Postcards to America (14 page)

When the Rev. Dermot O’ Connor P.P., St. Michael’s Church visited two days before the wedding to finalize details, “Punctual” Mary’s mother sat him down and offered him tea and biscuits. “Punctual” Mary sat next to her mother opposite the reverend.

The reverend – no relation of “Corner” – appeared to be in his sixties with a thin face and body to match. Dressed in traditional “uniform” of black suit and collar, the clothes seemed to hang on his thin frame as if bought for a man twice his girth. His only departure from “normal” was the colorful socks exposed when he crossed his legs. The reverend’s mannerisms could only be described as “camp” and he spoke with a squeaky voice. He seemed to prefix every sentence with a “God says”, or “with the help of God”.

‘With the help of God everything will go smoothly on the “big’ day”, said the reverend, holding the cup of tea delicately with two fingers. ‘The reason I called to see you is to tell you that I have to depart as soon as the wedding is over. An important conference is taking place and I can’t escape from attending. The Bishop would have my garters…So I will not be staying for the meal after the wedding.’

‘What a shame,’ both women said.

The Rev. O’ Connor replaced the cup delicately on the plate and wiped the corner of his mouth with a finger. Lifting a biscuit, he nibbled the corner before continuing. ‘Because I have to leave early, it’s important that the service starts on time. Now, it is traditional that the bride to be arrives late, but I would appreciate if you could make your arrival as soon as possible after the appointed time.’

“Punctual” Mary’s mother placed her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. ‘You don’t have to worry about Mary, reverend; she is never late for an appointment and definitely will not be late for her wedding.’

Now “Punctual” Mary spoke. ‘Ever since puberty I have dreamed of arriving for my wedding on a horse-drawn carriage. There are not many supplying that sort of service anymore but luckily I managed to hire an open-top coach complete with coachman. Don’t you think a carriage adds an extra touch of glamour to the occasion and looks great in wedding photographs? It is only a seven-minute walk to the church so there should be no problem.

By this time, the reverend had nibbled the biscuit down to his fingers. How long he would take to eat a three-course meal, God only knew.

‘Well, God says I must go and do His work.’ With those words the Rev. Dermot O’ Connor departed.

Two days before the wedding “Corner” O’ Conner entered a clerical outfitter and bought a clerical collar. He told the assistant that parishioners were not contributing as much as previously to church collections and blamed this on the rise of the materialistic society. The assistant took pity on him and gave him a discount.

“Corner’ made the charity shop his next port of call. He noticed that a younger woman now served in place of the elderly assistant he dealt with previously. ‘I want to trade in these items,’ said “Corner” removing pants, jacket and cap from a plastic bag. ‘I want to buy a black pants and jacket.’

‘Help yourself sir,’ the assistant smiled cheerfully. She pointed into the interior of the shop.

“Corner” spent half an hour rummaging among the racks before he found a black jacket that fitted. The pants were a bit harder to find but in the end, he found a pair that he could use with the support of a belt.

Going back to the assistant, he placed the two items on the counter in front of her.

‘You found what you wanted?’ the girl asked the obvious, politely.

‘Yes. I’ve found an outfit for the wedding that’s coming up in two days’ time.’

What a shame it is, in an age of affluence, the girl thought, that people were forced to go to a wedding in secondhand clothing.

‘Listen, the young assistant said, speaking in a low voice, ‘Give me whatever you can afford and I’ll take the items you brought back in part exchange.’

‘Frontier’s women such as you are a credit to the nation,’ replied “Corner” handing over a few Euro.

‘Where’s the wedding taking place?’ asked the assistant as “Corner” collected his purchases and made for the door.

‘St. Michael’s Church,’ replied “Corner” not turning around.

‘Frontier’s woman! What did he mean by frontier’s woman?’ repeated the assistant as she placed the money in the till.

*

With only an hour to go to shutting up shop for the day and during a quiet period a sudden thought struck the assistant. She went over in her mind the description given to her by the two menacing looking men a few days previously. No, it couldn’t be? Yet, the general description tallied. She remained undecided. She didn’t want harm to come to that mixed-up man who could not afford new clothes for a wedding. Similarly, she did not want any harm to come to herself either. What if the two men found out that the man they were seeking called to the shop and she failed to inform them? She remembered the man playing with the knife and decided to telephone the number given. The voice at the other end of the line said that they would be over straight away.

