Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha

  —I’ll burst you if you don’t.

  I didn’t know how they hadn’t heard it. The hall light was off. They were supposed to leave it on. I got to the bottom of the stairs. The lino at the hall door was freezing. I checked: Sinbad was still whining.

  I loved getting him into trouble. This way was best. I could pretend I was helping.

  They were watching a cowboy film. Da wasn’t pretending to read the paper.

  —Francis is crying.

  Ma looked at Da.

  —He won’t stop.

  They looked, and Ma stood up. It took her ages to get up straight.

  —He’s been doing it all night.

  —Go on back up, Patrick; come on.

  I went up ahead of her. I waited at the beginning of the real dark to make sure she was coming after me. I stood beside Sinbad’s bed.

  —Ma’s coming, I told him.

  It would have been better if it had been Da. She wasn’t going to do anything to him. She’d talk to him, that was all, maybe hug him. I wasn’t disappointed though. I didn’t want to get him now. I was cold.

  —She’s coming, I told him again.

  I’d rescued him.

  He made his whining go a bit louder, and Ma pushed the door open. I got into bed. There was still some of the warmth left from earlier.

  Da wouldn’t have done anything either; the same as Ma, he’d have done.

  —Ah, what’s wrong, Francis?

  She didn’t say it like What’s wrong this time.

  —I’ve a pain in my legs, Sinbad told her.

  His rhythm was breaking down: she’d come.

  —What sort of a pain?

  —A bad one.

  —In both your legs?

  —Yeah.

  —Two pains.

  —Yeah.

  She was rubbing his face, not his legs.

  —Like the last time.

  —Yeah.

  —That’s terrible; you poor thing.

  Sinbad got a whimper out.

  —That’s you growing up, you know, she told him.

  —You’ll be very tall.

  I never got pains in my legs.

  —Very tall. That’ll be great, won’t it? Great for robbing apples.

  That was brilliant. We laughed.

  —Is it going now? she asked him.

  —I think so.

  —Good.—Tall and handsome. Very handsome. Lady-killers. Both of you.

  When I opened my eyes again she was still there. Sinbad was asleep; I could hear him.

  We all baled into the hall; threepence each to Mister Arnold and we were through. All the front seats were taken by the little kids from high babies and low babies and the other classes under us. It didn’t matter cos when they turned the lights off we’d get up on our seats; it was better at the back. Sinbad was in there with his class, wearing his new glasses. One of the eyes was blacked, like Missis Byrne’s on our road. Da said it was to give the other one a chance to catch up because it was lazy. We’d got Golly Bars on the way home from the place in town where Sinbad had got the glasses. We came home in the train. Sinbad told Ma that when he was a man he was going to get the first five pounds he ever earned and bring it in the train and pull the emergency cord and pay the fine.

  —What job, Francis?

  —Farmer, he told her.

  —Farmers don’t go in the train, I said.

  —Why don’t they? said Ma.—Of course they do.

  Sinbad’s glasses had wire bits that went right around the back of his ears and made them stick out, to stop him from losing them, but he lost them anyway.

  Some Fridays we didn’t have proper school after the little break; we went to the pictures instead, in the hall. We were warned on Thursdays to bring in threepence to get in, but Aidan and Liam forgot their threepences once and they still got in; they just had to wait till everyone else had gone in. We said that it was because Mister O’Connell didn’t have sixpence to give them—I thought it up—but they brought in the money on Monday. Aidan cried when we kept saying it.

  Henno was in charge of the projector. He thought he was great. He stood beside it like it was a Spitfire or something. The projector was on a table at the back of the hall, in the middle between the rows of seats. For a dare when the lights were turned off, we crawled out into the aisle and got up a 67 bit and made shapes with our hands in the path of light that the projector made; the shape - usually a dog barking—would go up on the screen on the stage at the top of the hall. That was the easy part. The hard bit was getting back to your seat before they turned the lights back on. Everyone would try to stop you, to keep you trapped in the aisle. They’d kick you and stand on your hands when you were crawling under the seats. It was brilliant.

