Postcards to America (9 page)

The figure wearing black high-heeled shoes approached the zebra crossing and stopped on the footpath. As the figure waited for the traffic to ease it reached down a hand and scratched an itchy crotch where too tight tights rubbed against bare skin. When the traffic eased the figure stepped into the road and walked unsteadily towards the social welfare services office.

Just outside the entrance to the social welfare services office, the figure paused. With one hand holding the wall for support, the figure’s used the other hand to fix a loose strap on one of the high heels. People passing by smirked at the figure’s dress sense. The figure looked like a “femme fatale” taken from an early western movie. A red polka dotted dress that dipped at the back, rose at the front, topped off with a moth eaten stole and a hat that bore more flowers than an average sized window box completed the outfit. Moreover, the dark glasses did nothing to enhance the dress sense and made it a certainty that the dresser would not be gracing a Milan catwalk any day soon.

The social welfare services office, situated in a building constructed in the eighties, occupied a large ground floor area. Just inside the main door, a small reception office dealt with queries. Next to this office, a machine dispensed numbered tickets for the various sections. If you needed to go to a particular section, you selected that section and then pressed a button next to your choice. The machine then issued you with a numbered ticket. You then went into the main hall and waited until a large electronic display board showed your number.

The red polka dotted dressed figure went through this procedure and selected a seat opposite a sign marked “claims”. People on both sides of the seated figure giggled and pointed at the oddly attired figure and made an unbalanced motion with their hands. Because the high heels were tight fitting, “Polka Dot” discarded them with a loud sigh of relief.

A middle-aged woman sitting to the right of “Polka Dot” looked down at the unshod feet and said, ‘I have been looking for that shade of tights for ages: where did you purchase them?’

“Polka Dot” looks down at the tights and replies in a high pitched voice, ‘Yes, they are a nice shade, aren’t they? I got them in a charity shop.’

The woman nodded understandingly.

A young man sitting to the left of “Polka Dot” turns and asks in a guttural voice. ‘Enschuldigen Sie bitte…
excuse me please.’

“Polka Dot” leans towards the young man and requests, ‘Can you repeat that, my good man?’

The youth repeats, ‘Enschuldigen Sie bitte…
excuse me please.’

‘And feck you too!’ “Polka Dot” says.’

The youth gets up and moves to the end of the row of seats.

At last, the electronic sign displays “Polka Dot’s” number and “Polka Dot” leaves the high heels behind and sits in front of the service window. Inside the window, a middle-aged woman with grey hair tied back in a bun and wearing rimless glasses is shuffling a stack of forms.

‘Is this a new claim?’ the official asks.

‘I don’t know,’ “Polka Dot” replies in a high pitched voice.

‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’

‘I don’t know if this is a new claim.’

‘Tell me why don’t you know if your claim is new or not?’

‘I’ve never been in this position before.’

‘What position is that?’

‘Having to know whether a claim is new or not.’

The official removes her glasses, places the frame in her mouth and starts chewing.

‘Have you been in this office before? Do you have a social service number?’

‘Yes and no.’

‘Yes what and no what?’

‘Yes, I have been in this office before. No, I do not have a social services number with me.’

‘How long since you were in this building?’

‘It would be about a year.’

‘You came here to make claim for unemployment benefit?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you have made a claim before?’

‘If you say so.’

‘Have you been getting unemployment benefit since then?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘I found it impossible to get in here and make a monthly signing as required by you. So my benefits were stopped.’

‘How long ago since your payments were stopped?’

‘I believe it would be eight or nine months.

‘So this is a new claim?’

‘If you say so.’

‘What is your name?’ asks the official.

“Corner” O’ Connor.’

“Corner” O’ Connor.’ The official starts to write but stops in mid - stream and looks up.

“Corner”. What sort of a name is “Corner”?’

‘Oh! I forgot. That’s my nickname. My proper name is Sean O’ Connor.’

‘That’s a boy’s…A man’s name…’

‘I am a man,’ replied Sean still using a high pitched voice.

‘Have you a passport?’

‘No.’

