Maggie's Breakfast (12 page)

Singers didn’t escape Billy’s obsessive nature either. He spent a lot of his time listening to his neighbours’ wireless by sitting outside their door. On different days, Billy
would comb his hair and make himself look like the singer he heard last. Each day of the week he was a different personality. On Mondays he was likely to be looking and sounding like Johnny Ray. By
Sunday he’d be Frankie Laine. Billy walked around the streets of Inchicore imitating Mario Lanza, Billy Daniels and Al Jolson. Billy knew as much about the singers and the hit songs as he did
about film stars.

One day after seeing a film at the Tivo Billy decided he didn’t like his nose. It was slightly fatter or broader than those of most other boys in the neighbourhood. For Billy, it was an
unwanted reminder of a reality that he didn’t want to know or live in. His nose wasn’t a thing to smell with. It was something that made him look like he was poor and unattractive. No
matter what way he combed his hair or what colour shirt he wore, his nose wouldn’t let him be fully free. It was the herald that reminded him of his perceived imperfection. Billy was always
comparing his nose to that of some movie star. When he thought he looked like a certain actor he’d point to his nose and say that was the only part of him that was different to the leading
man on the screen. Whenever I went to the pictures with him he wouldn’t stop pointing to the screen and describing the features of the film star and at the same time pointing to his nose.
He’d continually ask me to tell him who he looked like. Every film I saw with him I had to tell him he was just like the movie star on the screen. If I saw four different films with him he
was all of the actors. One day he was Rock Hudson, the next his favourite Jeff Chandler, another day he was Tony Curtis and John Derek. Because of his lifelong attendance at the movies, Billy could
contort his face and manage to make himself look like all the movie stars he was mad about. The only thing he couldn’t twist was his nose. It was as if his nose was a trap he couldn’t
escape from. It bothered him that there was no independent way of moving or reshaping his nose. He often resorted to using one of his hands to demonstrate how he wanted it to look. “If me
nose wasn’t like this I’d be as good-lookin’ as Jeff Chandler, wouldn’t I?” Billy would press his fingers against his nose and made it flat; he’d then squeeze it
with his two fingers and make it look thin. When he squeezed his nose I’d tell him he looked like Jeff Chandler. He’d pull his nose out a bit with his two fingers. “Who now? Who
am I like?” I wouldn’t know who he looked like or what to say. When I’d hesitate Billy would let go of his nose. “I’m like Tony Curtis, amn’t I?” I’d
quickly catch on and tell him what he wanted to hear. “Yeh, you’re as good-lookin’ as him.” After I agreed with Billy’s idea of himself he’d look very happy.
He’d then begin to sing. Billy not only wanted to look like his favourite film star, he also wanted to sound like his favourite singer. Of all the singers Billy imitated, his true obsession
and real idol was Frankie Laine. He knew every song Frankie Laine sang backwards. He was furious that Tex Ritter sang “Do Not Forsake Me Oh My Darlin’” from
High Noon
.
Billy fervently believed Frankie Laine’s rendition was the better one. When Billy passed a shop window he’d stop when he saw his reflection and break into a Frankie Laine number.
“I Believe” was of course a favourite. Billy rarely talked to anyone; he sang to them. Billy was trapped between thinking he looked like Jeff Chandler and sounded like Frankie
Laine.

One week Frankie Laine was at the Royal Theatre in Dublin and Billy asked me to go with him. When I agreed he burst out into one song after another. Along with about a hundred other Frankie
Laine fans, we stood outside the Theatre Royal for four hours to get a glimpse of the singer. After we spent about half a day calling up to a small window on a side street, Frankie Laine stuck his
head out and began to sing
“
Danny Boy”
.
With all the cheers and calls from the crowd, and with Frankie having no microphone, we could hardly hear him. That night both of
us walked back home singing and pretending we were Frankie Laine. When I tried to imitate Frankie, Billy drowned me out. I think he sensed that he would lose his audience of one if I persisted.

When Billy concentrated on being Jeff Chandler he’d walk about bare-chested with a white scarf around his neck. The look in his eyes caused by his twitching head made him look like an
Apache Indian. When he sensed he was Tony Curtis he’d pour a bottle of hair oil on his head and his hair would become black and shiny.

