Bina Page 12
Go home, I said to the Crusties
I’m going back to my bed, I said.
I am an old woman who should not be disturbed in this manner. At my age, in my situation, with my dispensation, there should be some peace available to me. You’re like a bunch of birds fighting and squabbling in my brain and you’re making me unbalanced.
I’ll be honest now, I wasn’t at my best. One of the inspectors had a look about him that I had a bad feeling about because he put on a pair of blue latex gloves and removed a phone from his coat pocket & began taking photos. I stomped down the garden away from all of them and since I hadn’t put on the right footwear to support such a firm stomp, I came a cropper over a chunk of something belonging to Eddie or a Crustie. Whatever took me down, hadn’t I barked so often at the Crusties to leave me in peace that they did just that. Finally I had to wail. I can’t get up, I’m stuck. And I was so tired of it all I began to cry. Phil would have been mortified. But as we all know, Phil could be wrong.
A Crustie drove me to the Accident & Emergency and I was worried they’d keep me there and then try to arrest me for whatever new thing they fancied arresting me for. My collarbone was broke, but my shoulder was not. They insisted my colour was a problem. That I was the wrong colour to go home. How is your pain, they kept asking me. I want to shoot my own head off, I said in reply.
I can report that it isn’t the wisest thing to say if you are trying to go home from such a place.
That was a warning within a remarking.
Like a blanket wrapped in a quilt.
Phil said stop.
Bina stop crying.
Crying is no good to anyone and you more than anyone know it and so stop with the crying.
If you start crying, I’ll start crying, she said, and neither of the two of us will be any good to the other.
That was when we ate a basket of chips with ketchup and agreed to stop all tears.
I tried to tell her another time about what I couldn’t tell her, but Phil stuck to her line on old women and tears. I’ve learned anytime I gave tears publicly I was soon slammed up in an uncomfortable bed other than my own, and we both agreed that a woman’s place is in her own bed.
Phil was right.
There was no room for crying unless you were on a familiar pillow.
Phil knew
What Phil knew
And that was the problem
Because I could never ascertain how much she knew.
Except the odd time she would say with no uncertainty that at our age we are already past the end and we should be facing it, Bina, and we won’t face it, will we?
Then she did whisper that she admired how I was helping people face it.
I looked blank and smiled and said something about weather or water or both. If stuck, I always drew on the “W” words. I learned this from Scrabble. It’s a great game for filling in the awkward pauses.
I was skittery when Phil talked this way.
I was skittery because I’d been carefully trained by the Tall Man and his rule was that those nearest and closest to us must suspect nothing and if we suspected they suspected we must immediately stop. Cease! Because you’ll take everyone out and it’s selfish to do that. You have been trusted and if that trust is ever blown you must stop.
All I heard was him saying stop and cease and Phil saying she admired that I was helping people.
What I should have done is asked Phil outright:
Do you know?
How much do you know?
And who has told you what you know?
But I was worried about Tomás. That without me he’d have no one to help him and he was nearing the end and would need me.
I was a fool.
I am not as vital or important as I thought I might be.
Tomás would have been fine.
He would have found his exit.
If I’d left him to Eddie, Eddie would have killed him.
Instead, Eddie has the two of us killed, maybe.
Bina, the Tall Man would say to me
I am warning you
Don’t hesitate.
Don’t hesitate with Eddie.
Kick his ass out of here.
Those were the words he said.
The exact words
Because that is his accent too.
And how, I said
Do you propose I do that?
Have you seen the size of my feet?
You haven’t lost the use of your hands, he said
Change the locks.
You think locks stop a big lump like Eddie?
He’d come back in through the chimney.
If I am not to hesitate then I’ll need a gun
I said.
A gun is all that will relieve me of Eddie.
That shut the Tall Man up with his prescriptions.
No talk of guns, he said, returning to Scrabble.
It reminds me of a certain place I cannot mention.
You don’t need a gun, he said
You need to learn to say No.
He was right I needed to learn to say No
And not just to Eddie.
I needed to learn to say No to all men
Including him.
And the next time I found an opportunity to tell him as much
He wasn’t able to hear it.
So I am going to tell him now
From here.
From where I am lying in my bed.
I am going to tell you, Tall Man
After the fact
That I was a fool not to say No to you
And not to say a proper No to Phil
Because Phil was wrong
And you were sometimes wrong.
The difference is Phil probably knew she was wrong
Whereas you never entertained any such notion.
I was chased out of my home each day by an odour
The odour’s name was Eddie.
I have wondered what might have become of me if I’d never let that odour in.
