Part XVI

Sean and Ronan were really only working intensively in the studio for about three weeks, but the time seemed to stretch out interminably due to the long sessions they were pulling. Ronan, I was sure, would have been there around the clock, snatching a few hours of sleep as needed—if needed—but Mary, quite sensibly, wouldn’t allow that. Every night, promptly at ten o’clock, if Sean and Ronan hadn’t already come downstairs, she would go up to the studio and put an end to it. Sean, she had confided, tended to be obsessive about any of his projects, and she monitored him carefully, to make sure he took frequent breaks for food and rest. But with Ronan’s compulsive work ethic exerting its influence, Sean was not as compliant as he would have been working with any other musician. It began to wear on him after the first week, and Mary and I were both concerned.

“He says he’s fine,” she fretted, “but I know better. If he was feeling well and getting the rest he needed, he wouldn’t be dragging his leg.”

I had noticed, too. Lately, Sean seemed to be having a great deal of trouble with his right leg, and what Mary said was true; he did indeed drag it. Sometimes it was bad enough that his foot wouldn’t stay straight and he walked on the side of it. “What causes that, Mary?”

“Oh, a combination of fatigue and impaired sensation, plus he broke that leg pretty badly a few years ago, and it’s been weak ever since. His therapist thinks he ought to be wearing a brace, but up ’til now we’ve managed to talk him out of it. Sean has enough appliances to deal with as it is.”

“But if a leg brace would help—”

“I know. Eventually, we’ll probably give in and let them go ahead and make one for him, but for now we’d rather see if he can strengthen it with exercise. Still, I don’t like the way he’s been landing on the side of that foot. One step taken just the wrong way could easily cost him a broken ankle, and that’s the last thing he needs.”

“It’s the last thing anyone needs.”

“That’s true, but especially in Sean’s case. He really suffered with his leg, and it seemed like he’d barely recovered from that when the cancer hit him, first in one lung, and then in the spine. He’s been through surgery, chemo, and radiation twice in the last two years, and had to put up with a horrible cast and a couple of different back braces, and a wheelchair—oh, it was a nightmare! He was so depressed when he finally came home again. Here he had an infant son and a wife—everything he’d always wanted—but he was miserable, because they’d just told him he’d probably never walk again.”

“But that didn’t turn out to be true.”

“No. They hadn’t counted on Sean’s determination. They also hadn’t expected him to regain any sensation below the waist, but he did, and as soon as he realized something was coming back, he insisted on starting a more intensive therapy program. Hasn’t he improved dramatically since you and Ronan started coming around?”

“He really has.”

“It’s taken a lot of work on his part, and on mine, too. He’s finally starting to get his health back, and to feel like himself again. Sarah, I don’t want anything to jeopardize that.”

“Of course not!”

“Sean’s been to hell and back, and when someone you love as dearly as I love him has gone through that kind of ordeal, the urge to protect them is so strong and deep, it’s primal.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m really thrilled that he’s having this opportunity to work with Ronan. It’s been a dream of his for years. Ronan O’Farrell and Rory Gallagher. If I had a nickel for every time their names have come up since I’ve known Sean—well, I suppose I wouldn’t be rich, but I could probably treat myself to a really nice dinner downtown.”

“Such a pity about Gallagher, isn’t it?”

Mary nodded. “Sean was still in the hospital when we found out. He knew Rory, y’know: knew him and loved hm. He was devastated. By then I’d certainly seen him cry before, but not like he did then. It almost seemed like he took it harder than finding out he had cancer again.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”

“Yeah, but—I think it was knowing that there really was no chance for Rory to be saved, and that there hadn’t been a chance for a number of years. Sean saw him for the last time in 1991, when he came through the States on tour, and the way Sean tells it, Rory looked awful. He’d put on a lot of weight and seemed tired, and while his playing was up to the usual standard, he didn’t seem to be enjoying himself much. Barely cracked a smile the whole night, and if you’ve ever seen footage from his peak years, you know how he was always smiling.”

“Yes, he was. I remember how he’d run all over the stage, too, like he couldn’t possibly expend all the energy he had in him just by making music. I’m glad I didn’t see him in those later years. It would have been too sad.”

