PICTURES OF PORTLAOISE

PART ONE

The history of aviation is a propeller shrieking in his head: a blade that lacerates the past into a million random cells. But sometimes the mayhem shudders to a halt, and words - each one a hammerblow on steel - fill the darkened room.

“The first aeroplane flight lasted for twelve seconds.”

Blankets stir on the floor. A young woman rubs her eyes and folds the outstretched arms.

“What are we going to do with you at all? Shush now, it's OK, I'm right here beside you....”

She kisses his forehead and returns to the mattress; watches in horror as the arms unfold into silent, rigid wings.

* * *

“Please, Daddy, just one more little spoon.”

Her eyes close in frustration as the food dribbles down his chin.

“Now, there you are. I'll just tuck in your hands and you'll be as snug as a bug in a rug.”

She props him against the pillows and, cursing the voice in her head, the voice that sneers USELESS USELESS USELESS, points around the room.

“Look, there's all your books. Virgil, Homer, Sophocles… Look, I brought them all, every single one. They're not in order yet, but I'm going to fix them up. I'll have them exactly the way you like them. And look, I have a surprise for you. What do you think?”

Stepping into the middle of the room, she sashays like a little girl.

“What do you think, Daddy? Does the colour suit me? I was very lucky to get it. It was the last one in the store.”

USELESS. USELESS. USELESS.

* * *

“Morning, Catherine. The door was open. How are you, Liam? Are you not yourself? Did you not sleep? Sure I'm as bad myself. Twisting and turning half the night, praying for the bit of light through the curtains. I might as well-”

“The Boeing 747 can carry up to five hundred passengers.”

“Don't be fretting yourself, it's only me. Would you not stick in his arms? He'll catch his death of the cold.”

“I told you before. There's no point.”

“Still, if anyone walked in… Do you know what I have for you, Liam? A bit of news. I met the new curate after mass and he said he might drop in. Won't you look forward to that? Of course you will.... Wouldn't you pity him, lying there like a corpse. I wonder does he notice us at all or is he just remembering? Did I ever tell you about the first day he arrived?”

“You did.”

“He had digs with Mrs. Hargroves down by the Dead Wall. Me and your Mammy were coming up Coote Street when this grand-looking lad asked for directions to the library. Even then, he was a woeful man for the books. Tessie and myself thought he was gorgeous. So shy and well- mannered. Your Mammy was the lucky girl. He had his pick of the town. It was the night of the Nurses' Dance. Toby Bannon's orchestra was playing a foxtrot, one of Victor Silvester's, when he walked across the floor and, to tell the truth, I thought it was for myself he was coming.... Every eye in the place was on them. You'd swear they were royalty.”

“The De Havilland Comet was the world's first jet airliner.”

“Would you not stick in his hands?”

“He's not cold.”

“And a year later he took her to the altar. Did she ever tell you how he proposed to her?”

“Many times. The longer we were in the States, the more she spoke about the past.”

“Isn't it a wonder he never brought her back for a holiday, and all belonging to her here? Anyway, where was I? He was a terrible man. It was New Year's Eve, and the three of us were going up to the Statue for the rosary. That used to be a great occasion. The accordion band, choir, altar boys, the whole works. Outside Turpin's, didn't he go down on one knee and pop the question. Just like that. In full view of half the town. I thought he was only codding, or maybe he had a few drinks, but Tessie was grinning like the cat that got the cream. Even in the dark I could she was delighted. I told him to get up out of that and not be making a stook of himself in public. But the next Saturday, didn't they go to Dublin and come back with the ring. Isn't that a grand story?”

“He was always very romantic.”

“When ye came along he was so proud he used to wheel the pram himself.... Where did he find the time for all that studying? The head always stuck in a book. He even read them to ye. I used to say would you not try something they might understand, a nursery rhyme or a little song? Then he'd start into this lecture on what did he call it? The glory that was Greece, the... the....”

“Grandeur that was Rome.”