*

‘You’re sure he said St. Michael’s Church?’ asked the tall man with part of his ear missing.

‘Yes, I’m sure.’ The assistant tried to watch both men’s faces as she spoke but the smaller man’s face remained hidden under a hooded jacket.

‘Did he say he was getting married or just attending a ceremony?’

‘He didn’t say.’

‘You don’t talk a lot to your customers, do you?’

‘Some are great conversationalists. Others are shy about buying clothes here and want to be gone as soon as possible.’

‘One last question and we’ll be gone and don’t think we don’t appreciate the help you have given us. Did that bastard give a date or time for the wedding?’

‘He mentioned two days but gave no time. If you ring the P.P., he will give you the time of the service.’

Realising that no other information could be gleaned the taller man turned and spoke to his brother. ‘Pay the woman,’ he said.

Putting a hand in his jacket, the man handed over two notes stolen earlier from a snatched handbag.

“Corner” stood in front of a hardware store and looked at his reflection in the plate glass window. Because the clerical collar needed straightening, he raised his hand to fix the problem. Suddenly an elderly woman grabbed his hand. ‘It’s Jack! It’s jack!’ The woman said.

“Corner” looked up and down the street. No other pedestrian graces the sidewalk.

‘No it’s not. It’s O’ Connor! O’ Connor!’ The would be cleric replied

‘No it’s not,’ the woman blurts out. ‘We’ve been married for over thirty years and I know my Jack.’

‘And I know O’ Connor,’ “Corner” replied.

Holding back tears the woman continued, ‘My Jack is very ill. The doctors say there is no hope. He has been a good man all his life and never did anyone any harm.’

The woman paused for breath and then started again.

‘Except for the six months he did for robbery and the nine months he did for beating up that fellow that insulted me.’

‘The Lord forgives all,’ said “Corner” consolingly.

‘Then you will come and give him the “Last Rites”?

Just then, a car with a noisy exhaust pipe goes past and “Corner” mishears the word “Rites”. He thinks the woman said the “Last Pipe”.

Never heard of the “Last Pipe”, but you learn something new every day. This “Last Pipe” business must be a long forgotten Red Indian tradition. Of course he would go.

Still holding “Corner’s” hand the woman escorts him to a block of flats a hundred yards along the thoroughfare.

‘It’s on the second floor the woman explains, walking up the stairs.’

Opening the door of the flat, the woman beckons “Corner” inside, gesticulating at him to wipe his shoes as he does so.

The smell of wax polish permeates the flat. Every wooden surface gleams from years of waxing. The carpet, though threadbare in places, was spotless. Not a speck of dust dared alight on any of the ornaments scattered around the flat.

‘He’s in that room.’ The woman points to a door leading off from the main room. ‘I’ll make a drop of tea and knock when it’s ready.’

“Corner” enters the bedroom and stands at the bottom of a large double bed. Even here the smell of polish is overpowering.

The figure in the bed lay motionless. A thin face topped by a mop of white hair protruded from above the blankets.

What to do now thinks “Corner”. The woman clearly wanted him to do something for her man. She wanted him to say a few words over her dying husband. Racking his brains for a solution, scenes from an old movie suddenly pop into his mind. In the movie, an Indian chief died and the braves placed his body on a funeral pyre. As flames from the funeral pyre reached towards the blue sky a medicine man with an East Coast accent intoned prayers for his departed spirit.

Yes, that’s what he would do. He would follow the example of the medicine man. He begins to intone, “
Great Spirit of the mountains, rivers and plains, carry this noble warrior’s spirit across the great darkness and find for him a fertile place to set up his tepee. May the game be abundant and may the spirits of his ancestors look over him”.

As “Corner” finishes speaking the body in the bed moves and the man says, ‘what was all that about?’ ‘The spirits have brought you back, ‘exclaims a surprised “Corner”

‘I’ve never been away,’ the frail man answers.