We can’t know now.
This is a warning:
If it smells bad, it is bad.
The Crusties were clever. I admire them now I think more on it. They sent Paul from Donegal into the hospital to me. They were cute to send him because he was a man who could sit and say nothing. He was good at looking out the window. He was good for fetching tea. He was good for delivering reports. He was good at calming me down, once he had the report delivered.
I’m not going to lie to you, Bina, but there’s a bit of a situation now at the house.
What kind of a situation?
It’s just all the stuff you were storing.
What storing? I’m not storing anything. Eddie has the place covered in shite but there’s nothing new there.
Behind your barn. That stuff.
What stuff? I haven’t been behind that barn.
Well I am sure there’s an explanation then.
What have they found there?
Hospital waste, he said.
I was completely mithered. Hospital waste?! I haven’t made any waste, I said. I’ve only been sat here 5 hours. I’ve only broken my collarbone. How much waste can there be? I don’t even think I’ve used a tissue.
The texts and photos started arriving. The Kind Crustie asked me the way the Kind Crustie always did whether I wanted to see the pictures.
Don’t worry, he said, we filmed it all to make sure they didn’t plant anything there.
Did you know about the track back there?
Track? What track?
He revealed photos.
I didn’t like what they showed
So I will spare you the details.
Needless to say I was happy not to go home from this hospital now.
Because when this hospital-waste story got out, no hospital would let me back in.
Don’t worry, the Kind Crustie said.
There’s bound to be an explanation.
I looked at him
We both knew the explanation and neither of us could say his name aloud.
I rested until the further x-rays were due. They needed to strap me to an ironing board and put me into another machine, they said. They needed to decide whether to put a bolt into my bones. I longed to have a frank conversation with them, where I expressed it would be a wasted bolt because given the shape my future was taking in the past hour I might not be sticking around.
Where did he get the waste? I asked Paul, the Kind Crustie.
I wouldn’t know myself, he replied, but it was probably a criminal*7 gave it to him.
Yes, I agreed, I suppose there would be no point in stealing the stuff as it’s free.
But why would he store it behind my barn? Who would want to buy it?
I think you might consider this a bit more than storage—more like a final destination.
The Lord save us, I said.
We were lucky he didn’t kill the lot of us.
The Crustie didn’t reply, he just stared out the window.
This was for the best
As there was nothing to be said about Eddie.
Silence was the best choice.
When finally I was let go from the hospital
Once again, I had only this Kind Crustie to rely on and bring me home.
Now Bina, the doctor said, I don’t mean to press the issue, but you can’t be dealing with animals or farming until the collarbone is repaired.
He looked at the Crustie.
You have to let your son handle the outdoor work or you’ll be back in here to us with another break.
He is not my son, I said, emphatic.
He is a nice man, but he’s not my son.
I have no sons,*8 I said
And I make no apology for it.
The doctor didn’t care if I’d a son or not
But as soon as I had no son, in the social worker came
I knew this was a bad plan
Because as soon as they saw who was camping outside my back door
I’d be back in here.
But I had seen where having sons could get you with Eddie
So I caved in and accepted my fate.
A health visitor would be ringing me, she said
And Meals on Wheels could be organized.
Meals on Wheels?
I’d say I’m blacklisted, was all I replied
And good enough of her she let that pass.
The Kind Crustie was in with his reassurances.
She has community support, he*9 proclaimed.
I have no such thing, I thought
I just have a gang of squatters getting under my feet and bringing me bad news.
When the Kind Crustie drove me home, he stopped.
We’re getting you fed, he said.
Then you’re going to sleep.
Again I had a brief glimpse that I could let this one in to use my toilet
But I clamped down on it
Because I’d been had before.
It was Phil I needed
I wanted Phil back
I want her undead.
That’s how it is.
Just because you can lift a box
Doesn’t make you useful to me if you won’t put it where I tell you to put it.
It’s not useful if you put it on top of my head.
I kept waking up in a panic and thinking nonsense obvious things like that.
It had to be the drugs they’d given me.
Drugs can make you very strange.
I heard about the waste, she whirred away into the answering machine.
The council had slapped a dangerous-territory order on my sheds.
I told them to unslap it.
The Crusties had formed a human chain.
They were all fighting when I arrived.
I pushed my way into the middle and told them straight. I am getting into my bed and I expect quiet out here. I need to sleep. I have a broken bone and there’s to be no fighting until it’s fixed.
Let them in to do whatever it is they want to do, I told the swarm of Crusties. Just move all the tents closer to the door. And you, I told the officials, get on with your excavations and leave these good people alone.