One day I met Billy on the corner and he wasn’t singing and he wasn’t even happy-looking. I’d never seen him so sad.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He squeezed his nose with two fingers then let go. Then he pressed his nose with his thumb. He told me he needed my help. I said I’d help him. He made me swear on it and I did.

He then stuck his face directly in front of me.

“What d’ya see?” he asked impatiently and earnestly.

I didn’t know what he meant.

He kept staring at me. “What d’ya see?”

“I see Jeff Chandler,” I said quickly.

He yelled back at me, “No!”

I instantly said what I thought he wanted to hear. “I see Tony Curtis.”

“No! Take another look!”

“Frankie Laine? No? Billy Daniels? Johnny Ray? No? John Wayne? No?”

Billy was looking more and more outraged.

I then screamed at him. “Who am I lookin’ at, Billy?”

“You’re lookin’ at
me
!” He took his fingers away from his nose. He was almost in tears.

I was lost. I didn’t know what to say. I began to think that he had gone mad all the way. And that the fuckin’ foundry noise had finally got to him.

“Didn’t you see me two weeks ago?” he asked me.

I’d seen Billy every week for years. I spent every second day around him. He was always on the corner or at the pictures.

“You swore you’d help me out, didn’t ya?”

“I’ll do me best for you, Billy. What are ya askin’ me for?”

“I want ya t’come with me.”

“Where?”

“I’m goin’ to the hospital.”

“For what?”

“I’m goin’ to have an operation and I need your help.”

“You’re goin’ to have an operation and you want me to help ya? You’re nuts altogether, Billy. How can I do anythin’ about that? What kind of help could I be? What
kind of operation are you thinkin’ of havin’?”

“On me nose.”

“Your nose?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s not shaped right. It’s growin’ wrong.”

“I don’t see anythin’ wrong with it, Billy.”

“You’re not lookin’. Take another look!”

I looked closer at his nose and couldn’t tell anything. It looked the same to me as it always did. “You’re imaginin’ things, Billy.”

“Are ya me friend or not? Am I not your best pal?”

“You are.”

“Look at me nose again.”

“I’m lookin’ and I don’t see anythin’ that’s different.”

“You’re the one who sees me every day and you’d be able to tell the doctor what you saw.”

“What I saw? I didn’t see anything.”

“You saw me nose, didn’t ya?”

“I see your nose all the fuckin’ time, Billy! What can I do about that?”

“Can’t you tell the doctor it was smaller two weeks ago?”

“Your nose hasn’t got bigger.”

“It fuckin’ has! Take a closer look at it.” Billy stuck his nose in front of my face. He then turned to show his profile. He pinched it with his two fingers. “I know
it’s bigger than it should be and I’m goin’ to the hospital to get a job done on it.”

“It hasn’t grown, Billy. I’m not coddin’ you. I don’t see any change. It’s the same nose you always had. It isn’t any bigger, Billy. I swear to
you.”

“Can’t ya tell the doctor you noticed it gettin’ bigger? If I don’t have a witness he’ll think I’m out of the madhouse.”

I was beginning to think I was goin’ nuts myself. Billy begged and I finally agreed. We took the bus to College Green then went up Grafton Street and walked in the doors of Dublin Hospital
near the College of Surgeons. A doctor came out and called Billy into the examining room.

After about ten minutes the doctor stuck his head out the door and called me in. Billy was sitting quietly in a chair. He was wearing his jacket but no shirt and his chest was sticking out like
a rooster at sunrise.

“How long have you known Billy?” the doctor asked me.

“More than ten years,” I said. I wasn’t sure how long.

“Billy said his nose had grown considerably. Have you noticed that?”

I’d sworn I’d tell the doctor that it had grown in the past few weeks. “His nose is a bit bigger than it was.”

“A bit longer? A bit fatter?” the doctor asked me.

I looked at Billy. I didn’t know whether he wanted me to say it was longer or fatter or both. I hesitated with my answer. The doctor then looked at Billy and then at me.

“Why don’t you wait a month or two, Billy, and we’ll take another look at it?” he said.