‘Have you a driver’s licence?’

‘No.’

‘Do you have two utility bills?’

‘No.’

‘You need these four documents to make a new claim.’

‘You have all that information on file since my last claim.’ The official speaks as if speaking to a child. ‘This is a “new claim” and you have to submit the documents I have outlined before the Department will entertain your claim. I also have my doubts about your identity. You say your proper name is Sean O’Connor and yet you are dressed as a woman.’

‘What does my name have to do with the way I dress?’ asks “Corner”. ‘I could be Geronimo or Sitting Bull.’

‘Are you Geronimo or Sitting Bull?’

‘No! I’m Sean O’Connor.’

The official tried to be reasonable and says. ‘Look at it from my point of view. You come in here dressed as a woman and talking like a woman and you wear that… that hat and you say that your name is Sean O’Connor, Geronimo or Sitting Bull. Which of the three names is the correct name?’ The official taps some keys on her computer. We have a Sean O’Connor on our database but no record of Geronimo or Sitting Bull.’

“Corner’s” head begins to hurt. He feels reality slipping even further away.

‘Of course you have no Geronimo or Sitting Bull on file. They don’t make claims. If they want something, they go out and get it. Probably mount a raid on a ranch or wagon train.

“Corner” looks around. ‘This is the last place they would raid. Not enough cover for an ambush.’

‘What have you been doing lately?’ The official asks, getting away from the identity crisis.

“Corner” reflects for a moment before answering. ‘I have been sending postcards to America.’

‘You have relatives in America?’

‘No.’

‘You have friends in America?’

‘No.’

‘Then why are you sending postcards to America?’

‘Because America needs all the help it can get.’

‘Do you get any replies to your postcards?’

‘No. But Americans lead busy lives. Do you know that some Americans hold down two or three jobs at the same time?’

The official nods understandingly. ‘You are to be complimented on your initiative. An action such as yours has great spin-offs for the tourist industry.’

The official, conscious of the people waiting and anxious to bring the conversation to an end, repeated her earlier instructions. ‘You must bring in the documents required by the Department. I am still not convinced that you are a man or that you have furnished me with your correct name.’

“Corner’s” mind blanks out. He stands in his stocking feet. Lifting the red polka dotted dress high; he pulls out his penis and inserts it through the aperture in the glass partition.

The woman opens her mouth to say something, swoons and slides to the floor.

“Corner” pulls the dress down and leaves the building without his high-heeled shoes.

A young man with acne marked face thinks he recognises the face beneath the large hat. Taking a mobile phone from a pocket, he dials a number.

Liam’s brother loaded the spoon with yoghurt and placed the food at his father’s lips. The lips refused to part so he prised them open and inserted the food. Some of the food escaped from the mouth and dropped down onto the bib tied around his father’s neck.

‘That’s great, Dad. ‘A small portion more and that will be enough.’

His father gave no indication that he understood.

‘Liam came to see you today?’ He knew this to be true because a nurse told him earlier. He asked the question, not expecting a reply.

The feeding over, he wiped around his father’s mouth with a tissue and pushed the eating tray away.

The son clasped his father’s hand and tried to formulate the words to use. Perhaps some tiny portion of what he intended to say would get through to his father. Mental illness was unknown territory and who could separate the possible from the impossible.

He began, ‘Father, I am deeply sorry for my behaviour. Mother and you did everything for me and I let you down badly. Perhaps it would have been better if I had never been born. But I was born and I inherited human weaknesses. God knows all, understands all and judges all. Only He knows how I have suffered. I hope that if any part of this is getting through to you that you can find it in your heart to forgive me my transgressions.’

‘Father, I will be leaving soon but I know that we will see each other again shortly. In the meantime, I know that Liam will continue to visit with you.’

Still holding his father’s hand the son cried bitter tears. He let the tears flow down his face unchecked to gather on the stony floor.

Nearby, two patients clasped hands and mimicked the crying son.

