Part XII

Poor Sean looked as dazed as I had felt once the tale was told. “I’m utterly gobsmacked,” he said at last. “Mother of God! Not only is Ronan O’Farrell not dead, but he’s sitting in my living room! Why are you here, and why have you told me who you really are?”

“Guitarist to guitarist, I figured I couldn’t hide it. I saw the way you watched me today, the way you studied my technique and my motions. You say you never saw me do a show, but you must have seen videos?”

“I—”

“Sean, do you really think I care that they’re all bootlegs? That might’ve bothered me once, but not now.”

“Yes, I’ve seen some, and I have to confess that I own a few. Probably paid too much for them over the years, but I admired you. I wanted to study your playing and see if I could learn a trick or two.”

“You don’t have to justify it. In your case, I’m flattered.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Ronan smiled. “So—this recording you want to make—you said you wanted some supporting musicians. Who else besides me?”

“Ah, that one’s impossible. He’s gone and he’s never coming back.”

“You said before that you knew him. Who was he?”

“Rory Gallagher.”

“You’re right. There’s no resurrecting him. May he rest in peace,” Ronan said, crossing himself.

“You knew him, too?”

“I did, though not well. We crossed paths a few times and shared some drink and guitar talk.”

“Same here. Still, no matter where I turned up, he always remembered me and seemed glad to see me.”

“A truly gracious man. Pity there was no escape for him, the way there was for me. Disappearing when I did saved my life, Sean.”

“I’m guessing you’re not out to make a comeback, then?”

“No, not at all. You mustn’t tell anyone who I really am. If you’ll give me your word, I’ll help you with your album. You’ll have to credit me as Liam O’Malley, but I shan’t mind that. We’ll enjoy working together, and no one will ever be the wiser.” Ronan leaned forward and extended his hand. “Deal?”

Sean grasped it firmly. “Deal, but—what about Mary? Can she be in on this, too?”

“In on what?” she asked, stepping into the room, her sleeping son heavy in her arms. “Sean, take him, please, would you?”

Sean, comfortably settled in a rocking chair, held out his arms.

Mary went to his side and deposited the boy on his lap. “Now, what is it you want me in on?” she asked, looking from Sean to Ronan, and back to Sean again.

“We were wondering how well you can keep a secret,” Ronan said.

“A secret?”

“Yes. A big one, and it would mean a great deal to Sean.”

A mild frown crossed her brow, and again she let her gaze travel from Sean to Ronan and back. “Phelan, you look like you’re about to burst.”

“It’s my fault,” Ronan apologized. “I said I’d help him with his album.”

“That’s very nice of you, Liam. Thank you.”

Sean met Ronan’s eyes, and Ronan nodded. “Mary, his name’s not Liam.”

“You guys have completely lost me. Phelan, what’s going on?”

Ronan got up and walked over to her. “Mary, I’m Ronan O’Farrell.”

She laughed. “Oh, go on! Ronan O’Farrell died five years ago. Sean told me he wore black for a month when he found out.”

“Ronan didn’t die, Mary,” Sean explained. “He staged his own funeral and retired to New Zealand, so he could get his health back.”

She snorted. “And you believe that? God, Sean! It sounds like the plot to a bad novel!” She walked straight up to Ronan and brought her face within inches of his. Her voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking her anger. “I’d like to know who the hell you think you are, getting Sean all stirred up for nothing! Don’t you know he’s only just started getting his strength back? He nearly died, for God’s sake! What kind of monster are you?”

Ronan smiled gently, looked deep into her eyes, and began to sing.

Mary Phelan’s jaw dropped.

The song was a plaintive one whose words I could not understand, but the sweet timbre of the voice was unmistakable. In the seisiún he had disguised it, but now it was purely his own.

“Do you believe me now?” he asked, after the first phrase, “Or shall I get the guitar and accompany myself?”

