The Promise

Anthony paces anxiously up and down the living-room, frequently stopping to part the curtain and peer out the window, before returning to pace along the well-trodden path he has made through his mother’s old grey shag carpet. He paces to and fro, back and forth, furiously sucking from the butt of his cigarette, ash spilling aimless on the floor. He struggles to ignore the muffled ramblings coming from above him. The loud sudden high pitch squeal of the old kettle causes him to flinch. Flicking the butt into the long since used fire-place, he turns and enters the kitchen, pouring a cup of tea. He stands still, eyes fixed on the cup, hypnotized by the mellow swirl of the water as he stirs slow and gentle.
          His mind travels back through time, remembering when his mother took he and his brother Paul to see the, “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles”. They had both been huge fans of the franchise and were overjoyed once the leap from comic books and cartoons had been made to motion picture. Their excitement having got the better of them as both ventured out wearing the tops of their “Ninja Turtle” pajamas, to the premier at the local cinema. A regrettable expression of fanfare that would haunt them forever more in later life, as each would receive a royal hazing at every family function involving alcohol. In truth, at the time he was a tad miffed at their mother’s decision to allow Paul to accompany them to the show; it was his and her tradition, going the pictures. Paul was the talented football player and as their father did volunteer work for the F.A.I, was privy a pair of free tickets to all Ireland’s home international matches, Paul was the natural selection for those excursions. So as not to leave him feeling excluded, their mother started a bi-weekly tradition of their own, movie going.
          He is abruptly awoken from his trance by the sound of the front door slamming shut. Paul walks in, laden down with plastic bags, emitting the clanging sounds of glass bottles and clapping of aluminum cans with each step he took. ‘Alri Anto?’ he said, sounding unperturbed, ‘well how is she?’ he says while taking out the bottles of spirits and cans of lager. Anthony draws a breath, ‘Same as she’s been over the last few months, away with the fairies,’ he manages with some effort, refusing to lift his eyes from the hot beverage clasped firm in both hands. ‘Ah sure look, in a way I’m glad coz it wud jus’ make things harder if there were glimpses of her old self, y’know,’ Paul says without breaking his stride as he fills the fridge with cans. There is silence between them; Anthony can feel himself drifting inwards again, until Paul thrusts a can into his chest.
‘Here fuck the Rosie-lee and get tha’ into yeh instead…and don’t be soft ‘bout neckin’ it either,’ said Paul as he skillfully opens a can for himself using the fingers of his spare hand. For a moment Anthony hesitates at the order before turning to dump the contents of his cup down the sink.
‘Are yeh gonna go up and see her?’ Anthony asks as he opens the can, carefully eying his brother who is already drinking deep from his. Paul ignores the question, drinking until the can is empty. ‘I will in awhile, jus’ gotta get some Dutch courage in us first,’ he answers while wiping his lips with the back of his hand, before a loud belch escapes him.
‘For fuck-sake, Paul, she’s not a leper!’ Anthony rebukes, the cracks of the situation beginning to show through. ‘Look I will go up and see her. I jus’ don’t know how to be around her, since she deteriorated she looks at yeh like yer a fuckin’ stranger and calls yeh other peoples’ names. I never know what to say and when I do say stuff it comes out like baby-speak, an’ I feel like a fuckin’ eejit speakin’ to me ma like tha’…beside she’d hit me a fuckin’ clatter if she came to her senses and’ caught me.’
‘Yeah…I know,’ Antony said while bowing his head in understanding, sipping his can as Paul retrieves another two from the fridge. They both stand still, sharing an awkward silence as they each stare at the floor, until they become aware that the silence creates space for her incoherent rants above them.
‘Ah fuck this!’ Paul bursts in agitation. He takes two glass tumblers from the cup-board, filling them with Jack Daniels. ‘Now get this down yeh an’ stop fuckin’ about sippin’!’ Paul said as he swipes Anthony’s can away, replacing it with a glass of hard bourbon.
‘Fuck-sake take it easy Pau-’
‘Jus’ fuckin’ do it! On three, one…two…three!’
Simultaneous they swing the burning liquid into their mouths. Anthony’s throat burns like an active volcano, causing him to dry reach, he scrambles for his can of lager, drinking until empty, grateful for its coolant.
