The Halloween Party

THE HALLOWEEN PARTY

A small boy is playing with a dog in a field. Boy cannot speak, but he makes signs to Dog. Dog is a cocker spaniel (almost) with sad eyes, a bit lame in one leg, but still able to play. Dog’s ears flap about, and the brass studs on his new white collar shine in the evening sun.
They are down in the field by the canal. Dog and Boy, chasing an imaginary ball. Boy and Dog playing an imaginary game, and all the time Boy is trying to force sounds out through his lips:
‘Ainm focal, ainm foc…’
Boy is hiding by a blackberry bush. Dog sniffs about, tail downcast, tongue hanging out. Boy notices how Dog’s brown chest heaves heavily like his mother’s… Then, with the apparition of Boy, tail lifts and wags, and Dog excitedly jumps up, possessive paws. They wrestle and roll down the grassy slope towards the canal.
Across the canal Boy can see several big fellows. They wear chained leather and have spiked hair; they are standing around a bonfire. They pass flagons around – the cider drinkers. Mother had warned about them.
Suddenly, Boy feels a hand tightly over his mouth. He is wheeled around to face a goth in purple spiked hair and Doc Marten boots.
‘Open you mouth, scum bag and you’re dead.’
The goth exhales smoke, and lifting Boy’s hand, presses a lighted cigarette against it.
‘Squeal, scum bag.’
Who hears Boy’s inner scream? He falls to his knees in pain. The goth is puzzled by his silence.
‘Something stronger?’
He produces a shining blade. Dog leaps on him and tears a piece from his hand. The goth flees towards the canal, cursing and screaming.
‘I’ll get you and your fucking dog, wait and see.’

Boy does not tell Mother. Mother’s bosom rises and falls. She sighs a lot ever since Father went away.
Boy loves writing notes; it is a game. He leaves them lying all around the house, tries to rhyme occasionally, or draw a little picture.

‘I got no ecker Mam
I ate the bread and jam.’

Mother joins in the game and writes things like:

‘Where does the wind blow?
Down in the valley O.’

In the Irish class they write out name, word and sentence. Some pupils forget the word or the order, and Teacher writes on the board:
AINM FOCAL ABAIRT
Boy copies it down:
AINM FOCAL ABAIRT
AINM FOCAL
AINM FOC…
He couldn’t say it but he could write it.

Mother’s hair has a lot of grey. She talks about the two cloaks of the Bible.
‘If I had two cloaks, I would keep one, and use the other to shelter my son.’
She draws a picture of herself with Boy under one cloak in a garden with many coloured flowers. In the middle of the garden there is a straight poplar tree shooting up.

In the early darkness Boy and Dog head homewards through the rustling leaves and skeletal trees. Dog seems lamer than usual.
A banger explodes in the distance. Small children, some with starlights, pass them on the street. They are dressed in masks and witches’ hats, and old adult clothes. Already they are calling to houses, collecting fruit and nuts. A bonfire is blazing down by the canal.
On the way they meet Freddie, wearing the hood to hide his missing ear – cut off by St Peter’s sword, that’s what Teacher said. Boy tells Freddie with signs what has happened to his hand, and of the heroism of Dog, but crosses his index finger on his lips.
‘You’ve got a good dog there. Those cider drinkers do terrible things. They stab with bottles and kick the heads off women. Last Halloween they exploded a banger up a donkey’s arse and stabbed him with knives and threw lighted cigarettes into his mouth and up his nose. And they tie up dogs and cats, up to heavy blocks, and drown them in the canal. They even burnt a cat alive.’

At home: curly kale, barmbrack, snap apple, coin in water, then dressing up, masks and old clothes. Mother is anxious.
‘Only our avenue mind.’
He accompanies some voiced children.
‘Help the Halloween party.’
It is exciting to feel the paper bag swell under the weight of the assorted fruit and nuts. It is quite dark now, and the small group of children, as they move down the avenue, become veiled, and blur into the streetscape.
Freddie points to the blazing bonfires by the canal.
Just then Dog runs excitedly towards the group. Boy wonders how he got out; he should be at home with Mother – bangers frighten him. Boy looks sternly and points towards home. With head down and tail drooping, Dog limps away.

They gather around as Freddie lights a starlight. A rocket explodes in the sky over the canal. Under a street lamp a boy exclaims, ‘They’re gettin’ high on jungle juice.’
‘Their bleedin’ bangers are rapeh,’ says a hardfaced boy, ‘let’s leg it down to get a better look.’
The children run towards the canal. Freddie and Boy look at one another and then bolt after them. Some apples fall as they run, but they don’t bother to pick them up.
Boy, with the other children, keeps a distance from the fires, but Freddie runs backwards and forwards with reports of the happenings.
‘They’ve got somethin’ in a black sack.’
Boy smells the rubber of car tyres burning. He is too far away, but it looks like a dog that is being taken out of the black sack.
‘His mouth is taped up,’ reports Freddie.
Boy is perspiring, as if he were close to the fire. Flames are jumping; hands wave in a sort of ritual, like in a silent movie.
‘They’re burnin’ the bowler alive.’
He can taste the rising vomit. Writhe, kick out, scream from the silent world.
‘His legs are gagged.’
Jesus will come. He can see those creatures poking the dog with sticks to keep him from sliding off the fire. Large flagons are raised in a toast. Some of the creatures are dancing around the fire like Indians in a western.

Freddie returns from his scouting.
‘They’re goin’ down to the canal now. They say they’re goin’ to drown somethin’. I found this on the ground.’
Freddie gives a look, a telltale sign. It is a halfburned dog collar which had once been white. The collar trembles in Boy’s hand as he looks at the brass studs.
AINM FOC…

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