Solar Bones. Mike McCormack

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      isn’t this very nice Marcus, very stylish and

      her glad enjoyment filled the space around us with its own brightness while the next few minutes were taken up with settling into our seats and picking our way through the menu, gladly taking guidance from Agnes who seemed familiar with the place and what it had to offer so it wasn’t long before our orders were taken and we were relieved of the large menus to settle back and review the whole evening which, from what I could gather, had been an unqualified success, with much for Agnes and Mairead to talk about, specifically how the exhibition was likely to play out in the weeks ahead – hopefully it might travel to other galleries, possibly going to Dublin, the work would need that kind of exposure if it were to get any reviews in the national papers – and I chipped in with a few questions to assure them that I was not sulking or upset and that, like a good schoolboy, I had been paying attention and Agnes answered them with that careful measure of attention and consideration which assured me that nothing I had done during the evening, nothing of my fright or panic, had thrown her or damaged her confidence and I was relieved and proud of her also because

      her self-confidence was one of those markers I’ve always held up to myself as proof that I had done a decent job as a father, a true indicator that she had grown strong and self-sufficient and would not be buffeted too easily by whatever life threw at her, nor would she shirk those moments when she would have to stand her ground, moments such as now when she turned her full face towards me and began abruptly

      you were surprised by the work, upset

      by way of opening the topic

      I saw it on your face, it took you by surprise

      yes, I conceded, a bit shocked, it wasn’t what I had expected, nothing like your previous work and

      while the puzzlement in my voice was genuine it did nothing to hide the hurt which I feared would swell up in that surge of self-pity that was boiling within me and which was aggravated by the patient, conciliatory tone with which Agnes began telling me that

      yes, it’s a bit of a departure all right, I don’t think I’ll ever fully get away from oils – nor would I want to – but over the last couple of months I’ve wanted to try something else, an experiment – to step outside the idea of oil painting towards something new and

      this is it

      yes, she said, with a frown, and however successful this exhibition is, my next work will probably be a return to oil, oil with blood on canvas, some sort of new amalgam possibly, I don’t know yet

      she said, smiling and

      leaning forward in the chair to offer me her full face, her shoulders straining out of the folds of her shift as if anxious to give clear evidence of both her commitment to the idea and her wish to set my mind at rest, all of which undid me so that in a gulping lurch I found myself explaining that

      what I found difficult about the whole piece wasn’t just the blood

      I should have warned you

      it wasn’t just any blood, it was your blood

      it’s ok, I took precautions

      it’s a mutilation

      no it’s not Dad, it was just a jab for god’s sake and she threw up her hands and smiled so

      I felt assured now, ready to grasp this moment and press ahead with my own thoughts because

      what I found difficult was the mixture of finger pointing and sanctimony in the whole piece, your righteous standpoint over the material, I wasn’t so sure about that

      you think that’s a cheap shot, that I’m standing on some urban stage and poking fun at culchies with

      her voice threaded through with that steely edge which always gratified me – a response all her own and so different to what would have been her brother’s evasive clowning in such moments – Agnes was always likely to go toe to toe on any point she felt strongly enough on so that

      I’m not sure my accusation is that you are taking a cheap shot or

      that maybe I’m Uncle Tomming here, gratifying urban audiences with the comedy capers of their country cousins

      something like that, cheap ridicule, although I would be disappointed if you hadn’t thought of that yourself, you’re smarter than that

      yes, that crossed my mind, but that’s not the same as saying I managed to circumvent it and

      the choices you made were soft options, just the sort of stuff that would make us look ridiculous, all those drink-driving convictions, common assault, public order offences – as crimes there was something almost comic about them so that

      yes, I agree, there is more comedy than danger in some of them – even the incidents of assault – but all the cases were taken from reports of the circuit and district courts and it was that sense of local reckoning which appealed to me – why, I cannot honestly say, but it was as if there was something manageable about the transgressions and sins that go to trial there – I don’t know, as an idea it’s still not fully formed, I’ve given it a lot of thought but it’s still not fully clear to me and

      she looked serious now and I had a moment in which to consider that maybe I’d got ahead of myself in an attempt to understand the whole thing as these were not words that normally came tripping off my tongue, or more accurately I had never found myself in the sort of places where words of this type were necessary, but now they flooded ahead of me, threatening to carry me off to some sort of disaster so I drew hard on the reins and pulled back from wherever it was I was going because nothing good could come from losing the run of myself at an hour of the evening when it was nearly won, especially now with Agnes herself in such a conciliatory mood and winding up the topic by admitting

      there’s nothing to worry about Dad, yes, there might be finger-pointing and accusation but it wasn’t personal, none of it was at you or Mam for that matter – you’re exonerated of all charges – it’s an idea in embryo and

      she turned her whole face towards me with an expression of such open appeal that I softened instantly as some wiry tension in my gut unravelled to something warmer which drew the edge off the moment so that we could raise our glasses now, allowing us to settle into the knowledge that we had tested the moment severely and could let it rest for the time being, a conclusion confirmed in the relaxed expression on Mairead’s face who, till then, had studiously faded into the background but now, sensing the difficult moment had passed, was refilling her glass from the water carafe in the centre of the table and raising

      a toast to our daughter on her big day, that it may be the first of many, and

      so the moment was solved and we raised our glasses and clinked them together with a lingering note that hung over the table, taking a long time to fade

      like the Angelus bell

      which still reverbs in my head now, a single note ringing on in the brightness of the day as if the whole world were suspended from it

      mountains, rivers and lakes

      past, present and future with

      the whole moment so complete now and tidied away that we could settle easily into each other’s company and turn to safer СКАЧАТЬ