Liam started work officially at nine but nothing usually happened in the first hour. The punters did not start to arrive until after ten o’ clock and more likely not until the pubs closed. Liam and another bouncer made up a pair of security guards who staffed the door of this popular night-club. Their job description could be stated thus: keep out drunks, drug addicts and any others deemed undesirable.

Liam knew he possessed the intelligence to be more than a security guard but jobs were not plentiful and this job did have some attractions. His days were free to do as he wished and there were other benefits…

Before he started work that evening “Punctual” Mary rang to say she had come down with flu and would not be going out that evening - which left him free to roam, if he wanted to. This raised the question: did he want to take his relationship with “Punctual” Mary and develop it any further? She certainly looked a stunner and possessed brains too but she had this problem with time. Earlier in their relationship they discussed the subject of other relationships and agreed that they were free to see other people if they so wished.

After ten o’ clock, the music began and the punters started arriving. Liam and his fellow security guard staffed the door and scrutinised each person as they passed through the entrance into the building. They watched for drunks, people under the influence of drugs, wearing improper dress and people barred previously and who were now trying to sneak back in.

As the evening progressed, a constant flow of people passed through the portals and the nightclub filled. Those stepping outside the premises were smokers anxious for a cigarette. They were taking this action in obedience to the law that forbade smoking in licensed premises. Many of these cigarette smokers were too drunk to realise that they had already been inside so Liam charged them 5 Euro to re-enter the nightclub. Some of the patrons came out several times during the course of the evening. They came out when they themselves wanted a smoke and they came out when the person they were with wanted a smoke. At the end of the evening, Liam and his fellow security guard pocketed a nice little bonus, in addition to their pay, for their night’s work.

One girl in particular, rather loudmouthed, wearing white jeans and contrasting tight black sweater, passed in and out several times. On each occasion, she made a point of stopping and engaging in small talk with Liam. He thought her breath smelled of cigarette smoke and alcohol and that she giggled excessively but she looked pretty and made direct overtures about what she wanted. She wanted him. What did he want? Did he desperately want to bed this girl? Probably no. Did he want to bed this girl? Probably yes.

After the last person left the premises, Liam helped to clear the glasses away and sweep the room while waiting to collect his pay. Finally, with his pay tucked in a shirt pocket, Liam left the club to find the girl waiting on the kerb.

‘Are you taking me to my home, “lover boy”?’

‘No. I’m not taking you to your home. I’m taking you to my room.’

The girl giggled. ‘That’s even better.’

Back at the room, the girl wasted no time. She threw her arms around Liam’s neck and started kissing him passionately. Her mouth tasted worse than he imagined.

Suddenly the girl pulled away from Liam and started to strip. She removed her bra and holding a breast in each hand, declared, ‘Nice ones aren’t they?’ in a slurred voice.

Liam admitted that they were indeed nice ones.

The girl moved closer to Liam and started to undo his trouser belt.

Suddenly an image of “Punctual” Mary popped into his head. Strange, he thought, that her face should intrude on my consciousness at this moment. For God’s sake, they were only lovers. Good lovers admittedly when time did not intervene and when she didn’t slip out from under him and rush away as she did the last time they lay naked in bed and he tried to consummate the act and ended up falling asleep.

At that moment, he decided not to bed the girl.

‘Will you please get dressed,’ he asked the girl apologetically.

‘I thought you liked them?’ The girl’s mood changed suddenly.

‘Please get dressed,’ Liam repeated.

‘Are you gay?’ the girl asked, suddenly sarcastic.

‘No. I’m not gay.’

‘I think you’re gay.’

Liam shrugged his shoulders.

‘I could scream and say that I’ve been sexually assaulted.’

‘You could. You would also have to undergo a medical examination and the results would disprove your claim.’

Even in her drunken state this argument seemed to have the effect intended and the girl started dressing. Finishing, she collected her handbag and made for the door. With her hand on the doorknob she turned and said, ‘I’m going to tell everybody in the nightclub that your trouser equipment is not up to scratch. I’ll make you a laughing stock.’ The girl left the room and banged the door loudly behind her.

Even the Devil stays out of the way of a scorned woman, Liam thought later, sipping a glass of orange.