and nodded at the screw before he went shuffling off to the back of the room, the prison officer following behind.

  She sat paralyzed until another screw came and lifted her by the arm. She shook him off. All the way out, she turned to look, every couple of steps, just in case they brought Sean back in.

  Chapter 24

  Dunn had his second beer half gone and he was looking it in the eye, or else it was looking him in the eye. He wouldn’t take another. He was on visits proper. He sat alone as Jaws had gone off to talk to another officer. He wondered what Mark Wilson would think of him, a prison officer. He was a turnkey, a man who sold the fact that he could stand up, stand still, hold fast.

  A man at the bar fell off the back of his stool and Dunn laughed out loud. In the noise of the bar, no one heard him.

  That afternoon he and Jaws were going up to Bolton’s block to fetch

  O’Malley, this time for his monthly visit.

  ‘Watch him, watch O’Malley, when he’s on the visit. I’ve noticed you’re a bit sloppy. Don’t you forget who your man O’Malley is now. If you stand over him and the conversation turns funny, anything at all, you make sure you stop it. There’s no way the IRA can get anything through if we’re on top of it.’

  Jaws fell against the wall then he righted himself, without saying anything. When he belched, Dunn was treated to a glimpse of his diet. Jaws offered him a Polo mint at various intervals in the day. Each time Dunn refused it seemed to become increasingly important to Jaws that he accept. ‘Take one and put it in your pocket.’

  Jaws stopped to talk to Shandy in the mess while Skids and Dunn went off to get the man. Skids seemed down, kept blowing out his lips.

  ‘Your man Jaws is full of drink. I wish I was.’ He went along hunched, his nose to the floor like an anteater. ‘I thought about being a vet you know. I like animals. They’re just wee innocent creatures, aren’t they, puppies, kittens, calves, ducks and all. Sheep. I was thinking with the money from this, I could get myself a farm.’

  ‘You’re married right?’

  ‘Never met the right girl. So I married the missus.’ He blew his lips out again in a sigh. ‘Joking. The wife’s all right, if you like that sort of thing. We’ve got a wee boy. Jeremy. She chose the name. He doesn’t do much, do you know what I mean? I’d prefer to be on my own with some animals, serious. And a bit of female company from time to time. I could go out for that though.’

  They stopped before the cell. ‘You’ve been in the prison service a few years, you should have saved up a good amount of money by now.’

  ‘They’ve only now started paying so well. Because of the protest. To tell you the truth it’s been a right waste of time. I should have been in the army like you Johnno. Seen some action. Stayed the free man.’ Skids looked up and down the empty corridor, one hand going for his keys.

  ‘I’ve done this job for eight years. I was a joiner before. My brother’s a joiner. When he’s done he can stand back and say, look at that roof, I did that. But I’ll have my farm one day. Peace and quiet. Nice and lonely. A farm will suit me down to the ground.’ He opened up the cell. ‘2350 O’Malley up for a visit. Do you want it?’ O’Malley stood up. ‘Aye.’

  They went down to the orderlies’ cell, cell twenty-six, where O’Malley stood over the mirror, compliant. He gave a small bend of the knees.

  ‘All right O’Malley, get the clothes on.’ They stood outside for a minute while O’Malley selected the trousers.

  ‘Do you ever find anything up their arses?’

  ‘Ach, you’d be amazed. That’s how they bring in their letters and so on. Now, this one fella had the parts for a crystal radio, and another had a camera. Back in the spring there was one got a lighter stuck up there. We had to get the doctor to remove it. The mirror-search is a waste of time. Pure and simple. It’s always too far up. Sometimes we use a metal detector. That’s how they knew about the lighter. They only do all this rigmarole with the ones on protest. Just part of keeping them in their place. I’m glad it’s us have got the upper hand, I tell you. Can you imagine what’ll happen in this land if this lot ever get it?’ He popped his head back in the cell. ‘Will you move yourself, O’Malley.’

  There was a ripping sound. O’Malley had made a tear in the trousers, in the seat.

  ‘Go steady.’

  The man pulled on some boots and said, ‘Ready.’

  A few cries came up from the cells as the wing grilles were opened.

  ‘Slán chara!’

  ‘Slán cairde!’ O’Malley was walking with wide-legged footsteps; a hard-man swagger, thought Dunn.

  ‘I’ll catch you later,’ said Skids at the front door. Dunn nodded.

  Jaws and Dunn accompanied O’Malley around the cellblocks to the visitors’ centre. There was a sleeting rain. O’Malley walked ahead of them a few paces, impatient at the grilles, hands about his forearms as in the exercise yard. He had the ripped jeans, unlaced boots and a shortsleeved, buttonless shirt drawn about him.

  ‘Cold today, don’t envy you,’ Dunn said to him as they waited to leave the yard of one block. O’Malley looked at him.

  On the way around the perimeter Jaws kept up a repetitive monologue for O’Malley’s benefit.

  ‘Suits me this dirt protest thing. I hope yous go on with it till kingdom come. I’m getting paid. Going to take a holiday. I’ll send yous a postcard.’

  O’Malley laughed derisively a couple of times. Dunn walked alongside him and Jaws went ahead. Jaws was still rattling on as they got to the block. He opened the door, let first O’Malley then Dunn go through.

  ‘Going to be keeping an eye on
you O’Malley, with your visit. Seeing your man Coogan so y’are. Funny that you’re using your once-a-month visit to see a fella, now? Don’t you see enough of men O’Malley? Or is it men you like?’

  O’Malley turned in the doorway. ‘Do I frighten you?’

  There was Jaws, the black jacket with the buttons, the big heels, cap askew, and there was O’Malley, bare arms, in someone else’s boots. The wind was blowing into the doorway.

  ‘Are you threatening me O’Malley? Is that what you’re doing? Because I can pull this visit too, you know.’

  ‘I’ll tell you something mister,’ said O’Malley to Dunn. ‘Apart from yourself, the company I’ve had for this walk has been downright fucking tedious, but still, it’s good to see the sky.’ He looked outwards, upwards then went on inside.

  Waiting in one of the anterooms to the Visitors’ Centre, for O’Malley to be searched, Jaws said to Dunn, ‘Cheeky cunt. I’m not afraid of him, Mr big fucking OC.’

  Dunn said nothing.

  ‘You’re to stand right over him while he’s on his visit, do you understand, Dunn? You’ve been fucking useless to me today so far.’

  The prisoner was signed in for his visit with Brendan Coogan.

  ‘Watch them,’ said the officer at the front desk. ‘Sinn Fein, my fucking arse.’

  O’Malley went to a booth where a man with thick dark hair was sitting, elbows on the table. They grasped each other’s hands quickly. Dunn looked at his watch. They had thirty minutes. He saw O’Malley’s back hunch then straighten and then his hands came up from under the table. Dunn wondered if he’d put something inside of him.

  ‘You haven’t brought in a wee picnic for us then,’ said O’Malley, hastily accepting a cigarette and taking a light at the same time. Coogan didn’t take a cigarette himself, but pushed the pack towards O’Malley. Looking about him Dunn saw that without exception every prisoner was chain-smoking.

  ‘Aye, well I was planning to take you out for a meal. But look at the state of you, fella. For fuck’s sake. Make an effort.’