“That's it. The glory that was Greece, the grandeur that was Rome. Tessie never minded him at all. She used to leave him at it and come up to me. We had the I.C.A. and the Children of Mary. But wasn't she lucky all the same? Not many men would sit at home under two young ones. Especially in those days.”

“In June 1928. Amelia Earhart became the first woman to fly the Atlantic.”

“It's OK, Daddy, I'm right here beside you.”

“And then he took ye all off to America. What came over him at all? Hadn't he great prospects here?”

“The college made him a wonderful offer. I guess he just saw a brighter future in the States.”

“And here he is, back home again.”

“Listen Josie, I need to get some groceries. Would you mind sitting with him a while?”

“Of course I wouldn’t. You go on and take your time.”

* * *

“Is she looking after you at all? I know she means well, but you'd be far better off in Shaen or Mountmellick. And she'd want to start minding herself too, so she would. She's got as cross as a bag of cats. I couldn't believe it the morning I walked in and saw the mattress. I suppose all the traipsing up and down the stairs was wearing her out, but still.... She'd want to watch herself or, one of these days, she'll go out like-”

“The first aeroplane flight in Europe took place at Bagatalle, France.”

“Whisht now, Liam, you're only upsetting yourself. Poor Tessie. Imagine dropping in the street like that. Sure no wonder you're not yourself.”

* * *

“Look at me, Daddy, crying again. Just like Mom. She used to cry for the smallest reason. Do you remember that? Did she cry that morning on Second Avenue? Was she crying before she hit the ground? What was the last word she spoke? Was it Liam? Michael? Jesus? Catherine?”

* * *

“I... I came to apologise. I don't know what came over me. I was just so... so disappointed.”

“You were horny.”

“Please, Catherine, I didn't mean it.”

“You knew exactly what you were saying. Isn't it what this whole damn town is thinking? Listen, Paul, do you take me for a fool? You make a pass at me, and when I'm not interested you... you insult my father.”

“I didn't mean it. It's just that... I mean... Well... I thought we had something.”

“What is 'something'? We've known each other a couple of months. You come to visit, take me out to dinner once. Is that 'something'?”

“But I thought....”

“Whatever you thought, you got it wrong.”

“But when you kissed me....”

“So that's it? I was... it was... a moment of weakness. No, a gesture of gratitude... a way of saying that I do appreciate the support you've given me. And you tried to take advantage of that.”

“You shouldn't have kissed me.”

"What? I say thanks for something and you accuse me of trying to seduce you. What did you expect? Here? In this very room? Is that what you wanted in return for kindness?”

“Now you're being hysterical.”

“Is that what you wanted? Excuse me, Mr. Mangan, would you mind moving over? I want to-”

“That's disgusting. I only came to apologise.”

“Los Angeles airport is the most dangerous in the world.”

“Now look what you've done. It's alright, Daddy, it's alright.”

“How is he today?”

“Do you really need to ask? He's exactly what you called him. C'mon, see for yourself. Look. That's how he is. A vegetable.... My father is a vegetable. There's inspiration for you. Off you go and write about that.”

“Please, Catherine....”

“Won't that impress your literary friends? I can hear them already. Paul is so sensitive. He writes with such compassion.”

“I think I'd better go. I only came to apologise.”

“Has the Muse descended already? Do you have to rush away and get it down before it's gone? Go on then... back to your garret. Or is it your drawing-room? I can see you... our local genius... the Portlaoise Man of Letters... reclining on your couch like Oscar fucking Wilde! Jesus, you make me sick. This town makes me sick. He makes me sick. My own father makes me sick.”

“Please, Catherine, don't cry.... Are you alright?”

“'Put him into a home and start to live'. Live! And start by making it with you.”

“Stop it, Catherine, I didn't mean it. I don't deserve this.”