  —Take out your English copies, said Henno.

  We waited.

  —Anois10

  We took them out. All my copies were covered in wallpaper that our Auntie Muriel had left over when she was doing her bathroom and she gave my da about ten rolls of it.

  —She must have thought she was going to be papering the Taj Mahal, he said.

  —Ssh, said Ma.

  I’d used a plastic stencil for the names. Patrick Clarke. Mister Hennessey. English. Keep Out.

  —These rows, here and here, said Henno.—Bring your copies with you. Seasaígí suas.11

  When we got to the hall we gave our copies to Henno and he put them under the front legs of the projector so the picture would hit the screen bang on.

  The teachers stood at the side and went Shh all through the films. They leaned against the wall in twos and threes and smoked, some of them. Only Miss Watkins patrolled around but she never caught anyone cos we would see her head on the screen when she was coming up the aisle.

  —Get out of the way!

  —Get out of the way!

  If it was a sunny day outside we could see hardly anything on the screen because the curtains on the windows weren’t thick enough. We cheered when a cloud got in the way of the sun and we cheered when the sun came back out. Sometimes we just heard the film. But it was easy to tell what was happening.

  It always started with two or three Woody Woodpeckers. I could do Woody Woodpecker’s voice.

  —Stop that! a teacher would say.

  —Shhh!

  But they gave up early. By the time Woody Woodpecker was finished and The Three Stooges came on most of the teachers weren’t in the hall any more, just Henno and Mister Arnold and Miss Watkins. My Woody Woodpecker hurt the back of my throat but it was worth it.

  —I know that’s you, Patrick Clarke.

  We could see Miss Watkins squinting in at us but she couldn’t see anything.

  —Do it again.

  I waited till she was looking straight at us, then I did it.

  —WAA-CAH-CAH-CAH-CEHHH-CUH—

  —Patrick Clarke!

  —It wasn’t me, Miss.

  —It was the bird in the picture, Miss.

  —Your head’s in the way, Miss.

  —Hey; you can see Miss’s nits in the light!

  She went down to Henno at the projector but he wouldn’t stop it for her.

  —WAA-CAH-CAH-CAH-CEHHH-CUH—

  I loved The Three Stooges as well. Sometimes it was Laurel and Hardy but I preferred The Three Stooges. Some of the fellas called them The Three Stoogies but I knew it was Stooges because my da told me. We could never tell what the story was about in their films; there was too much noise and, anyway, all they ever did was beat each other up. Larry and Moe and Curly, that was their names. Kevin poked my eyes the way the Stooges did it - we were in the field behind the shops, all of us—and I couldn’t see for ages. I didn’t know about that at first because of the pain; I couldn’t open my eyes. It was like all the headaches I used to get; it was like the headaches you got when you ate ice-cream too fast; it was like being hit with a soft branch across the eyes. I had my hands covering my eyes and I wouldn’t take them down. I was shaking the way my sister, Catherine, d
id when she’d been crying and bawling for ages. I didn’t want to do it.

  I didn’t know I was screaming. They told me later. It had scared them, I could tell. The next time I got hurt, when I cut my shoulder on a nail on a goalpost, I screamed then as well. But, because I’d decided to do it, I thought it sounded stupid. I stopped and rolled on the ground, in the wet. My da went down to Kevin’s house when he came home from work and Ma told him what had happened. I watched him from their bedroom window. When he came back he said nothing. Kevin didn’t know what had happened between my da and his da. He’d expected to be killed, especially when he saw the shape of my da through the hall door glass. But nothing happened him. His da did nothing, and didn’t even say anything to him. I told my da this when he was having his tea the day after; he didn’t look surprised or anything.

  I had two bloodshot eyes and one black one.

  The best thing about The Three Stooges was that there were no breaks. For the main film Hennessey had to change the reel and spin back the old one. The picture would go white with little coloured explosions and the sound would go; we’d hear the film clacking around, hitting against the empty spool. It took ages to get going again.

  They turned on the lights so Henno could see what he was doing. We got down off the seats in time. We played chicken; first down was a spa.

