Ma, I've Got Meself Locked Up in the Mad House Page 26

  ‘Ah! I don’t think so, Father. I’m going through a very superstitious phase at the moment. I might get ideas inta me head that you’ve put a curse on me or something!’ I said, looking very worried at him as I made a job of thinking about it very seriously, then nodding at the others. ‘You never know!’ I said, looking very serious. ‘These things do happen!’

  The others all nodded their heads, agreeing with me.

  ‘Ah! Not at all! Not at all,’ he roared, throwing back his huge head and shaking his big belly at us, roaring his head laughing, getting redder in the face and nearly turning purple. He took a fit of coughing, and someone rushed off to get him a drink of water.

  ‘Sit down there, Father,’ I said, pointing to Mabel’s chair. ‘Go on, Mabel, get up and let the poor priest sit down, and you a young one.’

  Mabel jumped up, a big grin on her face. ‘Let’s have a bit of fun,’ I whispered to the others.

  ‘Father!’ I asked him, when he’d settled down and finished coughing. ‘Father! Do you remember when the Pope used to send them Crusaders to the Holy Land? The Knights Templars, I think they called them. Lovely men they were,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘I knew them well! Of course, the doctor doesn’t believe me,’ I said, looking sadly at the priest, leaning into him, telling him this in confidence.

  He stared back at me, shaking his head in agreement, looking very sad.

  ‘But you haven’t seen the doc . . .’ shouted Mabel suddenly.

  ‘Shut up, Mabel,’ I said, giving her a pinch. God! She’s always one step behind! I thought. I stared at her. ‘Remember the doctor was roaring at me the other day that it was all part of me delusions!’

  Mabel stared, and I dropped my face. ‘Yeah! Oh, yeah!’ she said, her face cracking in a smile.

  ‘Yeah! So be quiet and listen.’

  She shook herself and settled down to listen. I coughed, to get meself ready, then ended up spluttering, wheezing and more coughs. Then, with a final splutter, I sniffed, trying to clear me watering eyes, and waited, getting me breath back. Now I was ready.

  I looked up at the priest, seeing him staring with his mouth open, waiting for me to continue.

  ‘Go on!’ he barked, beginning to lose the rag.

  ‘Well!’ I puffed, thinking as I went along. ‘It was back in the tenth or eleventh century, I think!’

  ‘What about them?’ he asked, impatient for me to continue.

  ‘What I want to know is, why did he send them there to the Holy Land?’

  ‘Ahem! Eh!’ he coughed again, trying to think. ‘Because it was the Holy Land!’ he said. ‘Where Christ was born!’

  ‘Ah! So the Pope wanted it back for the Christians! Is that it?’

  ‘Yes! Yes, of course,’ he said, shaking his great mound of white hair.

  ‘But they ransacked the place! Raped, burnt, pillaged and brought back all the great treasures to Rome for the Pope!’

  ‘Ah! It wasn’t for the Pope himself!’ he interrupted, smiling happily. ‘It was for the good of the Holy Roman Catholic Church!’

  ‘But they murdered! How else do you think they got the stuff? The people weren’t waiting to hand over the goodies, you know,’ I rasped at him. ‘They waged war!’

  ‘Ah! That’s a long time ago now,’ he said, getting to his feet.

  ‘No! Wait. Sit down, Father! This has me wondering for a long time. What I can’t understand is, the Ten Commandments tell us “Thou Shall Not Kill!” Yet the Church was massacring the poor Turks wholesale! Whadeye think about that?’ I asked him. ‘Is there one law for the Church and one for us?’

  ‘Ah! It’s very complicated,’ he said, puffing, trying to get himself standing.

  ‘Then, naturally, the bloody Turks start coming after us. The Infidels! Unbelievers! Wanting their stuff back. They got as far as Spain. Luckily they were stopped by the Polish Empire. That destroyed the Poles, of course,’ I said mournfully.

  ‘Then the Spanish jumped into the fray. The Spanish Inquisitions started up. They were looking under the beds for Muslims, and everyone ended up on the rack, tortured and murdered by the monks! You lot!’

  ‘Hah! I hope you don’t think I’m personally torturing anyone,’ he laughed, thinking he was funny.

