Broken Places

Broken Places


It was the only time in the week he had to himself anymore, this solitary hour
late on a Saturday night parked in the deserted Pay and Display by the river while he waited in the darkness for the playful tap of his daughter’s lacquered
fingernails on the window after the nightclubs spilled out.  Tonight, for the first
time, she was late.
He reached for the mobile resting on the dashboard, holding the phone away from himself at arm’s length, associating its lime-green luminescence with will-o’-the-wisp grave-lights dancing in the darkness.  Eyes squinting behind glasses, features creased in a hollow frown, he pressed the wee buttons with his thumbnail.

SAMANTHA URE
LATE, WHERE R
U? R U OK?
TXT B|


                                       50/765                      ABCD
                                       DELETE  M        OK

He paused, waiting for the thin flashing line on the screen to move on, to push the 2ABC button again, and realised he was wasting his time.  Sammi never took her mobile to work; she had nowhere to put it.  To distract himself from picking at the scabby mental wound, he reached underneath the seat.
Leather creaked and he grunted as his fingers padded about, flicking aside a crackly plastic wrapper and then tapping the cover of his book.  With his left thumb rifling backwards through the musty pages, he pinched the bridge of his nose between right forefinger and thumb, worrying at the buds of tension there until he found the passage he sought. 
A pattering startled him, but even as he glanced up, he knew it was not her, only the rain.  Dark eyes tracking oily teardrops down the windscreen, he watched streetlights blur and depthless streets running like paint; and tried not to think about his daughter.  Thoughts of her flooded his mind. 

What she did.
What she called exoticdancing.
His wee girl.
Samantha.
Stripping bucknaked.
For a bunch of pervertedwhoresons.
In that godforsaken dive.
That place.
She called a club. 
It would’ve broken her mother’s heart. 
Watching her drop out of college.
To go and make a whore of herself.
The shame would’ve killed her. 
But then.
Sammi wouldn’t have done it.
If her mother was still alive.
Would she? 

Sidestepping another pitfall in his mind, he blinked, switched his gaze from windscreen to page and then began to read.
If people bring so much courage to this
         world the world has to kill them to break
         them.  The world breaks everyone and
         afterward many are strong at the broken
         places.  But those that will not break it
         kills.  It kills the very gentle and the very
         brave impartially.  If you are none of these
         you can be sure that it will kill you too but
         there will be no special hurry.
tap-taptaptap-taptap  He jolted, his reflexively clenching fingers twisting the paperback out of shape.  Samantha.  Watching her clack around to the passenger side, he caught the mischievous smirk on her lips.  He was far from amused.
         Spraying wet droplets, she flounced onto the seat, slammed the door, kicked off her high heels, and then leaned across, with a dip of her pretty head, to peck him on the cheekbone.
‘Hiya, Daddy,’ she said.
‘Did you have a good evening at work?’
His tone-eyes-expression was neutral, but she detected the ubiquitous taint of facetiousness.  It was his use of evening at work, instead of just night, the rigid formality of the words belying his casual manner.  She thought about responding with a graphically lurid account, sodden with seediness, a sestina of sweaty limbs, greasy fingers, greedy eyes.  Torment him, like she used to do, sucking in his sullen vibes of anger shame and hurt.  She was too tired, her feet were sore; her inner thighs throbbed from the stretches and kicks of her erotic aerobic dance routine.
‘It was all right,’ she smiled, as he started up the engine.
‘Got another ton,’ she hoked in her bra, while he engaged the gears.
‘See, a hundred-pound note?’ she thrust the crumpled paper under his nose; he drove out of the car park.
‘From the same wee Chinese man as last week,’ she tucked the money back in its hiding place; he pushed his toes down on the accelerator.
‘I must be his favourite,’ she caught her own eye in the rear view mirror; he sped through derelict docklands 
‘He only ever gives the other girls a score,’ she pouted and leered; he followed the ramp up onto the motorway.
His face inscrutable , he turned to look his daughter in the eye.
‘Samantha, listen, I want you to hear me out.’
Feline curiosity piqued, she pursed her glistening lips, crinkled her freckled nose, nodded her damp curly head.
‘Okay, Daddy.’
He ranted up a gale, jaw snapping at air, spitting the words out.
‘Samantha ..my wee honeybee.. you-know-how-much-I-love-you-and-you-know-I-only-want-whats-best-for-you-and-I-know-just-how-much-it-hurt-you-when-your-mammy-died-and-thats-the-reason-youre ..feeling so angry.. with-me-and-you-know-I-can ..kind of understand.. why-it-is-that-you-feel-you-have-to ..rebel or something against me.. but-I-just-cant-handle-this-anymore ~honest~to~god~my~wee~love~ and-I-know-its-affecting-your-wee-sister-and-I-dont-want-her-going ..getting any kind of ideas.. from-you-and–I-know I know    -you-dont-have-to-but-I-have-to-let-you-know-how-much-I-want-you-to-and-its-not-even-about-what-other-people-think-like-you-seem-to-think-it-is-but-because-I-worry-so-much ..every single time.. that-Im-sitting-waiting-for-you-to-come-out-of-that-there ..godforsaken place you work in.. and-I-think-youre-getting ..raped or murdered or god only knows what.. and-I-know-you-blame-me-for-what-happened-but-youre-only-hurting-yourself-and-I-dont-think-I-could-take-it-if-I ..was to go and lose.. you-and-all…
Samantha, petal, please, for me, will you ever come on, and stop dancing at that godforsaken club?’ 