“What about me? What do I deserve? I threw everything away. My career, my friends, my ... sex to care for him... to care for a vegetable. Do I deserve that...? Do you know what I was thinking? Something that hasn't crossed my mind in years. I was thirteen, and we were at Tara's funeral. She was my best friend. She died from leukemia. I received Communion and, when I got back to my seat, I bit on the host. Chewed it like a piece of gum. I lived in fear for months afterwards. I couldn't bear to look at a crucifix... terrified that he would come and strike me down. That's what Mom used to say when we were sassy. 'Conduct yourselves or Holy God will come and strike you down'.”

* * *

“They told me that a cop had to pull you away from her. Is that true, Daddy? Did a cop drag you away? What was in your mind as the ambulance raced to Mount Sinai? They say that when you're drowning, your past flashes before you in an instant. Does the same thing happen when someone you love is dying in your arms? Does your life together flash before you? Did that happen to you, Daddy? The first evening by the Dead Wall? The Nurses' Dance? The first time she made love to you? What were you thinking as she lay dying on the sidewalk? How you'd tell me? How we'd contact Michael? How do you explain to kids that Mommy is never coming home? Is that what you were thinking? Please, Daddy, I need to know. Do you remember the hospital, Daddy? Kneeling beside her bed, screaming at those flowers on the window. 'Look at them, Tess, they're still alive! Those damn flowers are still alive!' Then you started to laugh. I'll never forget that, Daddy. I'll never forget the way you laughed.”

* * * “I just happened to meet Father Horan, so I said I'd bring him in.”

“I'm pleased to meet you, Father.”

“My pleasure, Miss Mangan. And this is your poor father.... ”

“Isn't he a pitiful sight, Father?”

“Do you mind me asking, but... how long is he... like this?”

“Almost a year. The morning after-”

“The first non-stop flight around the world took place in 1949.”

“That's all he ever says, Father. Oul' gibberish about aeroplanes.”

“The morning after my mother died, we got the news about my brother. He was living in Florida. On the way home for the funeral, his plane crashed right after take-off. His... his body was never found.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“When I told Daddy, he didn't say a word. Just went to his room. No matter how I pleaded he just screamed at me to go away, that he had nothing left to live for anymore.”

“The poor man.”

“Our parish priest came over, but he still refused to go to the funeral. Someone from the college stayed with him and when I got back, he never even mentioned Mom or Michael. Just asked for those books.”

“Books?”

“He was always a great man for the learning, Father.”

“Books about aeroplanes, the history of aviation. I tried to talk about the funeral, but he just covered his ears and said how much he needed those books. Eventually, his friend agreed to go to the library and, when he returned, Daddy shouted at us to go away, that he had work to do. When I looked in again, he was exactly like you see him now.”

“God help him.”

“Over the next few months, he was taken to different hospitals, seen by every kind of specialist. But it was no use.”

“They had no idea at all?”

“They could find no organic disorder. They were all agreed on that, but I've lost count of the other reasons they put forward. Catalepsy. Catatonia. Post-trauma stress syndrome... or was it post-stress trauma? I can't remember. He just withdrew into himself.”

“Do you know something, Father? He was the finest man that ever walked this town. ”

“There was nothing left for us in the States. I hoped that bringing him home might have some effect on him. Even after so long. I guess I was really hoping for a miracle.”

“But she couldn't even get him into a wheelchair. Honest to God, Father, he was as stiff as a poker.”

A vegetable. My father is a vegetable.

“Everyone has been so good to us.”

“She did her best, so she did, but she couldn't bend him at all."

USELESS. USELESS. USELESS.

“I'm sorry, Father, but I never offered you anything.”

“No thank you, Catherine. Don't trouble yourself.”

“Please, Father?”

“A cup of tea would be lovely then. Thank you very much.”

“I won't be a minute....”

“You can't beat a nice cup of tea. I could never take to the coffee at all. Especially the decapitated. It gives me woeful migraine.”

“Isn't she a wonderful person, Mrs Carter?”

