The Irish Minstrel

“…and last, but by no means least, a word of praise for Sean O’ Sullivan. We have clinched the Hong Kong and Tokyo deals solely due to his dedication and enterprise,” said the ebullient Managing Director of ANFG, John Schwartz. “In the seven years he has been with this company, he has consistently proven how valuable he is to us, and now he has yet another feather to add to his cap. So it should come as no surprise that this year’s best employee award goes to... Sean O’ Sullivan! Well done Sean!”

Sean O’ Sullivan acknowledged the applause that followed by inclining his head and giving the characteristic smile that had won over innumerable people – from the taciturn clean-up lady to the most hardened CEO.

Ten minutes later the meeting had broken up and Sean was making his way to his office, smiling and nodding his thanks as several colleagues called out their congratulations and thumped him on the back. If there had been an award for the most popular employee at ANFG, then Sean would have won it. For his ruthless business drive came packaged with a charm that was natural, not put-on. Sean genuinely cared about other people and always had a kind word for everyone.

He entered his private office and sank into a chair. And wondered why he didn’t feel as elated as he expected himself to be. Perhaps it was jet lag. He had returned from Tokyo just a couple of days back. He looked out of the window to be greeted by the typical Manhattan view. It was a view he loved, but today he just gazed at it in a detached way. Buildings reaching for the sky, inhabited by people who also ‘aimed for the sky’. He felt a sudden distaste for the thousands who strove so hard to reach their ‘goals’ by packing 48 hours into a day, never satisfied, never fulfilled, always trying to outdo, outperform someone else. Then with a stab of realization, it hit him that he was easily a part of that description himself.

The intercom buzzed and Sean welcomed the sound. “Yes Maria,” he answered.

“Just to remind you of your lunch appointment with Caroline Mitchell of GE,” said his secretary. “Then you’ve got to take care of the KML paperwork…deadline’s coming up in two days. And you also need to look in at the Ridgeview Office. Dave said there was a problem there.”

“Right Maria,” said Sean trying to muster up his customary cheeriness. “Will do.”

Sean leaned back into his chair and wondered at his weariness. He remembered how he used to brighten up when he heard of a challenge. From the day he had joined the company as a fresh young graduate he had thrived on his work and had loved the money and recognition it brought with it. But now…

Sean was interrupted for the second time, this time by the ringing of his phone.
“Good morning, Sean O’ Sullivan speaking.”

“Sean…hello…this is Margaret," said a mild, pleasant voice.

Sean paused, trying to place the name.

“Margaret Kerrigan,” said the voice.

“…Madge?” asked Sean, incredulous, his face breaking into a smile “Why, what a surprise! How are you? How’s Jim?”

“I’m calling about Jim, Sean," replied Margaret gravely. “He’s had cancer for the past two years…the doctors say he’s in the final stages now.”

Sean couldn’t think of anything to say.

Here was the sister of his best friend calling out of the blue to tell him that his friend – whom he hadn’t kept in touch with – was dying.

“He talks of you off and on, you know.” Margaret went on. “So I was just wondering…”

“Where are you now? Where’s Jim?”, asked Sean.

“We’re both in Dundalk, of course. Where else would we be?”

Where else indeed? It was only he, Sean, who had decided to leave the sleepy, picturesque town of Dundalk for the frenzied pace of New York. ‘The city that never sleeps’, they said…well he’d just realized he was no insomniac.

“I’ll catch the earliest flight I can manage,” promised Sean. “Tell Jim I’m coming.”

*******

Sean paused for a minute to inhale the fresh air of the Irish countryside. It had taken some coaxing and convincing his boss, the evening flight to Dublin and an invigorating train ride to land him where he was – in a meadow, walking to Dundalk which was just a few minutes away. He smiled as he thought of Shwartz’s face when he’d asked for leave…but Shwartz had had to give in; Sean hadn’t taken a proper vacation in all the seven years he’d worked there.

But Manhattan was on the other side of the ocean now, so he shrugged and continued his walk. It had been ages since he’d been here…all the old sights and smells overwhelmed him ever so…perhaps he’d never realized how much he’d missed this place.

Four minutes later and he was ringing the bell of a familiar house in the heart of Dundalk. A plump woman, possibly in her mid-thirties opened the door.

“Hello Sean!” she said warmly.

“Lovely to see you again, Madge.” smiled Sean, handing her a box of chocolates.

“Ooh! Walnut centred! My weakness!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah, I remember how Jim used to tease you!” said Sean.