And, as he haemorrhaged from the heart, thoughts of her flooded his mind.  WhatshedidwhatshecalledexoticdancinghisweegirlSamanthastrippingbucknakedforabunchofpervertedwhoresonsinthatgodforsakendivethatplaceshecalledaclubitwould’vebrokenhermother’sheartwatchingherdropoutofcollegetogoandmakeawhorreofherselftheshamewould’vekilledherbutthensammiwouldnthavedoneitifhermotherwasstillalivewouldshe? + over + over + over + over + over + over + over + over + over

Staring out the passenger window, with her face turned away from him, his daughter gritted her teeth: a grinding enamel portcullis, holding back all of the words.  She would not speak.  On the palette of the windowpane, she mixed raindrops with light to paint shimmering fairytale palaces and rainbows in honeydew skies.  A wraithly refrain haunted her inner ear ♫and the man♪with the golden gun♫ thinks he knows so much♪thinks he knows so much♫yeah♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫
In the ballroom in the castle in the forest in her mind, she pirouetted around ice cream and candy floss angels, languidly nude and aroused.
         His limbs pistoning in automatic mode, he exited the motorway, followed the roundabout and turned onto the carriageway that ran along the shore of the Lough.  Glancing at her reflection in the passenger window, he knew she was looking at him, but still she would not speak.  Pain smouldered into frustration, then exploded into rage.
‘EVERYBODY!’  he cried.
         He jerked the wheel to the right cutting across all three other lanes of the carriageway losing some speed but not much the kerb shredding a front tire which in turn furrowed deep into earth foot on the brake until the bonnet cracked and thudded through a copse of slender trees then thrusted out and came to a halt with the bumper just touching the bole of a solid old oak.
Before she managed to collect her thoughts enough to remember she was supposed to be screaming, Samantha dully watched her father hurl the door open hurtle out of the car and hustle across the grass towards the water. 
Her illustrations were a runny mess, the needle had slipped off her record and her ballroom resembled that aboard the Sunken Ship Titanic.  Her head jerked about as if she were tracking a moth’s doomed fandango with flame.  Her errant emerald eyes hooked on the book lying sprawled at her feet on the floor.  Focusing, she told her fingers to pick it up and they shakily did as she said.  Acrid smell first, dry and old, fine and dusty sand, Daddy Dan.  Then, lumpy texture, rough on skin, sandpaper, Daddy’s hands.  Next, sombre picture, sad bandaged sandyman, Daddyman. 
         She remembers how excited she had been; away back when, when she was just fifteen; the time she took the book into her room; and after, when she read it through and through; then asked her Daddy, whether it was true?  Showing her his ugliness.  Jeering, leering, sneering, peering.  Mercilessly rending like a greedy bird of prey, poking her back down into her hollow shell.
         Letting it fall open, she looked down at letters underlined in dark neatly-ruled pencil, and then read from Dan’s gospel and guide.
I was always embarrassed by the words sacred,
glorious and sacrifice and the expression in vain.
We had heard them, sometimes standing in the rain
almost out of earshot, so that only the shouted words
came through, and had read them, on proclamations
that were slapped up by bill-posters over other
proclamations, now for a long time, and I had seen
nothing sacred, and the things that were glorious had
no glory and the sacrifices were like the stock-yards at
Chicago if nothing was done with the meat except to bury it.

Closing the book and her eyes, she relaxed and allowed herself to see what she had sternly forbidden her mind from envisioning ever before≈≈≈≈≈≈≈     
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
≈Her mother’s old torn white billowing wedding  dressings.  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  And  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈                       
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  a near  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈     
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  perfect  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  tempest,  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈                                                      ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  her  trinity  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈ ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  of harmony.  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈      ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈ One-witching  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈ ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  waves, two-  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  Lilith’s hair,  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈                                  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈ three-the  wild  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈ night.  As  she  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  had  been  before  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  the men found the  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈ 
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈ battered old sailboat.  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈ A masterless phantom  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  forsaken and  floating  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈ alone  under  gloomy  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  skies.  The rusty iron  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈ 
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  chain attached to the  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  anchor a cold clanky  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  girdle round her slim  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  girly hips.  With the  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  big padlock from the  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  cabin a clasp fastened  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  tightest.  Then just one  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  little
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  step and the long winding  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈ down to
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  darkness much  more deep  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  than even she. 
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  And on the deck weighted  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  by her shining keys
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  a wilted page.  Alive, alive,  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  o, with all of her wee  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  reasons whys and wherefores  ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  her lightly lilied liver
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  unfurled for all the weary world    ≈≈≈≈≈≈    to see. Indignity. Sam’s
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈  hand, all whitely wan picks up the  ≈≈≈≈≈≈  note and in her mind she
≈≈≈≈≈≈  reads  what  she  had  always  in  her  ≈≈≈  heart believed, of whispers
≈≈≈≈≈ hidden secretly, of guilty love’s insanity, of how roots spread insidiously 
≈≈≈  to grow into a ghastly grasping gallows tree; of obscene, sacred, hallowed, ≈≈  glorious, honourable, sacrificial abstractions really that never were, of vain  expressions, proclamations, buried meat, of being lonely in the rain; of Daddy.