“Sean says it was like watching him die, cell by cell. He was really upset long before the show ended, and thought he’d try and find out what was wrong. They met up after the show to talk, as they’d often done over the years. Rory was his usual polite self, and Sean didn’t know how to say what was on his mind without seeming like he was prying where he shouldn’t. So, they were just talking music and guitars, as usual, and suddenly Sean had one of his infamous Irish premonitions, and he knew he’d never see Rory alive again. He got emotional when it was time to say goodbye, and he hugged Rory and just—couldn’t let go. Poor Rory didn’t quite know what to do or how to handle it, but he did manage to disentangle himself, and of course Sean was crying, and couldn’t explain why. They were both embarrassed, and never really said goodye properly. Sean’s always regretted that.”

“Were you there that night?”

“No, but Sean’s told me about it so many times, I might have been. He was away at the time, though, and I was married to Ray. I never even got to see Rory play, except on video.”

“Yet you named your boy after him.”

“Sean insisted, and I’ve nothing against the name.”

“It is a nice name.”

“Yes.” Mary looked over her shoulder at the clock again. “All right, enough’s enough. I’m gonna get them out of that studio if I have to hog-tie them and roll them down the stairs!”

I laughed. “I doubt you’ll have to go to that extreme! Come on, let’s go up together.”

***

“I wish Mary wouldn’t be such a martinet when it comes to stopping us working,” Ronan grumbled as we sat side by side on the swaying train.

“Yes, and she wishes the two of you weren’t so obsessive-compulsive about getting the work done. You have plenty of time, and besides, if all this work causes Sean to have a setback, it’s going to take a lot longer to finish the project. No matter how firmly he insists that he’s well and can handle whatever you want him to do, he’s not, and he can’t. You’ve really got to lighten up.”

“It’s not just me, I’ll have you know. Sean might well outdo me when it comes to pushing a thing farther than it really needs to go in one session.”

“Don’t let him. Maybe you don’t see what we see, ’cause you’re so close to him all the time, but have you noticed how badly he’s been limping?”

“No, I can’t say that I have. He’s been using a wheelchair in the studio. Says his therapy has been taking a toll on him lately, and he’s too achey to walk around.”

“That might be partially true, but the fact is, he’s having a lot of trouble with his right leg. My guess is he’s using the wheelchair and making excuses so you won’t catch him limping. God forbid you should see and suggest he’s pushing himself too hard! But do bear in mind that while he may be over his cancer, he isn’t well yet: not by a long shot. There’s a lot of ground to regain before he’s even close to being back to normal.”

Ronan sighed. “Well, Sarah, I know that, but the man is utterly driven to complete this project! I know I can be that way, too, but I’m not joking when I say his ability to endure outstrips my own. I mean, when we’re working, I have to get up and move around from time to time, but he—Great God in Heaven! I think he’d sit in front of that mixing board twenty-four hours a day if he could.”

“How close are you to finishing?”

“The instrumental bits are coming together well. I may not be the greatest tin whistle player , but—”

“Tin whistle?”

“I’m throwing in some counter-melodies over the guitar tracks, and Sean’s been mucking about with bass guitar and bodhran.”

“All you need is an accordion, and you can be the Neo-Pogues.”

“Actually, Sean’s bringing Jon in at the end of the week.”

“You’re not serious!”

“I am, if Emily will spare him for an evening or two.”

“I’ll see what I can do to facilitate that. He’ll be a great addition.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s the only outside person we’re using, though. Sean doesn’t want too many people knowing what we’re up to until he’s got the CD pressed and ready to sell.”

“He’s planning to market it?”

“I’ve told him he’d be a fool not to.”

“It’s that good?”

“Well, I’m a little biased, but yes, I think so, and I’ll be sure to wear my hat and shades for the cover photo.”

“Cover photo?” My voice squeaked in astonishment.

“Sean’s nephew is a good hand with a camera, so we’re going to take Sean over to the Common and stick him on a park bench, and Jon and I will arrange ourselves around him in some pleasing order, with instruments. Michael says he can do some interesting graphic manipulations to disguise us a bit.”

“So, you are close to finishing?”

“I think we’re within shouting distance. Maybe another week or two. If all goes well we may even start another project.”

“Isn’t that awfully ambitious?”

“Nah,” Ronan drawled, smiling. “Just striking while the iron’s hot.”

The train pulled into our station, and we exited quickly.

“Whose iron?” I asked, as we started up the stairs. “Yours or Sean’s?”

