Twenty
years or so after I moved to Dublin, I was down home for a funeral.
It was a bitterly cold wind-chilling, sleet shower throwing, winter
day and I went for a warmer.
In the pub beside a
big glowing turf fire a brown over-coated figure crouched to catch
the heat, his worn, wide brimmed, battered hat, steaming-off the
dampness. The barman brought a pint of Smithwicks. Johnny took a
Suicre Bag from a pocket and spooned sugar into the glass.
I went over and
tried to talk to him. He ignored me as if I wasn’t there, continued
stirring his sugaring beer and didn’t look up.
“We used to live
near you. I was two or three. We lived in Maloney's house. Dad and
yourself were friends. I think you used bounce me on your knee.”
He looked up into my
face with eyes as red as the turf coals and the swirling beer.
“You had fair
hair, almost white. Pull up a chair and tell me how you are.”
I told him how I
was. He told me stories of rabbits snared, Christmas Turkeys Mam
raised and sold, Whist games, Twenty Five and Tricks Trumped, House
Dances, Card Tricks and Fools Jokes. All the time he sipped beer
sweetened for his old taste.
I asked if he still
did the Card Tricks. He didn’t he explained: his hands like his
taste were old and faltering. But, he said, he was having a good day
and he would show me a trick It would remind us of the old
knee-bouncing days.
From the deep coat
pocket he took a well worn deck of playing cards held captive by
rubber bands. He released the bands and passed the deck into my
hands. “Box them!” He instructed. I shuffled the deck and
proffered them back. “Do it again,” he said, “‘till you’re
satisfied.” I boxed them again and then once more.
The normal buzz of
conversation had faded as drinkers gathered around. “Johnny is
doing a trick,” was the rallying call.
I offered the cards
again. He shook his head.
Softly head deeply
bowed, concentrating, he instructed “You hold them and turn over
the top card. It’s a ten of spades.”
I placed the ten of
spades on the table between us.
“It’s a fine
trick!” I ventured. “How did you do it?”
He looked up
slightly. “I’m not finished yet!” He tapped the side of his
nose with a skinny shaky finger and then this unique human being: who
went to school ‘Til the sixth book only, without hesitation without
looking up at me or at the cards in my hand, named all remaining
cards before I turned them over and placed them on the table.
I asked again how
the trick was done. He only smiled and sipped his beer.