Clutching the book, she stumbled out of the car onto silvery grass.  Wet beneath her feet, though the rain had stopped.  The sky overhead cruel cloudless and clear.  Sister moon a bright coin bathing her surroundings in ethereal light.  She shivered, the gusty breeze tousling her fiery hair.  The park was familiar to her, a long thin strip that stretched for half a mile, the far end facing the entrance to the university.  She could not see the strand, only the agitated waters of the lough, for the ground sloped downwards onto the sand.  As she advanced, her father’s hairless head appeared, another few steps, and she saw he was on his knees in the water.  Slipping down the slope, she stepped onto the gritty sand, small shards of rock and shell prickling her naked feet.  Coming closer, he seemed to be lifting handfuls of sea and pouring them into his mouth.  The sand shifted from dry soft loose to wet hard packed as she approached.  The tarry polluted tang of the waters filled her throat and she spat but the taste remained.  Her father’s torso was arched, neck straining, face turned up to the sky.  His Adam’s apple bobbed.  She realised what he was doing and rushed forward, splashing through liquid ice, to fall before him in supplication, scrabbling at fisted hands, gripping his corded wrists.  He lowered his head and looked in her direction, eyes unfocused, features contorted, mouth spasmodically working up and down, lips cheeks and chin coated with fine snailtrail trickles – saliva and sand, clots spraying with his exhaled breath.  ‘WHIFE WHAKES WHEVWHEVWHUN! Sam WHIFE WHAKES WHEVWHEVWHUN! swung WHIFE WHAKES WHEVWHEVUN!  her WHIFE WHAKES WHEVWHEVWHUN! hand WHIFW WHAKES WHEVWHEVWHUN! with WHIFE WHAKES WHEVWHEVWHUN! the WHIFE WHAKES WHEVWHEVWHUN! book WHIFE WHAKES WHEVWHEVWHUN! back WHIFE WHAKES WHEVWHEVWHUN! and DAK! 
His head rocked back, and then he fixed her with a snarl.  She waved the book.
‘It was this fucking thing!’  she cried.  ‘All along, that’s what it was.  It was there all the time, that’s why we never saw it.  She told me, Daddy, she told me why she killed herself.’
‘SHUT UP.’
         ‘She couldn’t do it anymore, just couldn’t keep all your secrets, her conscience wouldn’t let her…it was the bodies, Daddy, the ones the Ra told the families about last year, seeing them on the tv…but she loved you, us, most of all you, and she couldn’t even confess to the priest.’
         ‘SHUT UP.’
         ‘And all along, mister Ernest fucking Hemingway, the gravedigger’s accomplice, your wee secret mate…marked and mapped in some stupid code, made up in your head, that said where they were all these years…did you think we didn’t know, me and her, and maybe even our Tabbie, too?’
         ‘SHUT UP.’
         ‘Daddy, you must’ve thought we were stupid, I mean, I figured it out when I was fifteen…use the underlined letters to make numbers out of some map…all of them people you buried, Daddy, did you never think about telling their people the truth?’
         ‘SHUT UP.’
         ‘She told you about it, I know she did, tried to get you to change your mind, let it go…you drove her to it and you can’t even deny it and I know I should hate you, but I can’t…Papa Hemingway, do you not even know he blew his own brains out with a shotgun?’
         ‘SHUT UP.’
         ‘And I know you know all the numbers and all and you’ve got them all tucked in your head…cause you’ve read them all that many times it couldn’t be any other way…a farewell to all of it, from now on you’re just going to have to carry all that auld shite on your own!
         ‘NO!’’
Samantha rends at the pages of the book, broken paper butterflies flutter away in the wind.  Dan lunges, she skips, he falls on his face.  Dancing around him an armlength away, she scatters his memoir with ravenous claws.  He lunges, she canters, then gallops away.  Shredded words shimmer, and then disappear.  He rescues a fragment.
                                 as like s      oodbye      statue.
                                   er a whil  went out  nd left the
  ospital and walked back to the ho
      he rain.
It began to rain, again.
‘It was like saying goodbye to a statue,’ he said.  ‘After a while I went out and left the hospital and walked back to the hotel in the rain.’
         Closing his eyes, he squashed the wet mess in his hand.
         ‘I-X-seventy two,’ he said.

She found him standing with his face turned up and his mouth wide open like a child.  When he was cleansed, they fiercely embraced, then squelched home feeling taller inside.