“There’s no need,” Mary whispered. “Mr. O’Farrell, I—”

“Ronan, please, unless we’re in public, in which case you must call me Liam. Liam O’Malley.”

“Whatever you want,” she answered. “Do you have any idea what this means to Sean, and to me?”

“I think I’ve a notion.”

“I’m sorry I lost my temper, but you caught me off guard.”

“Yes, I suppose I did.”

“What are you doing in Boston?”

“I’m being treated by an eye specialist, and spending some time with Sarah. And though everyone believes Ronan O’Farrell is dead, Ronan O’Farrell is very much alive and still wants to make music when he finds the right opportunity. When I came here four weeks ago I couldn’t play yet, as my wrist was still healing, but that didn’t stop me from scouting around for seisiúns. I heard a few and liked them well enough, but Sean’s was the only one that made me want to pick up my axe and play in a group again. So, here I am, looking for action. The seisiún tonight was a pleasure, but I’ve a hunger for some serious studio work, and Sean’s the man to give me what I need. Is that all right with you, Mary?”

“More than all right! Ronan, you’re a Godsend!”

“Well, now, I don’t know about that,” he demurred. “I’m just a guitarist looking for a gig.”

“Never just a guitarist!” Sean exclaimed. “Good God, you were one of my greatest inspirations!”

“Yet I’m only a man of flesh and blood, just like you: not a hero or an idol. You mustn’t put me on a pedestal.”

“But I can’t help it!”

“Well, maybe not yet,” Ronan conceded, “but once you get to know me as a human being, you’ll be able to help it, believe me. The day may even come when you’ll want to pitch me out the studio window.”

“Never!”

Ronan chuckled. “Time will tell, Sean. It always does.”

***

We spent a great deal of time with the Phelans as September gave way to October. Mary was a pleasant, hospitable person and made us welcome no matter what time of day we stopped by. With Ronan and Sean practically living in the studio in those weeks, it was a good thing she was so easy-going.

“This isn’t starting to get on your nerves at all?” I asked her one afternoon as we strolled through the Common with Rory in tow.

“Sometimes it does,” she admitted, “but then I remind myself of what Sean was like before he gave himself permission to do music again, and it puts things in perspective. Rory, no!” She darted forward and grabbed the child just as he was about to put a rock in his mouth. He wailed lustily, tucked agaist her hip like a football, arms and legs flailing. “Boys!” she exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “You’re just like your Da, you know it?”

“Sean likes to eat rocks on the Common?” I teased.

Mary laughed. “No, I just meant that he has a mind of his own. Stubborn and headstrong as the day is long, and his lack of vocabulary doesn’t slow him down in the least.”

Rory wasn’t struggling so hard anymore. “Mumumumumum,” he said, insistently.

“Oh, Lord, he’s hungry again! Do you mind sitting for a bit?”

“Not at all.”

We found a bench a bit removed from the beaten track and settled down. Mary unfastened her shirt and discreetly exposed her breast. The child latched on with a vengeance, grabbing a fistful of the shirt fabric and thrusting it away.

“So much for discretion,” Mary laughed. Then she winced. “If someone could find a way to harness the power in this boy’s mouth at feeding time, we’d have more than enough energy to run the entire country for the next hundred years! Wouldn’t we, Rory?” she asked him, grabbing his foot to save herself from another ecstatic kick in the ribs. “Well, I’m thankful that at least one of the men in my life has an appetite.”

Her voice sounded a little strained.

“What, is Sean still not wanting to eat?”

She shook her head. “He tries at meal times, to please me, and because he knows he’s got to eat to keep his strength up, but he really isn’t taking in as much as he should.”

“He’s not sick again, is he?”

“No. We know that much, because his doctor monitors him very closely, but it’s still a worry.”

“How about getting him to take vitamins or something?”

“Oh, he’s been doing that, at least: vitamins and supplements and protein drinks.”

“That’s a step in the right direction.”