           Paul pushes another can into his chest, he takes it, feeling the anxiety within reduced by the sudden influx of alcohol in his system. Paul pours more bourbon. ‘Here man take it handy will yeh?’ Anthony whines in protest.
‘Look one more shot, jus’ to take the edge off yeah,’ Paul said handing him another glass of liquid fire. ‘Okay same again, on three, one…two…three!’ They neck their glasses. Anthony begins to cough violently, before swigging from the can of lager to cool his throat.
Anthony is sure of one thing and one thing only, at the moment he feels better, the alcohol has done its job and anesthetized his feelings. He looks at Paul who is retrieving yet more cans from the fridge, he leans against the counter, staring at the floor, sipping his drink for the first time since his arrival. ‘What yeh thinkin’ about?’ Anthony inquires. ‘Fuck-all,’ he lies, ‘wha’ time is it?’ he follows-up, quick to change the subject from his thoughts or feelings. Anthony reaches into his pocket in search of his mobile phone.
‘Bang on half five, why?’ he answers.
‘We better ring the Golden Palace an’ get some scoff delivered for ,ma, a three an’ one with curry sauce should suffice. I’m not hungry but get yerself sumthin’ if yeh fancy.’
‘Nah I couldn’t stomach anythin’, here d’yeh not think we should get sumtin’ a little more…God I dunno…special, for want of a better word?’ Anthony says awkward. Paul turns suddenly, glaring at him, ‘Okay, make it a fuckin’ house special so!’ he said, his angry sarcasm causing Anthony to recoil.
‘Jaysus man no need to be like tha’, I’m jus’ tryin’ to be as nice as possible about things isall.’ ‘Well stuff yer niceness, there’s fuck-all that’s nice about this situation!’ Paul shouts dismissively as he gathers the drinks and retreats to the sitting-room.
          He refills both their glasses from the nearing empty bottle of Jack Daniels and continues to drink while channel surfing. ‘They said could be awhile…it being rush hour inall’. Anthony says as he enters.
'Yeah that’d be about right, here before yeh sit down an’ get comfortable get us another glass tumbler an’ two cans will yeh?’ He asks without lifting his eyes from the flicking television screen. ‘Fuck-sake man, take it easy on the gargle will yeh? I’m half-cut already,’ Anthony said as he eyes the drinks sitting on the small table already poured.
‘Anto keep on whinging an’ I’ll fuckin’ burst yeh! Now get us the bleedin’ tumbler,’ Paul says through gritted teeth, baring them like fangs at his younger brother. Anthony stands before Paul, looking down upon him with fists clenched yet hesitant. He storms into the kitchen. Paul continues flicking through the channels, ignoring Antony’s dramatic slamming of cup-board doors. Anthony marches back in, forcefully planting the small tumbler down on the table in front of Paul, before taking his drink and sitting in the arm chair furthest from his brother.
          Paul reaches into his pocket, taking out two trays of pills, popping ten from their packaging and onto the table. He picks one and begins to roll the tumbler over it repeatedly until it is reduced to blue dust. ‘Wha’ the fuck are they for?’ Anthony asks confused, his hand beginning to tremble as he raises the glass to his lips.
‘We’ll mix the Valium into her food, they’ll calm her, give her a nice lil stone before sending her off into deep sleep,’ Paul answers robotically as he continues performing his function, crushing the pills to dust. ‘Jesus, Paul, yeh don’t have to be so matter of fact about it,’ Anthony says, stunned by his brothers indifference.
Paul abruptly ceases his work, turning to meet his brother’s gaze. ‘Look yeh lil eejit, I fuckin’ hate this, and I was the only one seriously protesting against it. How dare you sit there and play the poor agonized little cunt, don’t you dare think by acting conflicted it absolves you, cos it don’t! The fact of the matter is, you were always her little pet and could never tell her no. You were the first to promise her you would when the time came, and, then yeh had to help her guilt me into it. Now, I’ll happily forget and break our poxy promise and leave her as she is, all you have to do is say so!’ Paul pants for breath, his chest heaving from his rant, his face reddened by anger and grief.
