Nana lived in what she called a shithole, but dad said it was really called a maisonette. She lived there with my aunty Becky, and my aunty Christine and my uncle Billy who everyone called Gobshite, but I wasn’t allowed to call him nothing but Uncle Billy because I was only seven and to call him Gobshite was a sign of disrespect.
Every Sunday dad would wake me and my brother Nicholas up early in the morning. He’d open the door and shout our names and then rattle our beds and throw the blankets off us. One time Nicholas had what he called, Morning Glory, and dad flicked it and told him he’d go blind. I looked down at Nicholas’s underpants and it reminded me of an Indian Tepee and poor Nicholas was holding the top of that Tepee trying to hide it so dad didn’t hit it again. When dad left the room, I asked Nicholas what he was hiding in there and he told me to sod off. I wished right then he would go blind because that way I could pull funny faces at him and give him the Vs without him even knowing.
Nana was the head of the family and having to visit her was just the thing that had to be done because it was about respect and keeping the peace. No matter what time we arrived at Nana’s shithole she was never awake, and neither was my two aunties or my Uncle Billy. Dad would bang on the door and then knock on the windows, and when that didn’t work he would open the letterbox and shout through it naughty words. A little while later you’d hear Nana shout from behind the door that it was too early and that normal people sleep in on Sundays, but every word she said had a slur to it, like she was doing an impression of a snake and me and Nicholas would giggle because we knew she didn’t have her teeth in. Dad would hear us giggle and crack us both over the head and tell us stop taking the piss out of our Nan and to show a little respect, and no sooner had the door opened and Nan peeked around from its corner, Dad would start taking the piss out of the way she looked, saying she looked like the Bride of Frankenstein and an old witch. To be honest when Nan didn’t have her teeth in, or her hair tied back, or her lippy put on, she deserved all she got.
Nan’s house was really boring because all it had was lots of pictures of a man with long hair and little beard and sad eyes and a glowing heart. And there was a lot of crosses and statues of a woman holding a baby and the woman was dressed in blue and had a scarf wrapped around her head. And in the kitchen were a few Elvis pictures that were my Aunty Becky’s and a mirror with two little cartoon children that said, Love is…. And sometimes there was this smell, a burnt smell that reminded me of the time mam and dad set fire to our kitchen curtains and then telephoned this man called, Lionel. Lionel always visited us on a Friday night and collected money from mam and dad. He was nice but always stank of cigarettes. I once asked mam what the money was for and she told me that it helped protect our home. Some Friday nights, when dad hadn’t any work on, we’d play a game where we all hid behind the couch and dad and mam would tell us to be quiet and if we did we could stay up and watch Dave Allen. And when we all heard the door knock dad turned to me and Nicholas and whispered that if we opened our mouths we’d get such a crack across our arses we wouldn’t shit for a week. A few weeks after mam and dad burnt the curtains we got a letter in the post and that night we had roast beef and Yorkshire puds, and bananas in custard for deserts.
Aside from the burnt smell at Nan’s shithole there was also a talc smell too, and sometimes a cabbage smell because whenever we went around, at whatever time, there was always cabbage on the stove, or cabbage in the fridge, or cabbage in the grocery basket. Such a boring time we had sat there in that shithole surrounded with all those smells and crosses and Elvis pictures, and the sad looking man with long hair and little beard and big blue eyes and a heart that glowed red. And I guess this man must have been one of the family because he was like on every wall.
One Sunday, I asked Nan who was it in the picture and she said it was, Jesus.
Who’s that, I said
The Son of our Lord.
Who’s our Lord?
God.
And who’s God.
God is everything.
Is God the sun?
Yes.
Is God the clouds?
Yes.
Is God the sky?
Yes.
Is God the cabbage?
The cabbage? Yes.
Is God a football?
Yes. He is everything.
Then why is that man sad, I said pointing at the picture of Jesus. If my dad could turn into a football and I could kick him all day long then I would be happy.
He is sad because he died for our sins.
What is a sin?
A sin is a very bad thing. That’s why you shouldn’t do bad things because it makes Jesus very sad.
Who’s Jesus?
The man in the picture.
How did he die?
He was crucified.
What’s crucified?
Men nailed him to a wooden cross until he could not breath anymore.
I looked around the room at all the crosses and the man nailed to each one.
Did it hurt Jesus?
I guess it did, yes.
Why didn’t his dad turn into the cross and help him?
What do you mean?
Why didn’t he turn into the cross and bend over and let Jesus down?
Because if Jesus didn’t die none of us would go to Heaven.
What’s heaven?
It’s where all people go who are good.
Is it like Blackpool?
No, it is not like Blackpool. It is the kingdom of our Lord.
What else did Jesus do?
He told people about God. And he performed miracles and cured the ill.
What’s a miracle?
A miracle is like magic.
Is Paul Daniels’s dad God too?