“Yes, and the doctor tells me his appetite will come back in time. Waiting is hard, though. I know he’s getting healthier, but it would be nice to see proof, y’know?”

I nodded. “Not to change the subject, but has Sean let you hear any of the stuff he and Ronan have been working on?”

“Nope. They won’t even discuss it in front of me, just like a couple of little boys with a secret club. All that’s missing, as far as I can tell, are obscure handshake rituals and passwords that change every five minutes. Even after Ronan’s gone home, Sean still won’t tell me a thing.”

“Ronan won’t say anything about it, either, but when he comes in from the studio, he sure has a cat-that-ate-the-canary look about him.”

“Sean, too. Y’know, it would almost be worth it, to leave them alone with a fifth of Jameson’s, and once they’d both passed out we could snoop.”

I laughed. “You forget, Mary. I’ve been a guest in Ronan’s house, and I’ve seen how carefully he hides his archives. No doubt he’s taught Sean a few tricks.”

“No doubt,” Mary agreed, “though Sean was already pretty adept at hiding music he didn’t want me to know about.” She put her finger in the corner of Rory’s mouth. He released the nipple, but continued to root for it, making discontented snuffling noises. She tucked the first breast away and quickly exposed the second, and deftly moved Rory close to it.

I had never seen a child open its mouth so wide! He engulfed the second nipple with a snort of delight.

Mary made a face. “He eats so much, I’m always engorged,” she complained.

“When do you think you’ll wean him?”

“Oh, sometime after Christmas, I think. I really don’t want to go past eighteen months. My sister nursed her children until they were three years old, and I always thought that was a bit much. It’s unnerving, to have your little ones talking to you between sips, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know, ’cause I’ve never had kids or been around them much, but now that you mention it, I think what you’re saying makes good sense.”

“Thank you. My sister thinks I’m crazy, so it’s nice to know that someone else does see things my way. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love my boy dearly, but I’ll do him no favors in life if I don’t set him on the path to independence from an early age. Weaning is one of the first steps.”

Rory appeared to be slowing down a bit now, his eyelids at half-mast.

“Mary, I think he’s falling asleep.”

“Oh, yes, that’s typical. Greedy thing! He’s completely glutted, but still won’t let go. Well, we’re in no hurry, are we?” I shook my head. “Do you mind if I ask a personal question?”

“No. I’ll answer if I can.”

“Sean’s been so ill. How did you ever manage to conceive?”

She smiled. “It was a miracle, I think. I was already pregnant when he got sick, and a good thing it was! He actually had a vasectomy a few months ago, because after all the chemotherapy he was really afraid that what sperm he had left, even if they were vital enough, would be so altered we’d produce mutants.”

“Oh, go on! He didn’t really believe that!”

“Of course he didn’t. He was joking so he could stand it. Really, we knew he had a very low count, and the remaining sperm were altered in a bad way. If he’d ever managed to impregnate me again, it would have meant certain miscarriage. He figured it was better to spare both of us that agony, so he had the surgery.”

“Not too many guys would be willing to do that.”

“No, but Sean is—” She smiled. “Extraordinary. Unlike anyone else I’ve ever known. He was nervous about it, of course, as any man would be, but got through it with good humor. Anyway, back when I got pregnant with Rory, we were sure we’d only been hoping in vain. Sean had already been through cancer and chemotherapy once before, and he was convinced that he could never father a child. I’d had one miscarriage—or at least, that’s what we thought it was at the time. It could also have been a late period. Hard to tell, ’cause it was that early. So, we felt safe enough not to bother with birth control. I wasn’t too comfortable with the idea of having a baby in my late thirties, but Sean wanted a child so desperately, I figured it wouldn’t be too bad going through with it if it ever happened. I just thought it never would.”

“Yet it did.”

“Yes. My only regret now is that Sean couldn’t particpate in the birth as fully as he would have liked. His legs weren’t functional at that point, and he was in a really restrictive back brace, so he had to watch from the sidelines.”

