Postcards to America (4 page)

Peter gunned the tractor and drove away.

That evening in the local hostelry Peter suffered the sniggers of the patrons. They obviously had heard the news. Damn that Tom Carr. Peter’s anger grew as his consumption of stout increased.

‘Luck of the draw,’ he replied, to one inquiring drinker, wishing the busybody would leave him alone with his drink.

‘I’ll make that bastard pay for this,’ he thought to himself. ‘No Carr is going to pull the wool over my eyes.’ His mind made up, Peter staggered from the pub.

Later that night Peter located a length of stout rope, stowed it on the tractor and started the engine. Driving through the dusk, he approached a fence bordering Carr’s farm and the highway. Attaching the rope to a post Peter applied full power to the vehicle. The tractor moved forward with its wheels spinning and towing a length of fence behind.

‘Let’s see how you like that, Carr!’ Peter shouted to the night sky.

Of the two neighbours, Tom Carr rose first. After a hastily eaten breakfast, Tom stepped outside to sample the morning air. Instantly he spotted the wrecked fence and knew immediately the name of the culprit. It could be no other than that jealous S***E, Peter Moloney. I will fix his wagon, Tom vowed.

Peter Moloney rose an hour later and witnessed the results of Tom’s actions. Several bales of hay belonging to him were floating in a nearby stream.

After that the feud escalated. Windows were broken, doors shot at, cattle stampeded, buildings daubed with slogans and slurry poured onto paths. The local community took sides in the escalating dispute and the conflict spread to neighbouring districts. Overwhelmed, the local police found it impossible to cope and reinforcements were rushed from divisional headquarters.

Peace eventually returned to the area but only after six of the ringleaders received jail sentences.

*

‘Pick any one,’ Patrick asked Jean, holding up a number of documents spread out like a fan.

‘I pick this one.’ Jean stretched out her hand, hesitated, and then withdrew it.

‘No. I’ll pick this one.’ This time she made a selection.

‘OK! The decision is made. Let us see where it takes us.’

*

The North West of the country is grandeur personified. Mountains, valleys, streams and rocky coastline are compressed into a small area. Camera clicking tourists flock to the area in large numbers during the season. In winter, the story is different. Fewer tourists mean less expenditure, which means no part-time jobs. Many farmers depend on part-time employment to make a living. The area is not good farming country. Sheep graze by the roadside adding weight for the French market.

Teresa Considine suffered from a serious illness. After many visits to the regional hospital, the test results were in. Your wife urgently needs an operation, the specialist informed Keith at their last meeting. Unfortunately, many people were on the waiting list and the queue could not be jumped. Every patient on that list deserves to be there, the specialist informed Keith. Seeing the look on Keith’s face, the specialist continued, ‘If you can raise the money to have the operation done privately we could be ready to operate in a fortnight.’

Keith did not have the money. Keith could not raise the money. He would be in his sixties before he finished paying his present mortgage. What in God’s name could he do? Who could help him?

The postman arrived early. Another letter from the hospital, guessed Keith, exchanging pleasantries with the postal worker. Then he saw the stamp.

Slowly Keith read the letter. The letter granted him permission to extend his milk quota. Instantly Keith understood the significance. A milk quota was as good as money in the bank. He could use the quota himself, sell the quota, or lease the quota out to another farmer.

Teresa would have that operation. Keith kissed the letter and thanked God.

*

In each county in the land, farmers were notifying their farming bodies. Telephones wires were humming with calls to politicians demanding action. Politicians were reminded of the large farming lobby and the next election.

*

Patrick first heard of the removal of three work colleagues from Jean. Jean heard the news from her sister who overheard higher civil servants talking in the canteen. Something about improper procedures and unsound decisions…

Patrick suppressed a smile. Served the stuck up snobs right. He knew that they would not be dismissed. This being the civil service, they would be transferred to another department and be allowed to continue.

Patrick suspended his letter writing for a few days but continued to transfer his work to the new arrivals’ work trays. The three new arrivals were a mixed bunch. However, they knew nothing about Patrick or how he came to hold his present position in the organisation. Only one of the original civil servants remained on the floor and Patrick swore to get him removed.

His chance came sooner than expected. Friday evening before work finished for the day, Jean came busting in to his office. She gulped as she drew air into her lungs. Must have run to get here, Patrick surmised.

‘I heard that they’re going to check all the computers,’ gasped Jean.

‘How do you know? ‘Asked Patrick.

‘I spotted a man on the top floor that I recognised. I could not place where or when I saw him before. Then I remembered; he was the person that installed all the computers two years ago. So I flirted with him and he told me that the department wanted him to check all the computers. It seems like somebody has been using a computer illegally.

‘They are looking for us, Patrick.’ Jean could not disguise the worry in her voice. ‘What can we do?’

‘Let me think, Jean.’

It took fifteen minutes for Patrick to cobble together the bones of a plan.