  ‘Oh! I don’t know about that,’ I said, looking very suspiciously at him. ‘I think I remember you giving the orders when my poor granny – she was only minding her own business,’ I snorted, giving him a dirty look. ‘Anyway! She was after making butter, and was giving the poor cat – he was black! – the drop of cream left over. Well! They got their hands on her, and you were the one giving the orders to stretch her even more when she wouldn’t admit she was a witch! That poor woman didn’t know what they were talking about. She didn’t know whether she was coming or going!’ I said, getting agitated and staring at him. ‘And you look the same now as ye did then. Strutting around in your long brown habit with the cowl pulled up around your head! The same one the monks running this place wear!’

  He puffed himself into a standing position and said, ‘Lovely to talk to you all. God bless now!’ and he flew out the door, roaring at the nurses to let him out.

  ‘It was definitely you!’ I roared over at him. ‘And I bet you are all still at it,’ I snorted.

  ‘Thanks very much, Nurse!’ he gasped, as he flew past her.

  Hatchet-face stood at the door, watching him fly up the passage, then looked at us suspiciously as we fell around the place screaming laughing. ‘You sound like a pack of laughing hyenas,’ she said sourly, giving me a dirty look.

  We screamed even louder, rushing to get into the toilet. Jack threw back his head, giving a huge laugh, and shook his head, saying I was an awful woman, tormenting the poor aul priest like that. You could hear us laughing miles away, and the nurses pressed their noses against the window, trying to look around to see what we were laughing at. Then Rory stopped laughing and asked me, ‘Did he really stretch your granny on the rack?’

  We started thumping the floor, trying to get a breath. Jaysus! Laughing can kill you, I thought, wiping the tears from my eyes with the sleeve of my orange dressing gown.

  35

  * * *

  The lunch was over and I didn’t go for any. It’s been over a couple of weeks since I ate anything. So I was lying in bed taking it easy when the nurse, the one with the squashed face and beady little eyes, put her head in the door, and said, ‘Come on. We’re moving you.’

  ‘Where to?’ I asked in shock.

  ‘Next door. You’re being moved out of lock-up.’

  My head spun around the room, looking at my view out the window and my bed, and what about Mabel and Katie?

  ‘No!’ I roared. ‘I’m not moving. I like it here.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ she said, making for me in the bed and yanking me out by my arm.

  ‘Let go! I’m not moving from here.’

  ‘Yes, you are! Now come along quickly, I have a lot to do.’

  She marched me out the door and through into the women’s quarters. I followed her into the first room and looked around at a similar room. This one was nicer, though. It wasn’t as worn out as the other one. I looked at the first bed – it was empty, probably nobody sleeping there – and headed for the one at the window.

  ‘Now! When you get someone to bring in your clothes,’ she said, ‘you will be able to move about. You can go down to psychotherapy with the staff.’

  Then she was gone. Back to the men’s ward. They are in charge of lock-up! I was going to miss them. Even her and Hatchet-face! I climbed into the bed and stared out the window.

  The view was different. You could see miles and miles of lawn and huge oak trees stretching as far as the eye could see. I saw houses in the distance, where people were living their lives, going about their ordinary business, free! Free from the pain of living. They must be! Or they’d be in here. They’re out there enjoying their children, talking to their husbands, eating when they want to, and being able to eat, and
driving their cars! I thought of my own home, lying empty, waiting for me to come back and put life into it. Bonzo! Poor Bonzo. I wonder how he is? I hope the neighbours or somebody is taking care of him. He’ll miss me! He will be wondering where I got to when I’m not there to let him in after his travels.

  ‘Martha! Martha, wake up!’

  I opened my eyes, looking into the face of a strange nurse. She was smiling at me. I rubbed my eyes, looking around the room. I must have dozed off.

  ‘Hurry!’ she said. ‘Put your dressing gown on and go out and see the doctor. He’s outside waiting to see you.’

  The doctor! I thought, sliding my feet out of the bed and opening the locker and taking out my dressing gown. I wonder why he wants to see me after all this time. Maybe I’m getting home.

  I rushed out, following the nurse, feeling my heart banging away like mad inside my chest. I looked around, seeing her heading over to talk to a man in a grey suit with grey round glasses and a thin white face. It looked very lived in. I’d say he was in his sixties or late fifties.