  Once, during the main film, Fluke Cassidy took one of his epileptic fits and no one noticed. It was The Vikings. The sun was covered by the clouds outside so we saw the whole film. Fluke fell off his chair, but that happened all the time. It was a great film, easily the best I’d ever seen. We stamped the floor to make Henno hurry up when the first reel finished. Then we saw Fluke.

  —Sir! Luke Cassidy’s having a fit.

  We all got far away from him in case we got the blame for it.

  Fluke had stopped shaking - he’d knocked over three chairs and Mister Arnold had put his jacket over him.

  —Maybe they won’t finish the film, said Liam.

  —Why won’t they?

  —Cos of Fluke.

  Mister Arnold called for coats.

  —Coats, lads; come on.

  —Let’s look, said Kevin.

  We went up two rows, and in, so we could get a proper look at Fluke. He only looked like he was asleep. He was whiter then normal.

  —Give him room, lads.

  Henno was with Mister Arnold now. They’d put four coats over Fluke. If they put one over his head that meant he was dead.

  —Someone to go to Mister Finnucane.

  Mister Finnucane was the headmaster.

  —Sir!

  —Sir!

  —Sir, me!

  —You. Henno chose Ian McEvoy.—Report what happened to Mister Finnucane. What happened?

  —Luke Cassidy took a fit, Sir.

  —Correct.

  —D’you want us to carry him, Sir?

  —OH YOU’RE ALL VERY QUIET IN THE BACK—YOU’RE ALL VERY QUIET -

  —Shut!—Up!—Sit—Down—.

  —That’s my place—!

  —Shut!—Up!

  We were all sitting down. I turned to Kevin.

  —Not a squeak, Mister Clarke, said Henno.—Face the screen. All of you.

  Kevin’s little brother, Simon, put his hand up. He was way up at the front.

  —Yes; you with your hand up.

  —Malachy O’Leary’s after going toilet.

  —Sit down.

  —Number twos.

  —Sit!—Down!

  The music in The Vikings was the best thing about it; it was brilliant. Any time there was a Viking boat coming home a fella on a cliff would see it and he’d blow the music through a huge horn and everyone would come out of their huts and run down to meet the boat. Whenever there was a battle they played the same music. It was brilliant; you remembered it for ever. In the end one of the main fellas was killed - I wasn’t sure which one - and they put him in his boat and covered him in wood; they set fire to it and pushed the boat out. I started humming the music, slower; I knew it was going to happen in the film. And it did.

  I killed a rat with a hurley. It was a fluke. I just swung the hurley. I didn’t know for definite that the rat was going to be coming my way. I hoped he wouldn’t. It was great though, the full feeling when the hurley smacked the rat’s side and lifted him way up; perfect.

  I whooped.

  —D’yeh see that?

  It was perfect. The rat lay there in the muck, twitching; there was stuff coming out of his mouth.

  —Champi-on! Champi-on! Champi-on!

  We crept up to him but I wanted to get there before the rest so I crept fast. He was still twitching.

  —He’s still twitching.

  —He isn’t. That’s his nerves.

  —The nerves die after the rest of him.

  —Did you see the way I got him?

  —I was waiting for him, said Kevin.—I’d’ve got him.

  —I got him.

  —What’ll we do with him? said Edward Swanwick.

  —Have a funeral.

  —Yeahhh!

  Edward Swanwick hadn’t seen The Vikings; he didn’t go to our school.

  We were in Donnelly’s yard, behind the barn. We’d have to smuggle the rat out.

  —Why?

  —It’s their rat.

  Questions like that spoiled everything.

  Uncle Eddie was in front of the house raking the gravel. Missis Donnelly was in the kitchen. Kevin went to the side of the barn and threw a stone in the hedge - a decoy - and looked.

  —She’s washing trousers.

  —Uncle Eddie’s dirtied his pants.

  —Uncle Eddie did a gick and Mister Donnelly put it on his cabbages.

  Two routes were blocked. We had to escape over the back wall, the way we’d got in.

  No one had picked up the rat yet.