“Her poor mother was the same. Waited on himself hand and foot- God, what's that? What's wrong, Catherine, you're as white as a sheet!”

“Scientia potestas est! Mensa mensa mensam.”

“Look at her eyes, Father!”

“Are you unwell, Catherine? Is there anything we can do?”

“I want to be alone. Go away, go away!”

“Maybe we should call the doctor?”

“I said go away! Go away! I want to be alone!”

“Are you sure, Catherine? Come along, Mrs Carter, we can-”

“Leave me alone! Close that door! Damn you! Damn you! Damn you!”

“In Kitty Hawk, North....”

“Daddy, you bastard! Oh, Mike, Mike.”

Clutching at the blankets, she drags her father from the bed - Bastard! Bastard! - and presses the pillow to his face. The rigid wings shudder for an instant, then agitate the air.

“It should've been you, Daddy. It should've been you....”

She falls across his body and, slowly, silence fills the room like darkness.

PART TWO

She examines the paperweight as if it were a precious stone, then holds it to her eyes.

"I can't see you. I can't see anything at all. Just like the Dead Wall."

"That glass is very thick."

With a bang that makes his papers jump, she drops it on the desk. "See, it didn't break. Not like him."

Her eyes dart to the clock. "When is he coming?"

"It won't be long now. He should be here any minute.... How are you today?"

"Fine."

"Still sleeping well?"

"I sleep fine. When is he coming?"

"Soon now, very soon.... Yesterday, you mentioned your games. Would you like to tell me more about them?"

"Do you know that two Wrights made an aeroplane, but two wrongs can't make a right."

"Very good.I must remember that.... Would you like to tell me about your games?"

"They started before we went to America. I'm sure of that."

"You were obviously very young?"

"Three, maybe four. He used to put fruit - apples, oranges, bananas - in a heap on the kitchen table. We had to close our eyes and sort them out.

"Did you enjoy that game?"

"We both loved it. He was so proud when we got it right. And Mom used to stand there with tears in her eyes."

"She was crying?"

"Not crying. Just tears."

"Did she ever join in your games?"

"No."

"Why was that?"

"He wouldn't let her. She used to buy us things. Toys... picture books... jigsaws but he threw them in the garbage. Said they weren't tactile enough. He should be here by now. Something must have happened."

"It won't be long now. Can you remember anything else?"

"Later, he placed a stopwatch on the table to see who would finish first. Then there were the men."

"Men?"

"I always wanted to do a lady, but he said it had to be a man."

"You were painting?"

"Drawing. He used to get so mad when I didn't put everything in. Mike's were always perfect. Five perfect fingers. Even in the dark"

"In the dark?"

"One night there was a thunderstorm and all the lights went out. He told us to keep working; that we didn't need our eyes. Later on, he gave us these cards. First we had to identify each colour, then say what they reminded us of. Green for grass and Daddy's sweater. Blue for sky and Mommy's dress. Black for coal and Cathy's shoes. Red for blood and Mike's fire-engine. He stood over us, writing everything down. When we were finished, he spent hours studying that notebook."

Footsteps halt outside the door. Catherine runs to open it.

"Oh Mike, are you OK? I was so worried, I thought you weren't coming."

"I'm fine Cathy, just fine."

"Good afternoon, Mr Mangan."

"Good afternoon, Doctor. Did I keep you waiting?"

"Not at all. Would you like a chair?"

"Oh Mike, I miss you so much. Are you sure you're OK?"

"Honestly Cathy, I'm fine."

"You're well settled in by now?"

"The hotel is fine. And I've been walking through the town, doing some 'exploring'. Places she used to talk about. The white statue, the prison, the monument. That amazing wall by the railroad."

"The Dead Wall."

"Dead Wall?"

"According to local legend, someone jumped from it years ago...."

"That's where she saw him first."

"Who? Catherine?"

"That's where he met Mom. At the Dead Wall."