‘Your wife said that the spirits were taking you,’ explained “Corner”.

The elderly man moves up further in the bed before speaking. ‘Sometimes I wish the spirits would take me. For the last ten years all I have done is clean and paint, paint and clean. The only peace I get is when I take to my bed. I have a bad ticker-it’s been that way for years- but the doctors say I will not be popping off any day soon.’

“Corner” still believed that his plea to the spirits had brought about the man’s remarkable recovery.

The man coughed to clear his throat and drank some water from a glass.

‘The words you were speaking earlier… You’re not a western fan are you?’

“Corner” admitted that he was.

‘I’m a fan myself,’ the elderly man admitted. ‘I’ve seen all the “greats” myself; from the silent days right up to the present. I have never met any of those Hollywood greats in the flesh of course.’

The elderly man sits up in the bed and props himself against the headboard.

“Corner” sits on the bed and does likewise.

The two men chat away and discuss important issues such as: who could draw his gun the fastest? How many miles would a Pony Express rider ride in a day? Did the medicine men really dispense medicine?

Presently a knock sounded on the bedroom door. “Corner” stood and the elderly man disappeared once more beneath the bedclothes.

The woman brought in tea on a tray for both of them. She pulled up chairs by the side of the bed and poured tea for both of them.

‘Any movement from Jack?’ she asked, between sips of tea.

‘No,’ “Corner” answered, lying.

‘He could go at any time.’

‘It’s sad,’ “Corner” agreed.

The tea finished, the woman stood to take the tray away.

‘I’ll stay here with him a little longer,’ “Corner” told her. ‘I’ll give you a call when I am finished.’

‘If only all priests were like you.’

When the door closes behind the departing woman the frail man sits up and “Corner” sits beside him.

For the next two hours the men chat about the Wild West before “Corner” stands up to go.

‘Call again,’ said the sick man.

‘I certainly will,’ answers “Corner”. It’s a pleasure to talk about what really matters.

“Corner” turns to go but stops and turns back. ‘Tell me about the tradition of the “Last Pipe”.’

‘The “Last Pipe”… The “Last Pipe”…’the elderly man looks at “Corner”. ‘Never heard of the “Last Pipe”; I’ve only ever smoked cigarettes.’

Disappointment showed on “Corner’s” face.

‘What a pity. All the old traditions are dying out and will soon be lost to us forever. If we don’t preserve them then who will?

‘I’ll have to go and buy a pipe and revive the custom.’

Because they were national officers and were in the area, “High” and “Low” were asked to assist the local police in their investigation into the car ramming at the Social Welfare Office. The police were being urged to find the culprit or culprits as soon as possible by the politicians. The politicians in turn were responding to newspaper headlines that screamed: “
An attack on the Social Welfare System is an attack on the basic fabric of our society
”, and, “
Civil Servants working in the Department of Social Welfare demand
“danger money”. The politicians were more worried by the latter than the former.

‘OK! Let’s go over our conclusions one more time.’ “Low”, because his expertise covered social welfare matters, took charge of the briefing. ‘We are all of the opinion are we not - a nodding of heads in agreement – that the ramming was in retaliation for something that the department, one of its staff, or my colleague and I did to some claimant. I know from experience that every day there will be several incidents of friction between staff and members of the public. Every day a member of the public will walk out the door of that building believing he has received a raw deal. Besides the ordinary citizen in conflict with the system my colleague and I - “Low” pointed at “High” - in the course of our investigations have stopped social welfare payments to those we suspect are criminals and are defrauding the state.

“Low” seemed to grow in stature as he continued, ‘Our best shot at catching whoever did this ramming is to work backwards from the day of the incident. Every person that came to the office and made a query had to provide a name or a service card. Those details are on computers and officers are at this minute compiling a list of suspects for us. For those few cases, where we do not have a name we have video footage and we will use that if we have to.

“Low” paused for breath before carrying on with his briefing. ‘For this exercise we will split into teams of two and each team will bring in a subject for questioning. If after questioning you are reasonably certain that he is not involved in the crime then release him and go on to the next suspect. I suggest we start early in the morning. And, our bosses are expecting results on this one.’