  Sinbad was poking the stuff with his spear, the stuff that had come out of the rat’s mouth.

  —Pick him up, I told him, and I knew he wouldn’t.

  But he did. By the tail. He held him up and he let him twirl slowly.

  —Give us him, said Liam, but he didn’t put his hand out or try to take the rat off Sinbad.

  He wasn’t that big of a rat; his tail made him look bigger when he was on the ground but not the way Sinbad was holding him. I stood near Sinbad; he was my brother and he was holding a dead rat in his hand.

  The tide was going out. That was good; the plank wouldn’t keep coming back in. Sinbad had cleaned the rat. He’d put him on the ground under the pump at the cottages and he’d pumped four loads down on top of him. He wrapped the rat in his jumper with just his head showing.

  Kevin was holding the end of the plank, trying to stop it from bobbing.

  I started.

  —Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee—

  It sounded great, five voices together and the wind. Kevin picked the plank out of the water; there was a wave coming.

  —now and at the hour of our death amen.

  I was the priest because I was useless with matches. My job was done. Edward Swanwick sat on the wet steps and held the plank for Kevin. Kevin turned his back to the sea and the wind and lit the match. He turned and saved the flame by the shield of his hand. I loved the way he could do that.

  The flame lasted long enough. It was like a Christmas pudding for a while; I could see the fire but it wasn’t doing anything to the rat. I could smell the paraffin. They pushed the plank out, not too strong like a battleship; we didn’t want the fire to go out. The rat stayed on the plank. The fire was still going but the rat wasn’t changing.

  We all made trumpets out of our hands. Edward Swanwick as well even though he didn’t know what was happening.

  -Now.

  We all did The Vikings music.

  —DUH DEEH DUH - DUH

  DEEEH DUH—

  DUH DEEEH DUH DUH - DUH DUH - DUH

  DUH DUHHH—

  The flame lasted long enough for us to do it twice
.

  I had a book on top of my head. I had to get up the stairs without it falling off. If it fell off I would die. It was a hardback book, heavy, the best kind for carrying on your head. I couldn’t remember which one it was. I knew all the books in the house. I knew their shapes and smells. I knew what pages would open if I held them with the spine on the ground and let the sides drop. I knew all the books but I couldn’t remember the name of the one on my head. I’d find out when I got to the top, touched my bedroom door and got back down again. Then I could take it off my head - I’d bring my head forward slowly and let it slide off and I’d catch it—and see what it was. I could have seen the corner of the cover if I’d looked up very carefully; I could have got the name from the colour of the corner. But it was too dangerous. I had a mission to complete. Steady was better than too slow. If I went too slow I’d go all unsteady and I’d think I’d never make it and the book would fall off. Death. There was a bomb in the book. Steady was best, steps one two; no rush. Rushing was as bad as too slow. You panicked towards the end. Like Catherine walking across the living room. She walked fine for four or five steps, then you could see her face change because she saw that it was ages to go to the other side; her smile became a stretch, she knew she wouldn’t make it, she tried to get there quicker, she fell. She knew she was going to; her face got ready for it. She cried. Steady. Nearly at the top. The point of no return. Napoleon Solo. When you got to the top you had to get used to not having any more steps to go up; it was nearly like falling over.

  The toilet door opened.

  My da came out with his paper. He looked at me and past me.

  He spoke.

  —Monkey see, monkey do.

  He was looking down, past me.

  I turned my head. The book fell. I caught it. Our Man In Havana. Sinbad was on the stairs behind me with a book on his head. Ivanhoe. My book slid out of its cover and dropped onto the floor. I was dead.

  Liam broke his teeth playing Grand National. It was no one’s fault except his own. They were his second teeth, the ones he was supposed to have for the rest of his life. He split his lip as well.

  —His lip’s gone!

  That was what it looked like when it happened. The blood and the way he was holding his hand up to his mouth made it look like his whole mouth had been cut off. All that stood out was one big front tooth that was made pink by blood. The pink gathered into red at the bottom of the tooth and fell off, into what was behind his hand.