‘Jaysus man, look I know this is hard for yeh, it is for both of us, but why are yeh scourging me every chance yeh get?’ Anthony said, looking visibly rattled by Paul’s outburst. As Paul caught his breath he seems calmer, until his eyes narrow.
‘Because she’s me, ma, an’ I love her more than life itself, but, I can’t help but hate her a little bit for putting us in this position. After her diagnosis and she got the idea in her head. If it was really wha’ she wanted, then why couldn’t she jus’ fuckin’ top herself instead of putting it on us?’ Paul said before resuming crushing tablets. Anthony slumps back into his chair, drinking deep now.
          They sit in silence until Anthony plucks up the courage to break it. ‘Here why can’t we jus’ go to one of those countries where euthanasia is legal?’
‘Three reasons, typically has to be a terminal disease, degenerative diseases are viewed differently, second, very long drawn out process and last but not least, expensive beyond our means from two tangents, legal costs and logistics,’ Paul replies while still crushing tablets.
‘But surely there has to be some third world shit-hole where the doctors would be sympathetic?’ Anthony says sounding strangely optimistic. Paul looks over at him with one eye-brow raised. ‘Of course there may be, but how do we explain to the rest of the family and eventually the authorities, us leaving for Botswana with the aul-one intact, and returning with her in a box…besides, the way she is now it’s a logistical nightmare bringing her the shops let alone to a foreign country,’ he said sounding momentarily amused.
          Once he has finished crushing pills, Paul uses a bank card to scrap the powder onto a sheet of paper, and then folds neatly. They both finish their drinks, Paul taking the empty tins and binning them, returning with two more aluminum soldiers and a bottle of Smirnoff vodka. He pops four more Valium onto the table, swallows two, ‘Here drop them, they’ll calm yeh, God knows we need ’em,’ he said as he hands Anthony the other two. They both sit watching the television in silence when the door-bell rings twice. ‘Fuck that was quick,’ Anthony said. ‘Yep, time has a way of flying by when you’re dreading it,’ said Paul. Anthony answers the door, pays the delivery man. When he returns to the sitting-room, Paul is coming in from the kitchen holding a dinner plate. ‘Give it here,’ he says while reaching for the greasy brown take-away bag in Anthony’s hand. He empties its Chinese contents onto the plate and begins to pour the blue dust onto it, before mixing, chopping and stirring around the food until dissolved completely. ‘Here you go up and feed her,’ he says handing Anthony the piping hot dinner plate.
‘What! Why do I have to do it?’ Antony protests, fear engraved on his face.
‘Because that’s jus’ to sedate her, I’ll be doin’ the actual hard part later…that’s why.’ Anthony reluctantly takes the plate and leaves the room.
          He walks slowly up the stairs, as he draws closer the echoes of their mother’s mutterings become louder. He pauses outside her room and takes a deep breath before opening the door. She is lying on the bed in her bright pink night-gown, with its white; frilly, curtain like collar. Her brilliant silver hair is matted from the incessant turning of her head on the pillow. The bed covers lay strewn over the side of the bed; her hands are clasped on her painfully thin belly. Her lips move almost in silent prayer as her eyes dart around the surface of the ceiling. As he steps forward the ancient floorboards creak with every slight shift of his weight, causing her to jolt in recognition of sound. ‘Patricia, Patricia is that you?’ she asks wide eyed scanning the ceiling for a response.
‘No ,mam, it’s Ant-. I mean, Anthony,’ he said correcting himself. He walks around to her side of the bed. ‘Where’s Patricia?’ she asks childlike.
‘Mam, aunt Tricia’s, been dead years now.’
‘Don’t be coddin’ me young-fella, I was only with her the other night at bingo,’ she said, finally looking in his direction. A pained sigh escapes from him as he gently places her dinner down on the bedside locker. ‘Ma, it’s time for yer dinner so I’m gonna have to sit yeh up k?’ he said before lifting her frail body into a sitting position and propping pillows behind her. As he fixes her attire he feels damp on the sheet beneath her.
          ‘Now, ma, no home cooking tonight, thought I’d treat us to a take-away,’ he said while mixing the food around with the fork, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her.