At the mention of her brother’s name, a shadow crossed Margaret’s face. There was a pause, interrupted by some high-spirited cries from a neighbouring room.

“That would be my boys,” sighed Margaret. “You wouldn’t believe the mischief five-year-olds can get up to.”

“Come on,” she said, as she began to make her way up the stairs. “I’ll show you to Jim’s room. He’s quite eager to see you after all this time.”

Sean wondered if there wasn’t a faint note of reproach in her tone. But he didn’t have time to wonder too long, as he was ushered into a bedroom - a warm, cozy room with a bed in the centre. Upon that bed, which seemed to large for him, lay a thin young man.

Jim – he of the long curly locks, now lay shorn of his mane – the undisguisable effect of chemotherapy. He had always been lean, but he was quite thin now, and his cheeks were hollow. What was missing though, was the pallid air of an invalid, Sean noted. Jim’s eyes were not those of a terminally ill man…they were alive somehow, with a strange light.

“Great to see you Sean! Come on in! It’s been a while.” said Jim.

“Yeah, I know. Great to see you too,” replied Sean as he walked in and sat in the cosy armchair by the bedside.

“So! You’ve been really busy,” smiled Jim.

“Yeah…well you know how work is in New York...” said Sean lamely.

“Well I’m glad you could get off work for a bit. It wasn’t too much of a bother was it?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” muttered Sean, now feeling thoroughly ashamed, though he knew Jim wasn’t being sarcastic. Jim never was.

“You might’ve told me earlier, you know,” added Sean, awkwardly. “Madge says it’s been two years…”

“Yeah, I found out after a show in Dealy. We’d got a gig out there and after the show I just collapsed…found out it was cancer a couple of days later.” shrugged Jim.

“Oh” said Sean, not knowing what else to say.

The pause was broken by the tinkling of cups as Madge came in with coffee and scones.

“Bet you haven’t had these in a while!” she smiled as she handed him a plate.

“Right you are!” replied Sean. “But they’re as delicious as I remember,” he added as he took a bite.

Madge laughed as she left the room.

“So…do you still play your violin?” asked Jim.

“Well…I have been rather busy of late” replied Sean.

“Busy? You know, all work and no play makes Sean a dull boy!”

“What about you? Still into your music, I’m sure?” said Sean.

“Ah! You would be right to say that. It’s my heart and my soul…and was yours too, once.” replied Jim.

Sean thought back to their days as schoolchildren in Dundalk...They would spend practically all their free time in Jim’s room, making music. Later, at Dublin University, Jim gained admission into the prestigious undergraduate programme for music, Sean missed it by a whisker. But they continued jamming together in the evenings when Jim didn’t have any music classes and Sean didn’t have to attend lectures on Economic Theory, having joined a programme on Business Management.

Dublin, being the melting pot of cultures that it is, exposed both of them to a whole gamut of influences that they’d never experienced before in Dundalk.

Jim began to fuse traditional Irish music with the sounds of the blues and a bit of soul. As he experimented more and more with his music, he felt that his degree wasn’t doing much for him. After a month of musing about it, he decided to drop out of university and strike out on his own. He found a couple of kindred souls in Rob Maguire and Neale O’ Connor, both seasoned musicians who liked the work he was doing. The three formed a band and began playing their unique brand of music in various pubs and nightspots in Dublin. Sean had played with them off and on, not joining as a member as he found his course demanding and wasn’t ready to give it up as Jim had.

Then came the band’s sudden decision to start touring Ireland. Now Sean could no longer straddle the fence and he finally decided to stop playing with the band for good. He said goodbye to his best friend with many promises on both sides to keep in touch.

The years after that were a blur for Sean. He threw himself into his work with a dedication previously reserved for his music. His grades rose higher and higher as his contact with his violin dwindled. Jim would phone once in a while and Sean would call him too. Then he graduated and after a few years of working in Dublin, he managed to land himself a plum job in New York.

It was an exciting time for Sean and he found himself working with a newfound zeal he had never thought himself capable of. He missed home less and less and barely communicated with his friends and family…not that he had much of the latter as it was his elderly grandmother who had brought him up, and sadly passed away just a few months after his move to New York. He forgot completely about his violin and never thought of life before his move to the States…

But that was till now…

Now, all of a sudden, all the memories were coming back in a rush, engulfing him.

“Thinkin’ about the good ol’ days, eh?” smiled Jim knowingly.

“Yeah,” Sean smiled back.

“So how long can you stay?” asked Jim.