"I never knew that.... It's kind of weird passing places they knew all those years ago. I kept imagining what it might be like if we had stayed. He might still be teaching school. We-"

"Mike, you look so much better now. That morning you looked so sad."

"That's the morning you arrived?"

"Yes. "

"You had never been back before?"

"No, none of us had. But when the train pulled in, I was amazed by how much I could remember. The metal bridge, the wind blowing along the platform, the church spire across the rooftops. When I found the house, it felt... I don't know... spooky. I guess I was still scared, still afraid of him. I saw this store across the street. I looked in thbe window, waiting for... the courage to knock the door."

"I should have told you that there was nothing to be scared of. That he was a- But I didn't. Something happened when I saw you. It all came back... everything he did to us... It all swept over me... the wall was gone."

"It's a phenomenon known as repressed memory. Typically, a response to events which involve death, or physical or sexual abuse. Events which destroy an idealised image of some loved one. In simple terms, the mind refuses to accept that something terrible has happened."

"But why was it only Cathy who was... affected? We were always so close and we both... suffered the same."

"I honestly can't answer that. But it may be related to the fact that you... got away. In other words, you accepted what happened and dealt with it in your own way."

"And Cathy didn't?"

"Precisely. Your life in New York... your experiences with your father... her mind simply blocked them out."

"There was a wall, and when I opened the door, it was gone."

"A classic case of recall. Broadly speaking, three factors can trigger the recall of a repressed memory. Therapy. Anniversaries. Similar events, sights or experiences. When Cathy saw you, something, so to speak, clicked, and she remembered everything she had repressed for years."

"It seem so simple, so straightforward."

"Perhaps, but it's an area we're only beginning to have a fuller understanding of."

"What is there to understand? He destroyed our lives! And he destroyed Mom too. She couldn't take it anymore. She said nothing for years, but it all built up inside her.... She was cleaning the den and knocked over some of his papers. I saw her crawling around the floor, trying to pick them up. I saw him standing in the doorway, screaming: Why are you doing this to me! "

"Please, Cathy, don't upset yourself."

"What do you know? You have no idea. No idea about anything. You were with that tramp in Florida, so what do you know?

"Please, Catherine-"

"He stormed out of the apartment and left her crying on the floor. She ran after him.... I tried to stop her... She collapsed on the street and died on the way to Mount Sinai. Her heart was broken. She could take no more. Her poor heart was broken."

"Would you like to rest for a while?"

"No, Doctor. I'm fine. He seemed to change so much in New York. It wasn't a game anymore. In First Grade we had to study a dictionary. Can you imagine that? Abacus. Abandon. Abbot. Abhor. We were only kids. And Mom just sat there, watching us with tears in her eyes. Too afraid to say anything."

"She was weak."

"That's not fair, Mike."

"She never tried to stop him. Just sat in that chair and blubbered. I hated those tears. I hated her weakness. That's why I didn't come to the funeral. I despised her, that's why. And it was a way of getting at him, a way of making him suffer all the more."

"You're wrong, Mike, she always loved you.... When we couldn't say the words, he told us we had two minutes. We could hear the ticking of the stopwatch. Like a bomb waiting to go off. If we knew them, he'd tell us we were lucky. If we didn't, he locked us in our rooms and took away the light bulbs. I used to lie there, rigid in the darkness, too afraid to even breathe. I used to imagine that the words were birds... I could see them... vultures... clawing at my lips. Pronounce. Proof. Prop. Propel. When we were older, seven or eight, I guess, he taught us Latin and Greek. He used to wake us at dawn. He said our brains were more receptive then. Mensa, Mensa, mensam. Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta.... He was always much harder on Mike."

"Was there a particular reason for this?"

"Mike was so much like him."

"I guess I just absorbed things faster. Or maybe I was just more scared than Cathy."

"He hated you because he saw that you were brilliant too, that eventually you would surpass him."