No. And it’s not that kind of magic. Jesus turned water into wine at a wedding. He could walk on water. And calmed storms. And fed five thousand people with just bread and fish. And… Are you listening, Daniel?
I wasn’t, I was looking at the picture wishing I could walk on water.
Can I have a cross, Nana?
What do you want a cross for?
So I can show my friends.
Jesus is not a toy.
But you have loads.
It’s not about how many I have, Daniel. It is about respect.
If I promise to respect him can I have a cross?
I’ll tell you what. I will give you a cross providing you bring it here every time you visit. That way I know you’re not mistreating him.
What’s mistreating?
Doing harm.
I won’t. Promise.
After we left Nan’s shithole and dad brought us back home I ran a bath and threw that cross in, and shouted to the cross, Walk Jesus! Walk! But Jesus didn’t do nothing but sink and stay there. I then picked him up and I went out into the yard and I held him up to the grey sky and I shouted, Calm the storm, Jesus! Calm the Storm! But Jesus just stayed there hanging from the cross and the skies remained grey and the wind kept blowing. I then went upstairs to my bedroom and got all my toy soldiers and put them in a box and brought them down and placed them beside the breadbin along with Jesus. I looked in the box and I figured I had about a hundred. I took the loaf from the bread bin, propped up Jesus against it and I shouted, Feed my soldiers, Jesus! Feed my Soldiers! Mam came in and asked what all the shouting was about and I told her Jesus was going to feed us for a thousand days. She picked up the cross and asked where I got it, and I said Nana gave it to me, and mam frowned and said I shouldn’t listen to everything Nana said because most the time she’s drunk. I told her about God and Jesus and how he walked on water and fed loads of people and turned wine in water. Mam corrected me and said Jesus turned water into wine. I thought then it must be true if mam knows about Jesus too. She held out the cross and asked what did I want with such a thing. I said I wanted to save us money because dad is always drinking and me and Nicholas are always starving and I figured if I have a Jesus then all the water in the tap can be wine and dad wouldn’t need to go out all the time, and maybe one loaf could last us for ages so we wouldn’t get hungry, and maybe next time we all go to Chimneypot park and it gets cloudy, Jesus will make it sunny so we can stay longer and… Mam stopped me again. She knelt down and gave me a big hug and said what I did was really nice but Jesus can’t help us because he’s helping other people, people who need help more than us. And I asked who, and she said the children in Africa, and the people who are really sick in hospital and those people who sleep on the streets. I asked mam if she thought Jesus might come and see us when he’s done with all them, and she said that he might. Mam then handed me back the cross and said I should keep it until he does.
The next Sunday when dad woke me and Nicholas up and dragged us all the way up Langworthy Road, over Dutchy, and to Nana’s shithole, I handed Nana the cross and she held it in her hands, examined it for any damage, and then patted me on the head. She called me a good boy, and said God would be very happy I kept his son safe.
When she handed back the cross I pushed it away.
What’s wrong, Daniel?
Don’t want it.
Why?
It’s broke.
Nan checked the cross again.
It looks fine to me. Why do you think it’s broke?
Because Jesus didn’t do any of the things you said he’d do.
Who told you that?
No one. I found out myself.
How?
I told Nan about the bath, the sky and the loaf.
Oh, Daniel. This isn’t Jesus. This is to remind us all how he died for us, to save us all from damnation.
Then where is he?
He’s around.
But where?
He’s watching over us all, Daniel. And when you need him, he’ll be there.
I wasn’t convinced.
Me and Nicholas are starving all the time, Nana, and mam works really hard and dad uses all the money we have to drink and I figure if anyone needs help then it’s us because all we need is a magic loaf and a tap filled with wine and a sunny day once in a while.
Nan shouted for my dad and he came in and Nicholas was behind him.
What’s this you’re drinking away all the money you have?
Dad looked at her and then me and I could tell by his eyes he was not happy.
Where you hear that, then?
Your son.
Is that right? Well, maybe my son can tell me where he gets off telling lies?
I stepped back so I was just behind Nan. She might be old but I know dad wouldn’t hurt his own mam.
Leave the boy alone, said Nan. You best not be getting pissed on what little money you have.
I’m not. And what the fuck has it got to do with you what I spend my money on?
Don’t use that language with me!
What? English?
You know what I mean. Remember who you’re talking to.
Oh yeah, right, I forgot. Maybe I should just wait a few hours and we can all crack open the vodka you keep under your sink, eh? You know, least then we’ll all be on the same wavelength? Hopefully by then my sisters will finally get their lazy arses out of bed one Sunday morning to see their nephews and her brother… no, wait… they can’t! That’s right because they’re too smashed from the night before! And where’s our kid, eh? He’s never in is he?! And you want to know why, sweet dear old mother? I’ll tell you why – because he can’t stand you nagging in his ear all the time so he’d rather stay out all night and doss on some floor than wake up to your crabby old face! So when you ask me to remember who I’m talking to, maybe you should remember who you are!