  I trotted over to him in my bare feet and sat next to him on the long padded seat in an alcove behind the dining room.

  ‘Well!’ he said, pushing his glasses down on his nose and turning around to look at me after examining a brown folder under his arm. He stared at me for a minute, his eyes twinkling. ‘What have we here? I believe you frightened the hell out of a doctor,’ he said, looking at me with a smile playing around his mouth.

  I looked at him for a minute, sizing him up. ‘Nah!’ I said. ‘He was “Abbey acting!” Over the top! His reaction was way out of proportion to what actually happened.’

  He shifted himself and folded his arms, making himself more comfortable, then said, ‘Oh! So what actually did happen?’

  ‘Well!’ I said, taking a deep breath. ‘He valued his paperwork more than he valued me, so I was jealous and upended the lot!’

  He raised his eyebrows slowly, wondering about this, then I continued, ‘Also! He’s a self-important prat who doesn’t know his elbow from his arse. He didn’t understand I put a high value on my life, I was desperate to live. He put out the last flicker of hope by treating me as a nonentity. I desperately needed his help to stop the depression I was in from killing me. Instead, he snuffed out the light, leaving me in darkness. I belted home and nearly succeeded in losing my life. So that’s my story.’

  He stared at me for a long time, searching my face, penetrating my eyes, watching my hand. Then he said, taking in a big breath, ‘How are you now?’

  ‘Dying! I’m dying. I can’t find the will to live,’ I said, looking at him.

  ‘Right!’ he said, and marched off.

  I watched him go, wondering why I told him all that. I sat on the bench, thinking of going back to bed – I was feeling quite tired – when over strolled the Russian monk in his slow march and sat down beside me. ‘What is your problem?’ he asked me without any preamble.

  I looked at him. His face was clear of all emotion, just his green eyes, being hooded by his lowering eyelashes, gave a quick glimpse of a sharp intelligence as he stared, trying to penetrate into my inner thoughts. I gave him a penetrating stare back, wanting to read him.

  ‘Why are you here? Why are you not living out there?’ he said, shaking his head down in the direction of the far-distant houses.

  ‘I don’t know! I don’t really know!’ I mused, thinking about this very direct question. ‘I spent my life looking after other people, and when I needed someone, there was no one there. I don’t know why I can’t go on living. I want to, but I can’t,’ I said, shrugging my shoulders, wondering what was holding me back from moving forward.

  ‘Then you are altruistic,’ he said, looking at me with interest, his face leaning more towards me.

  I thought about the meaning of the word and shook my head, reluctantly agreeing with him. ‘Yes! I have been altruistic. Giving without looking for a return, until now that is. But I’m lost when I have no one but myself to look after. I’m not used to that. I don’t know how to,’ I sighed. ‘All my life, other people have been dependent on me. That’s how I’m programmed! Just to take care of other people. That’s what must have kept me going!’

  Then he got up and walked off without another word! I was left looking at his back, watching him walk down the ward and head off. Hmm! He didn’t even say goodbye, or I’m going! It must be a Russian thing.

  ‘Come on! You have to eat.’

  I ignored her.

  ‘Listen! Look at me.’

  I looked up at the staff nurse, her face pained trying to think of a reason why I should eat the salad sitting on my plate for tea. I stared at it: white cold chicken sitting next to a tomato cut in half and a piece of lettuce with potato salad. I never did like salad anyway, I thought, looking away from the plate to everyone staring at me, wondering how I could refuse such lovely grub when they were all making short work of theirs. The nurse looked around in frustration, then rushed over, grabbing an empty chair, and pushed the fat one sitting next to me out of the way, banged the chair next to mine and lifted up a fork and said, ‘OK. I am going to feed you myself if I have to.’

  I started to laugh, and she got red in the face, saying, ‘This is no laughing matter, Martha! You are going to end up in hospital with tubes stuck into you, and they’ll be force-feeding you. Now! Come on. Just take a little. I don’t know how you are still on your feet. You are getting very weak. Just look how thin you are!’

  I looked, seeing an emaciated me. I was locked into a death wish, but I couldn’t say this to myself – actually admit it. I am really paralysed by whatever is the matter with me.