‘And what’s your name young-man?’ she asks just as he is about to begin the spoon feeding. The question cuts deep through him, he struggles to hold back the tears, but some escape in defiance. ‘Anthony,’ he answers in a choke. He wishes he had brought a strong drink with him. ‘Anthony, what a lovely name…y’know I always thought it so nice I’d use it to christen a son.’
‘I know yeh would mam,’ he said as a steady stream of tears began to pour down his cheeks. Still he manages to feed her with diligence. Once finished, he takes one of the smaller pillows from the bed and places it on the seat of the small arm-chair in the corner, before lifting her from the bed and carefully placing her down in the chair. He strips the bed of its linen and fetches new bedding from the hot-press, making up the bed good and new. He goes to the chest of drawers and retrieves a fresh night-gown and underwear, lifting her from the chair; he carries her into the bathroom, placing her on the toilet-seat and runs the bath. With respectful reverence he begins to unbutton her nightgown and quickly strips off her underwear, finally lifting her into the warm soapy bath. Most men will recoil in horror at the sight of their elderly mother’s naked body if ever they are unfortunate enough to witness such a sight. However, love; devotion and extreme pity have a way of breaking down barriers. After cleansing and drying, he re-dresses and tucks her comfortably back into bed. He leans over, gently caresses her fore-head with his lips. As he leaves she begins to hum an old hymn she used to sing while washing up after dinner, he closes the door, his heart in agony.
         Anthony rushes with haste down the stairs. The moist tracks left behind on his cheeks still clearly visible. He startles Paul as he bursts into the sitting-room, snatching the bottle of vodka off the table and filling to the brim before taking a large swallow, causing him to shudder like a wet dog shaking off the rain. ‘Was it that bad?’ asks Paul, looking apprehensive at his brother for the first time.
‘Gis another couple of those jacks will yeh!’ he commands in a rare show of assertiveness towards his older brother. Paul’s hand fumbles in his pocket, his fingers finding the trays of pills. He pops some from their packaging, scattering them across the table. Anthony snatches up three, washing them down with hard spirit. Paul looks shaken as he watches his brother.
‘Christ, I’ll have some meself!’ he says while reaching for some of the little blue tablets that are now littering the table.
          They both sit drinking in silence, pairs of eyes fixed on the television but without really watching it. For a long time the silence lingers between them, quiet agonized drinking, each afraid to ask what the other is thinking. ‘D’yeh remember how ma used to make us go to mass when we were kids?’ said Paul, taking his turn to pluck up the courage to end the pervasive silence hovering between them.
‘Yeah, only kids on the poxy road made to go,’ replies Anthony.
‘Only kids in the whole fuckin’ estate more like!’ Paul adds, causing both to laugh in tandem, the first genuine laugh either of them has got to enjoy since diagnosis-day.
‘I dropped off jus’ as I entered me teens, you hung there for a good while longer though,’ Paul said, a slight raise off his glass in subtle salute to his younger brother.
‘I used to believe the way she did, but as I grew I jus’ went along for her benefit. We bonded through it…she never said, but I could tell it broke her heart when I stopped goin’ too,’ Anthony said while swirling the vodka round in his glass. ‘I know it did, yeh were always her fav…her baby. I remember when we’d all be out on the road playin’ heads and volleys, whenever yeh seen her step off the bus from work and trudge down the road, yeh used to leg it up an’ wrap yer-self ‘round her and take her bags. I know we all gave yeh stick over it, but, I was jealous yeh didn’t care wha’ everyone on the road thought ‘bout yeh when it came to yer Ma…soft cunt,’ Paul said, a fond smile adorning his face as he looked at his brother.
Anthony began to blush and fidget awkwardly, ‘I’ll get the other bottle of Smirnoff’, he offers, not knowing what to do with him-self.’
‘Don’t forget a couple of tinnies while yer at it!’ Paul hollers after him.
          They continue their drink induced reminiscing until silence fell upon them again. After a few minutes it is Anthony who breaks the silence. ‘D’yeh hear tha’?’ He says.