Billy got up from the chair and walked out the door. When I got outside the hospital Billy was gone. He didn’t wait for me. I had to walk home on my own and I felt that I had let Billy
down.

For the next week or so Billy stayed home. When I knocked on his door looking for him, his mother answered. She said he couldn’t come out because he had stepped on a nail and his foot was
infected. The next day I came by and looked through the window of his house. Billy was sitting on the stairs inside and looking out through the curtains. He looked very sad. I asked him to come out
and go to the films or to Keogh Square to exchange comic books but he didn’t move. He wouldn’t talk to me. I told him I would go back and tell the doctor his nose had grown but Billy
wasn’t interested. Having to accept his own nose had crushed part of Billy’s fantasy. After that I had to get used to walking around the city on my own.

* * *

A few weeks later, while walking past Jury’s Hotel in the city centre, I came across a group of American tourists getting off a tour bus and going into the hotel. They
were talking out loud and sounded like some of the actors I had seen in the films. Their clothes and hats were as colourful as any I had seen in a Technicolor movie. The group looked like a little
bit of sunshine. The men in the group had big hats and blue suits and wore black cowboy boots. I was tempted to ask them where they had all come from and maybe even ask for an autograph. I was sure
I saw John Wayne walk right into Jury’s Hotel right in front of me.

This was one day that my wanderings about this part of Dublin paid off. If Billy was with me he would have forgotten about his nose. I stood and watched the Americans go into the hotel, then I
followed them into the lobby.

Within an instant I heard a loud voice. I thought it was one of the American tourists. It wasn’t. The hotel hall porter was calling me. When I turned in his direction he looked at me as if
I was a worm on the floor.

“What are you doin’ there?” he asked me.

At first I didn’t know what to say to him. I then quickly told him I was looking for work. He nearly fell over.

An American man in the group then handed me a dollar bill. I was about to faint when the hall porter grabbed my hand.

“Give that back!” he said.

I held on to the dollar with a clenched fist.

The American with the cowboy boots and cowboy hat laughed and said, “Leave him be!”

When I heard that I knew I had always done the right thing by going to the American films.

The hall porter was flustered and embarrassed. He turned his head around a half dozen times to see if anyone was watching. He then stuck his nose so close to my face I thought he was going to
spit all over me. “How’d you get in here?”

“I followed them people who got off the bus.”

“Where do you live?”

“Up in Inchicore.”

“Inchicore is not up,” he said.

“It’s not?”

“No! Are you daft?”

“Inchicore is not up?”

“Don’t you know that?”

“It’s up past Kilmainham Gaol. Where all the fellas from 1916 were shot.”

“Who told ya that?”

“Somebody said it was.”

“Who?”

“I think it was my brother.”

“How much do you know?”

“About what?”

“Stop askin’ me fuckin’ questions when I’m askin’ you them!”

“I didn’t know what you meant.”

“I meant to find out if you’re any good at payin’ attention to orders and instructions.”

“I’m very good at that.”

“Can you read and write?”

“Course I can.”

“How old are ya?”

“Fourteen. My birthday was last week.”

“Why don’t you work in the C.I.E. foundry?”

“I couldn’t get a job there.”

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“I know the answer to that.”

“You do?”

“Because your father isn’t workin’ there. Am I right?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure you don’t live in Keogh Square?”

“I don’t.”

“I heard that before. You look like you might.”

“I don’t mind Keogh Square.”

“You go there?”

“Sometimes.”

“For what?”

“To swap comic books.”

“Can you read?”

“I told you. Course I can.”

“You don’t live in Keogh Square?”

“I live in Nash Street. Past it.”

“How much do you know about hotel work?”

“I don’t know much.”

“How are you goin’ to talk to people if they ask you somethin’?”

“Why would they ask me anythin’?”

“People, hotel guests might ask you somethin’ and how are you goin’ to answer back?”

“Ask me about what?”

“About where you live. A lot of people who come here want to know if you know anything at all about your own bloody country.”

“How am I supposed to know anythin’ about my country?”

“Did you go to school?”

“Course I did!”

“What did they teach ya?”

“Who?”

“The fella who stood up front with the leather strap in his hand?”

“The Christian Brother?”