  ‘I’m trying to get thin enough so that I can escape out through the keyhole,’ I said, looking at her with a serious face.

  The blonde woman with the coiffured hairdo sitting in front of me burst out laughing. Then the rest of them started. ‘What did she say?’ patients asked on the table beside me. There was muttering, and they all started laughing. The fat woman with the red freckled face and the mop of curly hair sitting next to the nurse started choking and her face turned purple.

  ‘Oh! Now look what you’ve done!’ roared the nurse at me, slapping your woman’s back.

  The other patients thought this was very funny and started roaring their heads off laughing. Then the Russian monk came marching up to me with his hands behind his back and said, ‘You and I must have a serious talk.’

  I looked up at him, trying to read him, and he wagged his finger at me, saying, ‘Yes! You have to behave yourself.’ Then he marched off, swaggering his arse from side to side.

  ‘I look forward to that,’ I muttered to his back. The staff nurse gave up, and I wandered back to my room, climbing into the bed feeling very tired.

  I sat up, looking into the distance at the houses, wishing I could be out there, leading a normal life with no worries. But I don’t think I’m going to make it. I’m still in my early thirties, but I feel as if I’ve lived too many lifetimes.

  36

  * * *

  ‘Ah! Hello, Martha!’

  I looked up to see where the familiar screech was coming from. Sister Eleanor was rushing over to me in the bed and dumping down a bag with loads of stuff.

  ‘Now,’ she breathed, pulling out a new pair of pyjamas; they still had the Dunnes Stores tag on them. ‘These should fit you,’ she said, lifting them up to show me. Then she stopped, wrapping the stuff to her chest and whispering, ‘Oh! Holy God! What has happened to you at all? Sure, you’ve wasted away to nothing. Are you not eating?’

  I started to feel me belly turning hot with annoyance. ‘I’m fine! And if you were all that worried, how come you didn’t get to see me when I was taken into Intensive Care?’

  She stared at me, creasing her mouth, knowing I was speaking the truth. I know she always dives for cover when there’s trouble. The nuns always keep away from that. So I expect it. But what I don’t understand is why she is taking such an interest in me no
w. I could have done with this sort of attention when I was a child in the convent. I worshipped the ground she walked on. But she had no time for me. She was the first person in my life I ever tried to get close to. But it just broke my heart. Most of the time she ignored me. Until I started to scrub and polish floors down on my hands and knees.

  They took me out of school to work in the convent as soon as I hit my fourteenth birthday. The judge who sent me there specified and underlined it – I was being sent there for an education. But I knew it wasn’t a reality. I was only in the fifth class of primary school. I sat there in a fog of confusion, tying myself in knots, trying to work out what Irish and maths and geography was all about.

  But then the words ‘Take out your English readers!’ Ah! This is more like it! I had taught myself to read! I guzzled up the warm feeling when the teacher praised me no end for even being able to read the book, then pointedly ignored the windbag convent children hissing, ‘Yah! Notice box! Suck-up! Eegit!’ Then sat down for more, with the day scholars telling me, ‘Gawd! Ye’re great at the reader! Wish I was as good as you! Here! Have one of me gobstoppers!’ I sat sucking while the papers and rubbers flew past my ears, the convent children losing the run of themselves with rage because I got sitting next to the coveted day scholar and her sweets. But that one class was to be my lot in the world of education.

  Yep! I had skipped all the other years that come before and after that. I had never really been to school. By the time I got to the convent, it was too late. The nuns need their quota of slave labour to work in the kitchens, nursery, cleaning the institution, and someone to look after their part, which was the convent, chapel and convent kitchen. Plus answer the door and phone. That job fell to me. I had been practising my ‘speaking voice’. Developing my manners! Ingratiating meself into the nuns’ inner sanctum.

  Yep! I landed meself the plum job. Oh, no! Nothing I wouldn’t do for a bit of warmth from the Sister Eleanor. A bit of praise thrown in my direction every now and then sent me into a frenzy of pot walloping, scrubbing and shining floors. Anything for a bit more of that! I made ‘Wee Slavey’ in the Bunty look like an idler. Most important too, of course, it got me away from the venom of the other kids. I was an outcast, a street kid among the rejected, the unwanted, the abandoned children dumped in an institution. They were all in it together! Me, I was a blow-in!