“They do. Julian.”
“That’s unusual,” she said, considering it. “You don’t get many Julians these days. It makes me think of Roman emperors. Or the Famous Five. One of them was a Julian, wasn’t he?”
“I think so,” I said. “It’s been a long time since I read those books.”
“And how are things in the Dáil?”
“Oh you don’t want to worry about that, today of all days.”
“I do,” she said. “Just for a moment; it will take my mind off things.”
“Well, they’re much the same as ever,” I said. “Your successor is running the tearoom with an iron fist.”
“Good for her,” she said, smiling. “I trained her well so.”
“You did.”
“If you don’t keep those TDs in line, they’ll walk all over you.”
“Do you miss it?” I asked.
“I do and I don’t. I miss the routine. I miss getting up every morning and having a place to go and people to talk to. But it’s not as if I ever particularly enjoyed the job itself. It was a living, that was all. Something to put food on the table.”
“I suppose I feel the same way,” I said. “I don’t need to work but I do it anyway. I don’t look forward to retirement.”
“That’s a long way off for you yet.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Less than a decade,” I said. “The time will fly. But look, let’s not talk about me. Will you be all right, Mrs. Goggin?” I asked.
“I will, in time,” she said carefully. “I’ve lost people before. I’ve known violence, I’ve known bigotry, I’ve known shame and I’ve known love. And somehow, I always survive. And I still have Melanie and the girls. We’re all quite close. I’m seventy-two years old, Cyril. If there is a heaven, then I suppose it won’t be long before I see Jonathan again too. But it’s hard to lose a child. It’s an unnatural thing.”
“It is.”
“An unnatural thing,” she repeated.
“And he was your only one?”
“No. I lost another son a long time ago.”
“Oh Christ. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“It was completely different,” she said, shaking her head. “He didn’t die. I gave him up. I was pregnant, you see. And just a girl. Different times, of course. That’s why the priest threw me out of the church,” she added with a bitter smile.
“They have no compassion, do they?” I asked. “They talk about Christianity and yet it’s just a concept to them, not a way of life at all.”
“I heard afterward that he had fathered two children himself by two different women, one in Drimoleague and one in Clonakilty. The old hypocrite.”
“He wasn’t the one who…?”
“Oh my Lord, no!” she said. “That was someone else entirely.”
“And what about the child?” I asked. “Have you never been tempted to find him?”
She shook her head. “I’ve watched the news,” she said. “I’ve seen the documentaries and films. I daresay he would blame me for whatever went wrong in his life and I haven’t the energy for that. I did what I thought was right at the time and I stand by my decision. No, a little hunchbacked Redemptorist nun took him away from me and I knew that day that I would never see him again and I’ve made my peace with that over the years. I just hope he was happy, that’s all.”
“All right,” I said, squeezing her hand, and she looked at me and smiled.
“Our paths seem to cross every so often, don’t they?” she said.
“Dublin is a small city,” I told her.
“It is.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked.
“No. I’ll go back to Melanie’s now. And what about you, Cyril? Where are you going for your Christmas dinner?”
“To my ex-wife’s house,” I said. “And her new husband. They take in all the waifs and strays.”
She smiled and nodded. “It’s good that you can all be friends,” she said.
“I don’t like to leave you here on your own,” I told her. “Would you like me to stay with you a little longer?”
“Do you know,” she said quietly, “I think I’d prefer to have some time to myself. After a while, I’ll get up and go. I can get a taxi outside. But you were very good, Cyril, to come in and say hello to me.”
I nodded and stood up. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Goggin,” I said.
“And I’m glad to hear that you have a new grandchild. It was nice to see you again, Cyril.”
I reached down and gave her a kiss on the cheek, the first time I had done such an intimate thing with her, and turned back down the aisle, making for the door. As I left, I looked back and saw her sitting upright on the seat, staring at the crucifix, and it struck me that here was a strong woman, a good woman, and what kind of God was it who would allow her to lose one son, let alone two?
I was out in the corridor again before a sentence that she had spoken came back to me, bursting through my brain like a shot of electricity. A little hunchbacked Redemptorist nun took him away from me and I knew that day that I would never see him again. I stopped still and reached out to the wall for support, leaning heavily on my crutch with the other arm. Swallowing hard, I turned around and looked back at the doors of the chapel.
“Mrs. Goggin,” I said, walking through them again and calling out to her. She spun around in surprise and stared at me.
“What is it, Cyril?” she asked.
“Do you remember the date?”
“What date?”
“The date your son was born.”
“Of course I do,” she said, frowning. “It was in June 1964. The seventeenth. It was a—”
“No,” I said, interrupting her. “Not Jonathan. I mean your first son. The one you gave up.”
She said nothing for a moment, simply stared at me, perhaps wondering why on earth I was asking her such a question. But then she told me. She remembered it quite clearly, of course.
* * *
* Hymns at Heaven’s Gate: A Life of Maude Avery by Alice Woodbead, pp. 102–4 (Faber & Faber, 1986).
2008 The Silver Surfer
Aquabatics with Alejandro
Arriving at Heuston Station, I glanced up toward the Departures board but had to squint to make out the platform from which our train was scheduled to leave. For weeks, I had been feeling both excited and apprehensive about the trip ahead, a journey that I’d never imagined either of us taking, and now that the day was finally here I was nervous about the emotions that it might stir up in us both. Looking around, I saw my seventy-nine-year-old mother marching through the front doors, apparently full of energy as she wheeled a suitcase behind her, and I made my way over to take it from her, reaching down to give her a kiss.
“Get away,” she said, dismissing my offer of help. “I’m not giving my bag to a man with a crutch.”
“You are indeed,” I said, wrestling it off her.
She gave in and when she looked up at the Departures board I could tell that her eyesight was better than mine. “On time, I see,” she said. “What’s seldom is wonderful.”
It was a constant source of amazement to me that she was so sprightly. She didn’t even have a regular doctor, insisting that she didn’t need one because she never got sick.