"What I could never figure was the contradiction. He wanted us to be 'brilliant', yet, when we did show signs of exceptional achievement, he seemed to hate us all the more. When he wasn't helping us - that's what he called it, 'helping' us - there had to be complete silence while he wrote in those notebooks."

"We couldn't watch TV or bring friends home."

"That's right. Remember Tara? She was Cathy's best friend and I guess I had a crush on her. He stopped her calling to the house. 'Inferior material' he called her. Inferior material."

"I was afraid he'd come down from the cross when I was sleeping. But I locked him up. Every night, before I went to bed, I locked him up. In his garret like Oscar Wilde."

"Who was that, Catherine, who were you afraid of?"

"Him. I was afraid of him."

"Was he ever violent to your mother?"

"He had no need to be. She was already terrified of him. Terrified of her love for him, terrified of his-"

"Craziness."

"She thought he was crazy?"

"He was. Icarus."

"Sorry, Catherine, I didn't catch that."

"Icarus."

"I don't understand."

"That was years later. We were on vacation in the Catskills. A colleague of his had a cabin there. Do you remember, Cathy? One morning, it was still dark, he woke us and said he wanted to show us something."

"He brought us to the edge of a cliff and made us look down."

"We were still half-asleep."

"'Why are you afraid? What have I always taught you? There is no such thing as.... Say it!'"

"'There is no such thing as useless information.'"

"'Every thought that passes.... Say it, say it!'"

"'Every thought that passes through my mind is sacred.'"

"'Nam et ipsa.... Say it! Say it!'"

"'You're hurting me, Daddy. Nam et ipsa scientia potestas est.'"

"'With the gift of knowledge you can fly. On the wings of knowledge you are Icarus, borne above the ignorance of this world. You are Icarus, soaring from the snares of ignorance. Why are you afraid? Have I not given you the wings of knowledge?'"

"Please, Daddy."

"That's exactly how it was. But we never told anyone. Even when we were old enough to realise that there was something wrong with him. He was at his worst when we had examinations. If we didn't get the highest grades, he locked us in our rooms...."

"Wasn't there a teacher, a friend, anyone you could talk to?"

"We agreed not to." DD>"You agreed not to tell anyone? Why?"

"We were too scared."

"No, Mike, because we loved him."

"I meant to ask you this earlier, Michael. When did you finally leave home?"

"After everything else, it was weird really... that such a simple thing, a complete misunderstanding, finally gave me the guts, the courage to get away."

"Mike graduated summa cum laude and we were so excited. We all were, except him."

"He just shook my hand - like he was greeting someone at a funeral - and turned into his den."

"That night, I heard Mike crying in his room. I went in and lay beside him. When he found us in the morning, he woke Mom and pushed her in before him, accusing us of terrible things."

"He said it was all her fault... that her weakness was responsible. I know I said I hated her, but, that morning, I felt so sorry for her. She looked so helpless... so old... trembling in her nightdress. If Cathy hadn't come between us, I swear I would have killed him."

"Then he became so calm, so composed. I can still see him, smiling in the doorway, the kind of smile that said: go ahead, do your damnedest, but we all know who's in charge here."

"And that was the last time I saw him until I arrived here."

"He deserved to die. I should have done it years ago."

"How did he react to Michael going away?"

"Unless someone asked, he never mentioned Mike. Then he said that he was living in Europe. It seems impossible to believe that everything could have been so normal, but it was."

"How did your mother take it?"

"She took his side completely. My father's, I mean. What a terrible thing it was for any child to threaten his own father... that it was a wonder God didn't strike him down....

"Mike looked so sad that morning. My heart stopped, the wall came crashing down and I saw everything that happened the morning she died."

"'He's not coming! Do you hear me? Mike's not coming. He's never coming home. His own mother and he won't be coming home. All because of you. Why won't you listen? I know why. That's it, isn't it? You know what you've done to us, and soon everyone else will too, because I'm calling the police. Right now. Do you hear me? I'm calling the police.'"

"But how could I? How could I? My own father."