‘You have the keys of all the offices on this floor,’ Patrick asked. At the end of each working day, the civil servants keyed their doors. So, if the cleaners started after the civil servants finished, Patrick reasoned, they must have a master key or individual door keys.

Jean fished in her pocket and pulled out a master key.

Patrick’s plan entailed a visit to a hardware store and the purchase of several items. He left the office and returned in less than an hour having made his purchases.

Patrick turned to the computer. With a couple of keystrokes, he removed his personal access password. Then he slowly went through the files and removed all trace of his having ever used the computer. By the time he finished, the workers on his floor had departed for the day.

Jean kept guard as Patrick moved his computer along the corridor to the target office. She turned her master key in the lock and then they were in. All the offices on this floor sported the same make and colour of computer so there would be no trouble there. Patrick moved to where the computer stood and started removing cables. Then he connected the cables to his old computer. Closing the door behind them, they returned with the ‘new’ computer to Patrick’s office. Placing the computer on a desk, Patrick used a screwdriver to remove the backing screws. Patrick located the hard drive then rubbed the magnet purchased earlier over the components several times. Satisfied, Patrick reassembled the case and connected the cables. First thing Monday morning he would report the problem.

Monday evening Patrick heard a commotion in the corridor. Patrick recognised the voice. It belonged to the last civil servant present when Patrick first started in the job. The civil servant protested strongly to two silent grey suited men.

He spotted Patrick through the open office door. ‘Tell them I am not responsible. Tell them I am innocent. My password is not on that computer.’

The offices along the corridor emptied as the civil servants rushed into the corridor to see the source of the noise.

Patrick shrugged his shoulders and gave a sigh.

This time the upper echelons of the Department were determined to set an example: they promptly dismissed the civil servant without leave to appeal their decision.

Weeks later, Patrick heard that the ex-civil servant was working in a Chinese restaurant and learning Mandarin at night school.

The brass plate on the wall needed cleaning but the name of Dr. Joseph Myers could still be read below the building number. “Punctual” Mary pressed the bell and the tinkle brought a receptionist to the solid oak door.

‘You have an appointment with the doctor?’ a stern faced woman in her fifties asked.

“Punctual” Mary produced her appointment card.

The receptionist said. ‘Some of the doctor’s former patients….’ She let the words hang in the air.

“Punctual” Mary agreed to have this session with the shrink out of love for her parents who were increasingly worried at her behaviour. Of course, she was always punctual as a child. Her parents encouraged this trait in their offspring. But as “Punctual” Mary grew older, her problem became more pronounced. Now her whole life seemed governed by the ticking of a clock.

“Punctual” Mary knew her problem gave cause for concern. But the problem could be managed. The problem did not affect her health. Her problem did not – as far as she could determine – cause pain or suffering to another person.

“Punctual” Mary sat and glanced at the doctor’s academic qualifications lining the walls. Certificates from institutions in Vienna, London, America and universities “Punctual” Mary never heard of vied for attention.

The receptionist spotted “Punctual” Mary looking at the certificates.

‘He is very good, you know,’ the receptionist confided, nodding toward an inner door. ‘He cured me of smoking. I used to spend a large part of my income on cigarettes.’ The receptionist paused. ‘I will have paid him for the treatment in only four years.’

A buzzer sounded and the receptionist pointed towards the inner door. ‘The doctor will see you now,’ she said.

It’s funny, “Punctual” Mary thought, how we all have notions of what a psychiatrist looks like. We usually imagine them to be in their sixties with glasses and a beard. Sometimes reality and fantasy are intertwined.

Dr. Joseph Myers wore a tartan waistcoat with a fob watch on a long gold chain. His clean head glistened in the light and a thick gold chain with a large medallion hung down inside a shirt opened to the waist. His white speckled short trimmed beard ended in a point and thick unframed spectacles enlarged his piercing eyes.

‘I am pleased to “treat” you.’ Dr. Myers extended a hand as he spoke. He said, “Meet” but a broad accent turned “meet” into “treat”.

“Punctual” Mary shook the extended hand. She had never heard an accent so broad. It seemed as if the doctor spoke out of a mouth filled with marbles.

“Rake” a “peat”’ Dr. Myers said, pointing to a chair situated in front of a desk.

“Punctual” Mary guessed the doctor’s general drift and sat, pulling her short dress down a centimetre.

Dr. Myers sat opposite “Punctual” Mary and referred to a note pad.

‘Your parents are so “curried”. They believe that you are obsessed with “crime”.

‘Time,’ “Punctual” Mary corrected.

‘Crime,’ Dr. Myers said.

‘Time,’ “Punctual” Mary corrected again.

Dr. Myers looked at “Punctual” Mary for a long minute. ‘More serious than I thought,’ he said, scribbling furiously.

‘Would you like to “cry” down and relax?’ Dr. Myers waved towards an examination bed.

“Punctual” Mary positioned herself on the bed, acutely conscious of her short skirt.