“About a week…if you’ll have me, that is,” said Sean.

“Of course! That’s great!” exclaimed Jim.

They spent the week talking. They spoke of their days at school and at University; days of fun and freedom, days of disappointment and disillusionment, days of joy and days of despair, days of struggle and days of fun. Jim spoke of his work as a musician and Sean of his job in New York. Then Jim made Sean find his old violin and play for him. Sean was uneasy at first and apologized for being rusty, but soon found he hadn’t quite lost his touch…

“You really are good, you know!” exclaimed Jim.

“Well..” Sean blushed. “It feels good to play…and after so long too.”

“Why’d you ever give it up man, you really are good!” persisted Jim.

“Don’t know…never had the time I guess” mumbled Sean.

“You were always more traditional in your music,” commented Jim. “While I was into ‘new-fangled’ stuff as the teachers at Uni would say.”

“Might’ve been a teacher myself!” joked Sean. “If I’d got that undergrad programme, might’ve gone on to do my PhD or something! Missed making the grade by the skin of my teeth!”

“Yeah, if you’d got in then, you might’ve turned into one of those pompous old chaps yourself!” laughed Jim.

“Sean, you’re mobile’s ringing.” said Madge, poking her head around the door.

“Back in a minute,” he said to Jim, following Madge out the door.

“Hello?” Sean answered his phone. “Yes sir…yes…yes I know…right…right…no I understand…right, I’ll be there Monday.”

“Boss?” Madge asked sympathetically.

“Yeah,” sighed Sean. “He’s on pins and needles; something came up.”

Madge laughed, “Ah, the hectic woes of a New Yorker!”

“Madge..” said Sean hesitantly after a pause. “How long…?”

“The doctor gives him four or five months.” said Madge gravely.

“Oh.”

“You need to get back, don’t you?” asked Madge.

“Yeah, my leave’s almost run out. The boss wants me back by Monday.”

“I’m glad you came, Sean. It’s made a world of a difference to Jim.”

“Should’ve come before.”

“Oh come now! At least you’ve seen each other again.”

“Tell you what Madge. I’ll go back now as scheduled. Then I’ll come when…when it’s time. And if there are any complications before that, please let me know and I’ll fly down at once.”

“Alright Sean.”

******

The next few weeks in New York were spent catching up with pending matters and dealing with new assignments. Then, about two months later on a sunny Tuesday morning, the phone rang.

“Sean O’Sullivan speaking” said Sean, answering the phone cheerily.

“Hello Sean.”

“Madge.” Sean knew instinctively what was coming next.

“Sean…it happened all of a sudden…Jim passed away a few hours back.” Madge fought back a sob.

*******

The funeral was over and everyone was leaving. Sean walked over to where Madge stood by the grave. He searched for the usual things one said at such occasions, but found nothing.

Madge looked up and gave him a sad smile.

“I think he knew it was coming,” she said. “I just didn’t want to think about it.”

“I hope he didn’t suffer much” said Sean.

“It’s the living that suffer when someone dies.” replied Madge. “The dead, well…they’re at peace.” She turned her brilliant blue eyes to him. “That’s what I believe.”

There was a brief silence.

“Looks like heavy rain,” said Madge in a more ordinary tone, indicating the dark rain clouds rolling slowly across the sky. “Hope that doesn’t delay your flight.”

“I’m not going back Madge.”

Madge stared.

“I’m not going back to my job in New York.” said Sean.

“Then…what?” said a dumbfounded Madge.

“Reckon I’ll try my hand at coaching.”

“Coaching?” Madge made no attempt to hide her incredulity.

“Well I’m not a bad violinist. Almost made it to Dublin University. Think I’ll try again. And then I’ll coach if they think I’m good enough.”

“I’m sure you will be!” said Madge warmly. Then as an afterthought – “Did Jim have anything to do with this?”

“Madge! Madge! The car’s here,” called out an elderly lady who stood a few feet away.

“Coming Aunt Liadan!” replied Madge.

“Goodbye Sean. I wish you well.” she said, shaking hands with him. “Come see us sometime.” And she was off after a final look at the grave and a silent prayer.

Sean stood alone by the grave and looked up at the part of the sky that was still a brilliant blue, though the rain clouds were steadily gaining ground.

His eyes shone for he had found something that would give him more pleasure than he had ever imagined possible; and more satisfaction than his high salary and white-collar job had ever brought him. His gaze came to rest at his friend’s final dwelling place.

“Guess I might become a pompous old chap after all,” he chuckled.


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