“At least he was able to be there.”

“Yes, and they did help him to cut the cord, and of course he got to hold Rory right away, so it wasn’t as dismal an experience as it could have been. But Sean had some midwifery training a number of years ago, and he would have liked to coach me, and catch the baby. He tried not to feel as if he got cheated somehow, but he was pretty grumpy about it for a few months afterwards.”

“Good Lord, is there anything Sean hasn’t done?”

Mary laughed. “I used to wonder about that, too. Every time I thought I knew him as well as anyone could, I’d get a new surprise. Finding out about the midwifery training was the most startling thing. In the first year we were together, his sister went into labor with her fifth child, and wouldn’t have anyone but Sean to coach her. That’s when I found out.”

“How long have you been together?”

“Officially? Oh, I guess it’s close to three years now, but I’ve known him since I was in college. We had some years apart when he was off trying to make a name for himself. When he left, I thought I’d never see him again. I had no idea he was in love with me at the time. He was too proud to let me know, fool that he was. So, he went off, and I ended up getting married to a philandering asshole whose parents made him give me the building on Beacon Hill in the divorce settlement. They were nice people, and they always felt badly for the way their idiot son treated me. They were also extremely well-to-do, and sometimes that’s how people of that ilk offer consolation; if they like you, they give you a little surplus from their hoard when your world turns to shit. So I got to jettison the bastard, and keep my home and my friendship with his parents. Once in awhile his mother still stops by to see me, and she simply adores Sean.”

“Is there anyone who doesn’t?”

Mary thought for a minute. “No, probably not. Sounds almost too good to be true, but it is true. He’s well-known and well-loved in the community the restaurant serves, and beyond. Even though he can’t work in the kitchen anymore, he likes to hang out in the restaurant to visit with folks who used to buy coffee from him. I swear that’s how he drummed up interest in his seisiúns. He let people see him playing the guitar and started chatting up anyone who complimented him. Next thing I knew, we were hosting seisiúns.”

“Wow!”

“When he first let me know he was back in town—it’ll be three years in January—I was still recovering from the trauma of the divorce, and Sean was down and out and looking for work. I hired him, though business was not going well, because I was still in love with him after ten years. I thought if I could just see him every day, I’d be happy enough.”

“And here you are, married, with a child!”

“It was a rocky road getting there, but yes. Here we are.”

“And you’re happy?”

“As happy as we can be, considering everything Sean’s gone through. We survived. We can’t imagine being apart from one another. I’d be happier if he didn’t suffer so much, but overall life is pretty damn good.”

“You’re still in love with him, in spite of everything?”

Mary’s brow furrowed. “In love? What’s that to us now? I like to think we’ve gone beyond that to something deeper, to a love that doesn’t fret about small stuff or expect perfection, and endures despite the obstacles life throws in its path.” She shifted the sleeping child, who had finally released her breast, and set herself to rights. “How is it with you and Ronan?”

Her question blindsided me. “I—”

She fixed an unwavering gaze on my face, locking my eyes. “Well? Haven’t you thought about it?”

I nodded. “I was infatuated at first, when I found out who he was, and I couldn’t be sure if my feelings were true or not.”

“And now?”

Without warning, my eyes filled with tears. “Oh, God, Mary! I don’t know how I’m going to stand it when he has to go back to New Zealand!”

“What if he wanted you to go with him? Would you?”

“I—”

“Mind, I’m just going on a hunch here, but if I were you, I’d think good and hard about that. I do believe the man has intentions, and he’s just biding his time, waiting for the right moment.” She lifted Rory up and settled him on her shoulder, patting his back gently. He stirred, snuffling noisily, then belched several times in a row. Another more ominous sound came rumbling from his nether regions. “Uh-oh,” Mary said. “I think we’d better get him home now, or I’m going to have a big mess to deal with.”

***

C.P. Warner
© 14 July 2007

NEXT

Irish Gaelic Reference Page