There was a lot of muttering about breach of health and safety and contamination and they gave numbers for how much distance was needed to contain it. They seemed to be talking about evacuating the neighbours. Listen, I said, it’s a bunch of rubbish we’re talking about, not foot-and-mouth. Calm down and get on with it because the longer you stand here shouting, the more it’ll contaminate wherever it sits.
I agreed all the campers and tents would move by tomorrow noon.
The Crusties insisted on a meeting.
I told them straight
No meeting until I have had a rest.
All I can say is, democracy is very noisy.
I gave in to avoid a meeting and said they must send most people away but that no more than four could stay and they could come into my kitchen until the situation resolved. But now they had to get out of my way and let me go to bed. I eyed the Kind Crustie and told him to deal with it.
This is the end of it now.
All here. All told from here is told to you from the leaba. I am back in my bed. I will not be leaving it. When was I last out of the bed? I can’t remember. I have taken to the bed because a murky set of circumstances have come down around me that I cannot tell you about. God I wish I could. But it’s just too risky. You understand or at least you will when you read this and you see all the rest of it (soon) splashed in the papers.
Expect the red dot very soon. Expect it any sentence. I am tired. Awful tired. I am tired of thinking of how I’ll explain this all to the resisters. For my feeling now is, it is over. I will endeavour to rush through the remaining stuff I owe you or if you don’t find anything here you might feel you’re owed an explanation for, know that either I may not have one or I was in bed writing it and my arm may have given up on me. I could have fallen asleep. Do me a favour and close your radio ears down when all the bad talk soon*10 starts. We cannot know every reason a person has for doing a thing. Even if we think they are wrong, even if they are very wrong the way I know Phil was wrong.
I am only one woman with a biro or a pencil, depending on what falls out of the bed, and what I can or cannot reach with my bad shoulder. They’ll make up lies. They’ll probably say I was dirty and demented. I was neither. I was just one-shouldered towards the end and very tired. I’ve decided to stay in the bed now, because anytime I get out of the bed I seem to invite a new round of trouble.
I want to quick slip in a warning here. Dear God Above Do Not Talk To The Papers. I know it’s a cliché and I know no one is reading them,*11 and everyone is blaming them for everything including the football results and the weather. But they are right. DO BLAME THEM. There was an awful anorak of a man at the door and another ringing the phone. A third woman said she was a friend of my cousin. Cousin? What cousin, says I? Sure I’ve no cousins. I’ve killed them all, remember! That shut her down. But what is it here I am trying to say? It is only this. Don’t talk to them. If you talk to one they start phoning from Bahrain. I have had to barricade myself in. They arrived like an army out there. And in I am now barricaded with very little food to last me. Only for the Crusties forming a ring, I’d have nothing. But I don’t care, I’ll go hungry before they get me for whatever it is they have now decided I’ve done. I can’t keep up with the accusations
Stop it, the Solicitor said.
Stop what?
Stop saying you are ready to talk and phoning up the media.
I haven’t touched the phone, I said. Not since.
Who’s talking to the Daily Mail then?
Who is this spokesperson speaking for you in the papers?
I’ve no clue, I said.
I’m here in bed.
I’m not talking to anyone, onl
y myself.
And you.
I phoned the Solicitor.
It might be the lads camping out the back.
What lads?
The protestors.
Hold on til I go out and see.
The Crusties want me to know it wasn’t them and it must be an enemy. Categorically not them. They said the word categorically twice. They offered to make a list of all my enemies and then apologized for getting me out of bed. They have people on the inside and their people could find out. Do no such thing, I said. I don’t want to know who it is. Enemies, they repeated. This is the work of a traitor. A professional. Make a list.
The Solicitor wants me to know.
And this time I pay attention.
And tell him to send me a picture of the latest accuser.
When I see it I laugh loudly.
I am in bed when I laugh.
My shoulder hurts.
I turn over and push the envelope aside and laugh some more.
I’ve never set eyes on anyone in the picture he’s sent.
It wakes me up. The curiosity in it. The curious element that someone is actively making rubbish up where there’s no need. The world is overflowing with made-up rubbish. I’ve seen this since the Tall Man turned on the Tablet for me. There’s so much rubbish it has made me very tired. And now there’s fresh rubbish that’s woken me up.
The new accusation involves a case in England. Lookit, I wasn’t in England for a long time and I will tell you here and now exactly where I was when I was in England and why. I was nowhere near where they say this
England wasn’t for Bina.
It isn’t for everyone
And it wasn’t for Bina.
No matter what they’re saying.