Notes from a Coma. Mike McCormack

so you can go outside and play with our Owen. Wouldn’t you like that, JJ? Of course you would. Anthony, you’ll have to bring him over this evening to meet Owen, to see how they get on.”

      “I’m thinking of bringing him to the doctor tomorrow and getting him checked out. Tests and everything, whatever they do with kids. These health certs, I don’t know if they can be trusted.”

      “Wait till Friday. Tomorrow is dole day, the town’ll be packed. Friday morning will be quiet, you won’t have to answer half as many questions.”

      And that was another thing. How was I going to explain JJ? However hard it had been to explain him to Frank, it was going to be a lot harder to explain him to the whole of Louisburgh. Middle-aged bachelors don’t up and go to foreign countries every day of the week and arrive back with two-year-old sons under their oxter . . .

      “How would you handle it, Maureen? If JJ was your child what would you say?”

      JJ was standing with Maureen bending over him. She had him gripped by the shoulders and he was stepping forward awkwardly, pawing the ground with his foot like it might give way under him. Maureen looked up at me.

      “He’s your child, Anthony, you’re his father now. What explaining is there?”

      “There’ll be talk, Maureen, you know the way people are.”

      “People will always have plenty to talk about. If talk is the only thing you have to worry about you’ll get no sympathy here. People will always find something to talk about, won’t they, JJ? One look at those lovely eyes and they’ll all be jealous. They’ll all want to know where they can get little boys like this.” She scooped JJ up into her arms. “If you want something to worry about you need look no further than that fire. The way this little fellow is going he’ll be up to every mischief in a few weeks. You need to screen off that fireplace as soon as you can.”

      She left after that and we were alone together for the first time with a whole long day ahead of us. JJ had found his feet by this time. He was gripping the leg of the table and bouncing up and down, pointing out things around him. It was nearly midday and from what I could tell it was a mild grey day outside. I pulled a second sweater on him and a cap down over his ears and took him out into the yard to show him around. There was no cold in it but the sky was down on the ground and every place was running with water. We went round the sheds and barns and I told him what everything was for and what animals lived where, showed him where the calves were penned and bucket-fed in the winter and showed him where I kept the geese before selling them off before my trip abroad. I told him I’d never keep geese again because they were dirty things but that I might get in a few ducks because ducks were better company around a house. Then we sat up on the tractor—an old Ferguson 35 it was. He got a great kick out of that, twisting and swinging out of the steering wheel for a while. Then we stood under the bales of hay in the hayshed and looked out towards the sea, out towards Achill and Clare Island. I lifted him up on my shoulders and showed him that the sea was black and that that was a sure sign of rain. Sure enough as we stood there it came rolling in over the land, a dirty big shower, hammering off the roof of the hayshed and frightening JJ and setting him to cry for the very first time.

      There was over a year between them. Owen was February and JJ was the middle of April. And from the beginning they were like brothers.

      Maureen was in the kitchen talking to Owen in the sitting room when we went over that evening. Bring him through till we see how they get on, she said. Owen was on his feet gripping the side of the couch, running this plastic tractor up and down the length of it. I sat JJ in the middle of the floor and stood back to see what would happen. The two boys looked at each other, sizing each other up, Owen with this narrow frown on his face.

      “This is JJ, Owen,” Maureen said. “Say hello to him, your new friend. Go and say hello to him, Owen.”

      She took Owen by the hand and led him over to JJ. I was nervous then, afraid for JJ. It seemed to me somehow that the balance of his life hung in that moment. If he could only make a friend then nothing would be impossible for him.

      I needn’t have worried. The two of them spent a few more moments sizing each other up and then Owen held out his tractor to JJ and JJ took it and turned it over in his hands and then put it in his mouth. And that’s how it was, their first moment together—one of them giving over his tractor and the other fella trying to take a bite out of it.

      That was the first day of their friendship, a friendship that joined them at the hip as they say. And a lot of it was down to Maureen; she became the mother JJ never had. Everyone knows he spent as much time eating and sleeping in Owen’s house as he did in his own. But I didn’t mind that, I needed all the help I could get. Good neighbours are a blessing and I knew from that first day I could rely on her. Looking back now I don’t know how I would have managed without her.

      Frank came in and saw them playing together on the floor. “The two men,” he said happily. “The men they couldn’t hang.”

      * * *

      JJ’s health checked out fine. His medical records listed shots and inoculations but Dr Ryan said he’d give him booster shots just in case. He took a blood sample from him and said he’d have the results back in a few weeks—he wanted to do some tests on him to see if there was anything like MS or whatever waiting for him down the line.

      “But he looks healthy I have to say. A healthy lucky baby. He could do with a bit of feeding up but other than that there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with him. As I say we’ll know more in a few weeks. How is he feeding?”

      “He eats whatever I eat, he seems to have no problem. Spuds and meat and vegetables, plain food.”

      “Good. Just mash it up for him or cut it into small pieces. I’m going to prescribe a small tonic. Once a day after his dinner. Other than that he seems to be fine. Bring him in to me if he starts running a temperature or anything. If anything comes up in the blood tests or if I need more information I’ll give you a call. If you don’t hear from me you’ll know everything is all right.”⁴

      I didn’t get any call from him.

      He was baptised about a month after that—that would have been about the middle of May. I didn’t know whether he was baptised or not or what religious background he came from so I decided to do it just to be on the safe side.

      It was a Saturday afternoon, a lovely sunny day and there was good crowd in the church. Of course word had got out by then so everyone had turned up to have a look at him—his first public appearance so to speak. And he looked the part too. Maureen had come in that morning and smartened him up, put on his clothes and brushed his hair—a thing I could never do—and he was the smartest-looking little lad you’ve ever seen. He was six weeks with me by then and he’d come on in leaps and bounds. He’d got stronger and hardier and his face had filled out and as Maureen said it was the type of face that was quick to smile. Anyway, he walked hand in hand with me up the aisle to the christening font and there wasn’t a gig out of him throughout the whole thing. As good as gold he was. The same couldn’t be said for Frank, his godfather . . .

      Maureen told me he was all nerves that morning. You’d swear it was himself that was being baptised, she said. Nothing would do him but to have a few stiff ones before he sat into the car for the church and I suppose the heat of the place got to him when he was inside because when he stood across the christening font from me he had this high colour in his face and a smell of whiskey off him that would knock a horse. Swaying back on his heels he was with a smile on his face like a man who was going to burst into song at any moment. Maureen gave him a shot of the elbow and that woke him up and he looked around him like he didn’t know where he was. Then he started rooting in his inside pocket and pulled out his tobacco and a box of matches. For a split second I thought he was going to roll up a fag and throw the match into the christening font. Maureen looked like she was going to split him. Father Scallen was looking at Frank and Frank was looking off into the distance like he had other things on his mind. Then he turns the pack of tobacco over in his hand and takes out this folded handkerchief from under it and blows his nose.