It went deafly quiet and Nan and dad just stood staring at each other. Nicholas was stood behind dad scoring his finger across his throat and pointing at me.
Then eventually, after what seemed like ages, Nan spoke.
Maybe it’s best you leave.
Without saying another word, dad just turned around and walked out. He didn’t tell us to follow; he just walked out and never said anything. He did slam the door really hard and knocked a picture of Jesus off the wall. When I saw that picture lying there I said to myself, serves you right, you big fat Phoney!
Nicholas walked into the room and Nana walked out really quick and ran upstairs and just before he reached the top I heard her begin to cry.
Looked what you did, said Nicholas.
It wasn’t me.
Yeah it was.
No it wasn’t. It was Jesus.
What?
I then started to cry because I knew dad wasn’t going home. He was going to the pub and he would be there all day and when he finally gets home he’ll start arguing with mam and then he’ll come looking for me and I’ll get a right good hiding all because Jesus was a fake and wouldn’t help us. I started to think that Nan was lying to me and that Jesus never did any of those things because if he was the son of God, and if he was really kind and died for us all, then surely he would have helped our family and stopped all this shit that’s going to happen.
I ran to each wall and I jumped up and I pulled down every picture and every cross and I threw them to the floor and I jumped on them and smashed the picture frames and snapped the crosses and I cried and cried until Nicholas grabbed me and pulled me to one side. Nana must have heard all the noise because she came running down the stairs with all her eyes red and when she saw the floor and all the broken Jesus’ she began to cry and wail and that made me cry even harder. I hated God and Jesus for doing this to us all, and I hated the fact dad drank too much and that none of us had any money and both me and my brother was always hungry. But most of all I hated myself for believing my elders all because it was about respect and keeping the peace, and to look at us all now I couldn’t see any peace or respect.
Nan came back down and entered the living room. My aunties came down too with all their hair messed up and short nighties on. They all looked around at the floor and the first thing Becky said was, He best not have ruined by Elvis pictures! Aunt Christine stumbled in and asked who wanted a cup of tea, and Nicholas said yes, and he went off into the kitchen leaving me and Nan and Becky. But then Becky left too because she wanted to make sure none of her Elvis pictures was damaged. When everyone was out and there was just me and Nan in the room, I turned to her and between sobbing I said I was sorry. She walked up to me and all at once I thought she would deliver a right crack about my head, but she just took me in her arms and held me real tight and said, It doesn’t matter, Daniel. It doesn’t matter.
When I pulled away, I looked over at the door and saw dad. He was looking at us both. He might not have been crying like Nan and me, but he looked real sad and he said to Nan, Sorry mam. It’s just been hard these few weeks, what with no work coming in.
Right then Nan walked over to him and she gave dad a real big hug and said, Let’s forget about, eh?
Dad nodded his head and he looked around the room and saw all the broken Jesus’ and looked at me and told me to come over to him. And I did, only really slow because I thought if anyone would be giving out a beating it’ll be dad, but he didn’t beat me, he didn’t even shout at me, he just ruffled my hair and said I should go and fetch the dustpan and brush.
In the kitchen I asked aunt Christine where the dustpan and brush was and as she opened the cupboards under the sink. I looked to my brother who had his head in a comic. Then I looked to aunt Christine and I thought about what had just happened and how I was expecting the worse because I broke things that were special to Nan. But instead of being told off, instead of getting a beating, everyone was really nice to me.
Nicholas looked up from the comic and saw me with a half smile on my face and said, What have you got to be happy about?
I shrugged.
You won’t be smiling when dad gets hold of you.
He’s seen me already.
Who, dad?
Yep. He’s in the living room with Nan. Told me to get the dustpan and brush is all.
Nicholas looked at the top of my head, then my cheekbone, then my jaw, and then my hands. Then he finally looked me in the eyes again and said, He didn’t give you a beating?
Nope.
Lucky bastard.
Maybe.
Maybe nothing. If I broke anything I’d get such a beating. He’s just letting you off because you’re young.
I shrugged again.
Wait until you’re twelve years old like me. Not even Jesus can save you from a beating when you’re supposed to know better.
I never did ask Nan for another cross, and she never spoke to me again about Jesus. She did buy some new pictures of him and put them on the wall, just not as many, and a little higher than before.
That night I said my first prayer. I knelt before the bed and I crossed my palms just like I saw other people do in church. I thanked Jesus for not getting me a beating, and all the while Nicholas called me names like a bible basher, and Jesus lover, and right at the end of the prayer I asked Jesus if he could make my brother into a fly so I could squat him dead.
I’m still waiting for that miracle.
JOHN FANTE
KNUT HAMSUN
WILLIAM SAROYAN
CRAIG CLEVENGER
WILL CHRISTOPHER BAER
ETGAR KERET
JIM CRACE
CHARLES BUKOWSKI