Dr. Myers pulled up a chair and sat beside the lounger, notepad in hand.

‘Would you like to remove your “crotch?”

“Punctual” Mary looked at the doctor. She was tempted to remove herself from the premises.

‘My “crotch”

‘Your “crotch”. The doctor pointed to her watch.

‘Oh! You’re talking about my watch. No thanks.’

‘You do not need it here. There is a “cock” on the wall.

“Punctual” Mary looked at the clock on the wall and checked the time against her own timepiece. The clock showed incorrect time.

‘The clock is a minute slow.’

Dr. Myers checked the clock against his timepiece then got up and adjusted the hands.

‘Now will you give me your “crotch”, he asked again.

‘No.’

Dr. Myers shook his head and made a note in his notebook. ‘Let’s move on,’ the psychiatrist suggested. ‘Tell me about your “wildhood”.’

‘My “wildhood”.’

‘Have you a problem with your “rearing”.

“Punctual” Mary guessed he meant hearing. ‘No. I do not have a problem with my hearing.’

Dr. Myers removed his glasses and gave them a wipe to remove non-existing dirt. “Are you ‘pussy”, he asked, about the “crime” keeping of your friends?’

‘Punctual” Mary wondered where her “pussy” fitted into the scheme of things. Her “pussy” felt OK.

“Pussy?” “Punctual” Mary asked.

Dr. Myers toyed with his medallion and looked at the ceiling. “Pussy”, “pussy”, “pussy”, he repeated.

“Punctual” Mary felt at a loss to understand the doctor’s meaning. Then it dawned on her. He meant fussy. What we need here is a translator, she thought.

‘I do not select my friends because of their time-keeping,’ “Punctual” Mary answered. ‘If they choose to be late then so be it. I just tell them that if they are not there at the appointed time then I will be gone. Group meetings are obviously different because people will be arriving at different times.’

Dr. Myers tried another tack. ‘Tell me about your early “ways”.

This time “Punctual” Mary grasped the doctor’s meaning instantly. He wanted her to tell him about her childhood. Uneventful would be the best way to describe her early years. “Punctual” Mary relaxed…

Her childhood came near to being perfect. An only child, her days were filled with the love her parents showered on her. She went to good schools and teachers marked her down as a reasonably clever student. She made friends easily enough and for some reason, bullies paid her no attention. English, her favourite subject, led her into a wondrous world of literature and exploration.

“Punctual” Mary’s father worked wonders with his hands. They said that he could fix anything that moved. He started with radios then moved on to clocks and watches. Neighbours would bring in clocks and watches to be repaired. Clocks would be strewn on tables, on the floor and in every available free space. “Punctual” Mary grew up to the sound of the clocks ticking. Not only would they be ticking but ticking at different frequencies.

“Punctual” Mary would often watch her father at work. He would strip the watch or clock and lay the pieces on a sheet of white paper. Some of the pieces were so tiny she could barely see them. Minute cogs and springs so small that she marvelled how they could ever be reassembled.

‘Time is precious. Use it wisely.’ Her father told her this repeatedly. ‘We only have so much of it.’ His second piece of advice, which he stressed with equal force: ‘People who you have never met previously will judge you on your punctuality.’

Later her father went into partnership. Together the two partners opened a shop selling and fixing clocks and watches with a sideline in jewellery. After several years, her father bought out his partner.

So she went on to university and on graduation started a career in banking. While at university she met and dated several boys and really fancied only two. Then Liam came along…They both met at a nightclub where Liam worked as a bouncer. She felt instantly attracted to him and after the usual chat up lines went back to his flat. Liam proved that night that he could certainly bounce her.

“Punctual” Mary finished her story. She felt too comfortable so she moved her body.

Dr. Myers finished scribbling and
l
ooked at her. ‘Does your obsession with “crime” affect your sex life?

She closed her eyes. Was she really obsessed? Did her preoccupation with time amount to an obsession? Perhaps it did. And did it affect her sex life? She reminded herself of her last time with Liam….

‘I like my sex to be regular. You know…. When I am doing it. I want it to be like the ticking of a clock. You know, with a regular beat.’

“Punctual” Mary opened her eyes to find the doctor’s medallion inches from her face. The doctor pulled back and added to his notes.

“Punctual” Mary looked at her watch and noted the time. The session finished, she slipped off the lounger.

Dr. Myers stood and looked at his notes before speaking. ‘Serious “chase”. Good start made. Many sessions “feeded” before we find a cure. My receptionist will give you your next “assignment”.

‘Your next appointment is in two weeks.’ The receptionist handed “Punctual” Mary a card. ‘Your time is on the card.’

“Punctual” Mary turned to leave.

‘You don’t have a cigarette, do you?’ The receptionist glanced at the inner door.

‘Sorry,’ “Punctual” Mary replied.

Out on the pavement “Punctual” Mary threw the appointment card in the first rubbish bin she spotted.