“Both. It’s a good collaboration, and I think we can get more out of it. Or no, on second thought, scratch that. I know we can get more out of it.”

As we walked down the street, I realized he had his long stride back, as if every place he set his feet was a stage to be taken. His shoulders were straight, and his head held high, and his lips curved in a pleasant smile. I could almost see the wheels turning in his mind, planning future projects.

Why wasn’t it enough to do the one for now? Why did he have to push for more?

Like Mary, I feared for Sean’s health.

***

But Sean was more resilient than any of us realized, energized as he was by the music. Mindful of Mary’s concern, he cut the work schedule back a bit, until the very end. Ronan had warned me that the last instrumental session was likely to be a marathon, so I didn’t think twice about it when he bid me goodbye that night. “Call me if you’re going to be really late, O.K.? So I won’t worry?”

Eyes twinkling as he lowered his shades into position, he smiled. “Of course. Can’t have you worrying.”

“This really is the last session for awhile?”

“If all goes well, yes, and to my mind there’s no reason it shouldn’t go well. Then Sean and I will take a few weeks off to listen to the recordings and study them for awhile, to figure out what we want to do when we’re ready to lay down the vocal tracks.”

“And you’re pleased with the way things have gone so far?”

“Mostly. There might be a thing or two to tweak, but overall I’m satisfied, and so is Sean.”

“What does Jon think?”

“He doesn’t care one way or another, just said to use his bits as we see fit.” Ronan picked up his guitar case and leaned over to peck my cheek. “Thank you.”

“Why thank me?”

“’Cause you’re the whole reason any of this ever came to pass. Without you, I’d still be in New Zealand, spinning my wheels and waiting to go blind.”

“Oh, you don’t really think so, do you?”

“No, I don’t think so: I know so. I’d have gone nowhere and done nothing without a catalyst. So, first you were that, and now—” He paused and grinned at me. “Let’s just say you’ve become my inspiration.” He leaned in close again and planted a soft kiss on my lips. “Get some sleep, will you, so I can wake you when I get home? I expect I’ll be a bit wired.”

I let my arms creep up around his neck. “Oh, I just bet you’ll be wired!” And I brought my mouth back to his and kissed him deeply. “There! That’s for luck.”

“Thank you, a chuisle. Tá grá agam duit.”

“What?”

He smiled and tweaked my nose. “It means I love you, a ghrá.”

“Someday you’ve got to teach me a bit more Irish, so I understand what you’re saying, but until then, I love you, too, Ronan, and I’ll be waiting for you whenever you decide to come home. Try not to be too late, though.”

He kissed me again, deeply, lingeringly. “Mmmmm. Listen, if we don’t stop this, I’ll never get to Sean’s, and he is expecting me after all. But knowing you’re waiting at the end of the night might encourage me to work a bit faster.” He smiled and stroked my cheek. “I’ll look forward to picking up where we’ve left off.”

I leaned back against the wall and ran my foot down the side of his leg. “Right here?” I asked, arching my eyebrows.

“If that’s your wish, but—agh! Stop that!” He laughed and grabbed my foot, curling his hand around my bare toes. “Pinching’s not fair, and you know it. There’ll be the devil to pay later if you keep that up.” He released my foot and flourished his fingers at me.

He was a merciless, remorseless tickler when the mood struck him, and I laughed, taunting him. “Fingers or feathers?”

He flexed his fingers and grinned wickedly. “Fingers,” he said. “No quarter. No mercy.”

“Ooh!” I responded, laughing harder.

He pecked my cheek one more time. “There, now, you’ve got to let me go. If I stay here another minute I’ll not be able to walk until I’ve laid you down and had my way with you.”

I stepped back and planted both feet firmly on the floor. Though I really wished he wouldn’t go, I knew it made no sense for him to postpone the work that needed to be done.

I went downstairs with him and waited at the door, watching as he walked away down the street, his head held high and his hair blowing softly in the wind. It was hard to resist the urge to call him back, but I reminded myself that Sean was waiting, and would surely be disappointed if Ronan didn’t show up at the appointed hour. It really was best to let him go his way.

We would have all the time in the world to talk and love each other later. In the meantime, I would settle in with a book and some music, and maybe even allow myself the luxury of a nap in a nice, hot bath. When Ronan returned, I would be more than ready for him. With that in mind, I closed the front door and went back upstairs.

***

C.P. Warner
© 11 August 2007

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