Always came to work with clean hands; always left work with clean hands. Nails were important too. Nothing wrong with using your hands for a living, but that didn’t mean that you arrived in or went home with the dirt under your nails. Jennings would do that an odd time, yes. Over he’d march with a customer or a bigwig visiting, grab his hands and lift them up, turn them over. Look at these, Jennings’d say. This is Joe Byrne, the best Parts man in Dublin. Look at those hands, would you? Not a speck of dirt, not a speck! And do you know why? ‘Cause there’s no messing goes on here. No dirty work here, sir!’ The smell of the few jars off Jennings took a bit of the pleasure out of it, of course. He’d go on a bit too much about it by times, especially if he’d started early on the bottle. Once he’d apologized to him but it hadn’t clicked with him at the time. It was the apology that had done more damage. But how could he get mad at Jennings for that? Sorry there, Joe, about the “passing it onto the sons” bit. Forgot. It was the drink. A good oul skin, Jennings.
“So you told the Guard, did you, Joe?”
What was she on about now?
“Yes, I did.”
Modern medicine, of course. They could do anything nowadays. Maybe it had been psychological. But why was it that men could go at it all the way up until they were ninety? Even thinking about it still got him going. Did Mary notice? What the hell was Timmy nosing around there in the reeds? He pulled hard; the dog yelped. Dirty? No. That’s what was so wrong. The church. You couldn’t enjoy yourself without thinking you’d go to hell for it. All that was changing, of course. A bit bloody late for him though, wasn’t it?
“The night it happened, I meant, Joe.”
They were out from under the trees now. The sun felt like hot liquid on his head. He looked at the rows of windows on the new offices. Mirrors. The buildings reminded him of blind people but he didn’t know why.
“What are you on about?”
“Oh, all right then, leave it. You’re too annoyed, I can tell.”
“Leave what, for the love of God?”
She tightened her grip and looked up into his eyes. It was something she’d always done when the going got rough. He used to think it was a move she’d seen in a film, that she wanted to be cuddled or something. It was her way of getting her way, he had learned.
“The oul hip might be shook, Joe, but the head is still working.”
“Well, maybe it is, but it’s certainly coming out with queer things, let me tell you.”
“Where else would you take the dog? I mean to say, where else would you go?”
“What are you saying?”
“I know you go out later on, Joe. Sometimes, I mean. After I’m gone to bed, like.”
He let his eyes wander from hers across the water to the reeds. The plastic bags caught there looked full. A black rubbish bag looked like the coat on someone floating in the water.
“It’s just that I was thinking of the girl, Joe.”
She’d known all along? She pulled at his arm. He turned to her.
“I don’t care, Joe! I know you’re a good man and all. Don’t get me wrong.”
“My God! What are you saying? What are you thinking?”
“Ah, there you go. You can’t listen.”
“Listen to what? You’re telling me I go down here every night looking at them?”
She shook his arm.
“I did not. All I’m saying is that she was a girl and-”
“I’ll tell you what she was, if you really want to know! A brasser, that’s what she was!”
A pained expression crossed her face. She spoke in a murmur now.
“She has a mother and father, Joe. My God, I have to sit down again. I’m locking up.”
The anger fled from around his heart. He helped her into a seat. The drill resumed its clatter. They watched the traffic on the far side of the canal. Even the dog seemed to get the message. He sat down and looked up at him. Didn’t want to move, that was odd for Timmy. He patted him on the head, lingered and began rubbing under his jaw. Timmy began to pant.
“Look,” she said as the drill fell silent again. The swans had landed up near Baggot Street bridge. They were keeping to the middle of the canal.
“That’s what I thought it was at first, you know.”
“What, Joe?”
He folded his arms.
“Well, they ought to do something with the bloody lights, shouldn’t they? If they were really going to get serious with what goes on around here. I mean there are parts of the bloody canal where it’s nearly pitch- black.”
“Up near the bridge there?”
“And down by the railings too. It’s only common sense! If they’re broken, fix them.”
“But the young lads are always fecking stones up at the lights and breaking them, Joe.”
He looked up beyond the swans at a double decker bus going over the bridge. He couldn’t read the ad on the side of the bus. The eyes definitely weren’t this poor last year. A wave of despair washed over him. Soon the strength would be gone from his arms even. He’d end up hobbling around like Mary or something.
“By the bridge, was it, Joe?”
“A white thing,” he murmured. “I only seen it for a moment. Moving.”
“What was it, Joe? The white thing.”
“My God, I don’t know! It could have been anything.”
He pointed at a passing van.
“Sure, I have trouble reading that. That’s the way the eyes have gone with me, for God’s sake. What could I tell a Guard about anything I might’ve seen with them eyes?”
Mary Byrne said nothing.
“Look,” he said. “When’s the last time you were down there on the bank, by the railings there? You can’t see a bloody thing! I thought to meself, well, maybe it’s a swan taking shelter there or something-God, I don’t know!”
“But they never stay, Joe, they never sleep on the canal. Not any more.”
“I know, I know. You know how they used to stay the nights years ago, how they’d sleep with their heads in under their feathers. Like they were hiding their faces. Ashamed of something, you used to say. Remember? Then I think to meself, maybe it’s a ball belonging to a child. Then I hear language. Oh, language like you wouldn’t hear outside of a jail or something. It was a woman’s voice too. So take a guess at what she was up to, like, what her line of business was, I says to myself. Do you think I was going to go back and get right down there to see if I knew her maybe? Not on your life!”
“How long was that going on?”
“Do you mean how long was I standing there listening? What do you think I am?”
She sighed and rubbed at the back of her hand.
“Sure where would you start telling them stuff, Mary? If we told them everything we saw down here over the years, sure we’d be there talking to them all day and all night. I know what I should be telling them, and that’s the class of person what comes down here-I mean the clients, the ones who come by here. Married men and all, business types. Fancy cars.”
He sat forward on the bench.
“Should I be telling them about the fancy cars that I see here? Didn’t a Mercedes go up and down here the other night, didn’t I point it out to you? Going up and down there? The type of creature what comes by here isn’t just your average chancer.”
She frowned.
“I don’t remember you saying that to me, Joe.”
“Ah, sure! You and cars, Mary. What am I starting here…”
“Maybe you saw it the other night.”
A retort was on his lips but it didn’t come out. She was right. Surely to God, the memory wasn’t going on him. It was her getting up his back, confusing him, caused that slip.
“I think it’d do no harm,” she murmured.