Paul sits up, beginning to pay attention, ‘Can’t hear anythin’’, he shrugs before slumping back into his seat. ‘Exactly, I better go up and check on her.’ Anthony goes to their mother’s room and sees she is sleeping sound. He stands close to her, listening to her quiet even breaths. The thought of this being one of the last times he will see her alive and at peace scars his tortured heart. Tears begin to swell again. After taken some moments to gather himself, he returns to the sitting-room. Paul asks him is everything okay.
‘She’s fine, sleeping sound,’ he answers in a barely audible whisper.
‘Then it’s nearly time so,’ Paul said as he put down his drink and rose to go outside to his car. Anthony can hear the boot of Paul’s car open and be slammed shut again moments later.
          Paul returns with a metal canister similar to the oxygen tanks scuba divers use, only smaller; a length of surgical tubing, a plastic bag and duct-tape. He puts them on the table and seats himself, pouring them both fresh drinks. Anthony sits staring at the equipment awhile before asking, ‘So how exactly does this work?’
Paul takes a large mouthful of vodka and waits for the burning to subside before answering. ‘Well, according to this pro-euthanasia doctor who came up with it, say we jus’ dosed her up with sleepers, she’d most likely jus’ vomit them up while unconscious. Now say we dosed her up and put a plastic baggy over her head for good measure, there’d still be a gag reflex of sorts. Due to the lack of oxygen and rising CO2 in her lungs, they’ll burn and the body will begin to convulse, twist and contort…basically go through the death-throws. It would be fuckin’ horrific for both her and us. So what yeh need is inertia gas, hence the tank of helium, and, wha’ that does is trick the lungs into thinking they’re getting oxygen, when really…’ he stops, feeling the morbidity, he swallows another large gulp of vodka. ‘Well yeh get the rest of the picture,’ he finally says, unable to finish the description.
‘Christ!’ Anthony said.
‘Christ is right. Yer man calls his invention, “The suicide bag”.’
          They both sit in eerie silence with no measurement of time passing. ‘Well…I suppose if we’re to carry out her wishes, there’s never gonna be a right time. We both committed and God knows it’s not gonna get any easier as time goes on,’ Paul says as he stands with great effort. Anthony is sat in his chair, holding his face in his hands, the rise and drop of his shoulders give-away his silent sobbing. Paul begins to gather up the necessary apparatus. ‘C’mon, Anto, it’s time,’ he said in whisper. Anthony remains as he is, until Paul puts his hand on his shoulder and he slowly begins to rise.
Grief stricken, they trudge up the stairs, Paul leads the way. When they get to their mother’s door, they stand outside expressing panicked breaths, each filled with burning reluctance. Eventually Paul is the one who musters the will to open the door. They watch their mother in her deep slumber before slowly crossing the room until each is on either side of her bed. She radiates peace, fully resembling the women they both adore. Paul forces himself to look away, doing the only thing he can think of; work, be busy, be distracted. He pierces a hole in the clear transparent plastic bag, feeding a couple of inches of surgical tubing through it, attaching the other end to the canister of Helium. Tears begin to swell in his eyes for the first time. Anthony looks on wearing a vague expression, distant like a far removed observer. Paul starts to roll up the bag, as he leans over her head he stops dead, frozen in his tracks. He breaks down sobbing uncontrollably, kissing and caressing her face. ‘I can’t do it…I know it’s what she wanted, I know I promised her, but I can’t fuckin’ do it!’ He sobs hysterically. So lost in the moment he does not notice Anthony’s hand on his shoulder until his fingers are white from biting into them.
‘It’s okay bro; it’s okay…sit down beside her and hold her hand.’
Paul does as instructed, still unable to stifle the flood of emotion. Anthony twists the knob on the canister, turns, lowers to her ear, ‘Love you mam, see you soon.’ He whispers before gently kissing her softly on the lips. He pulls the bag over her head, duct-taping it around her neck. He walks around the other side of the bed, sits down and holds her hand as he watches the bag concave and convex. He watches the condensation begin to build up inside. He lifts his gaze from her to Paul, who is violently shaking with his back to both of them. Anthony returns his gaze to their mother just before the condensation has completely obscured her face. Her chest movements become very slight to the naked eye, then stops completely. The bag covering her face looks like a car windscreen covered in frost during a mid-winter morning. The Promise is kept.