making the reply, “I know that, Mrs. Tubridy. But you know what they’re like. They imagine things. They make things up.”
Pat felt the cloth being relocated to a spot directly above his eye.
“Does it hurt here?” Mrs. Tubridy said softly. “Will I rub it just a littler more?”
What exactly happened in the intervening seconds is unclear. What is apparent is that somehow Pat broke free and found himself standing above the older woman, clearly in a state of tremulous anxiety now.
“Mrs. Tubridy!” he cried, his voice quivering like a lost leaf in a countryside-denuding storm, “I’m afraid you’ll have to go!”
There followed a silence and then Mrs. Tubridy lowered her head and said softly, yieldingly, “Very well—I’ll just go get my umbrella.”
A wave of remorse—infinitely larger than the one which had conveniently provided him with courage earlier on—crashed through Pat.
“Mrs. Tubridy!” he groaned. “It’s just that—”
“Yes, Pat—I know,” came the reply.
As she was going past the hat stand in the hallway, Pat picked at his fingernail and said, “Good night then, Mrs. Tubridy.” The older woman adjusted her coat and said, “Good night, Pat.”
It was only as she was opening the front door to venture out into the quiet night of the sleeping town and its surrounding countryside that she turned and said tenderly, “You know, Pat—you know your mother’s a very lucky woman. Drunk or no, you could be one of the nicest young fellows in the town. You always were. You know that, don’t you, Pat?”
A twinge of uncertainty nagged at Pat as she spoke. But nonetheless he managed a reply.
“Yes, Mrs. Tubridy.”
“She loved you, Pat,” continued Mrs. Tubridy. “I know—because she told me. ‘I love Pat,’ she said, ‘my son Pat.’”
Pat found himself choking a little.
“Mrs. Tubridy …” he began.
Mrs. Tubridy’s voice was soft as downy feathers now.
“‘He’s the nicest little fellow ever I carried in my stomach,’” she said,” ‘ I don’t care who makes a laugh of him.’”
“Please, Mrs. Tubridy …,” said Pat, a trifle dizzy now.
It was some moments before he realized at all that Mrs. Tubridy’s fingers were in his hair, running through it ever so gently. Her lips soft and warm close to his ear as she said, “Why did you do it, Pat? Did you have an argument with her?”
An imaginary icy hand placed its hand flat on Pat’s back.
“Do what, Mrs. Tubridy?” he replied, endeavoring to be noncommittal.
Mrs. Tubridy lowered her head as if disappointed.
“Oh, Pat, Pat,” she said, adding with disorienting swiftness. “Was she upsetting you?”
A fully formed tear shone in Pat’s right eye as he replied, “Yes, Mrs. Tubridy. She was. She wouldn’t leave me alone.”
The older woman moved exceptionally close to him and said, “I wouldn’t upset you, Pat. As long as you did what I said. As long as you were my nice litde boy. Would you be that, Pat? Would you? And then I wouldn’t have to tell them all the litde things I know about you. I wouldn’t have to tell them not to whisper a word about it. Not so much as a word about it all. Wouldn’t that be lovely, Pat?”
Already some of the tear was drying on Pat’s cheek. His right one.
“Yes, Mrs. Tubridy,” he said.
“And you’d never touch that horrible old stuff again?”
“No, Mrs. Tubridy.”
“Never go near Sullivan’s as long as you live.”
“No, Mrs. Tubridy.”
“Does your head hurt, Pat?”
Mrs. Tubridy pressed a soft spot which was located directly above his left eye.
“Horrible ugly drink!” she said, and squeezed it again.
It was some days later and Pat was busier than ever, cleaning out cupboards and trying to get everything done before dinner. Mrs. Tubridy’s voice came ringing clear and uncompromising from the scullery. “And don’t forget that other one! I see one hidden away in at the back there! Do you hear me, Pat McNab?”
“Yes, Mrs. Tubridy,” replied Pat, as his fingers closed around the last remaining whiskey bottle located in the nether darkness at the rear of the cupboard. He added it to the contents of his Dumpster and pushed the glittering container of redundant glass out into the backyard, where it would be collected the following day by the garbage-men. He remained resolutely silent as Mrs. Tubridy stood over him ensuring that each receptacle was added to the mound of glass whose peak was now level with the top of the gate. When she was satisfied, she smiled contentedly and said, “Well, Pat! That’s the last we’ll see of them!”
Pat nodded compliantly and rubbed his hands on his apron.
“Yes,