Read Online The Breezes by Joseph O'Neill - Free Book Online Page A

them,’ Pa says. ‘Can you imagine? Then you used to come in as well, and the two of you kids would jump into bed with us.’ Those were glory days for my father, the days when his double bed bulged with all four Breezes. ‘I don’t know,’ Pa says. ‘Maybe she misses your mother. A girl needs to have her mother. She really loved Ma, you know, Johnny. The two of them were like two peas in a pod.’ Then hesays, ‘But your mother’s not with us, God rest her soul, and what can I do about that?’
    But this time Pa was not coming out with all of this. This time he was keeping quiet.
    I felt bad. I should have agreed to go with him to the hospital without hesitation.
    â€˜What’s that noise?’ Pa suddenly demanded.
    I could hear nothing.
    â€˜You hear that? I’m stopping the car.’
    â€˜I can’t hear a thing,’ I said.
    â€˜You can’t hear that? You can’t hear that humming noise?’
    â€˜Pa, that’s the engine. That’s the sound of the engine.’
    He pulled over to the side of the road. ‘I’m going to have a look,’ he said. ‘I’m going to open her up.’ He stepped out into the wind and raised the bonnet.
    I stayed where I was. As usual, Pa was hearing things. Although he drives a Volvo of perfect reliability, my father never stops detecting problems with it and constantly takes it to the garage for unnecessary services and check-ups and all-clears. The cause, I suspect, is this: Pa cannot believe that, unlike almost everything else in his life, his car will not let him down. Far from comforting him, this makes him anxious. Oppressed by the knowledge that this state of affairs cannot last for ever, that trouble simply has to be brewing somewhere in that machine, Pa drives around in a state of fretfulness, waiting for the worst. I just wish that the damn thing would break down and put him out of his misery once and for all.
    â€˜Try her now,’ Pa shouted from behind the hood.
    I switched on the motor. It made a faultless, purring sound.
    â€˜OK!’ Pa shouted. He leaned over into the engine and made an adjustment. ‘OK, try her now!’
    Again I turned the key and again the motor sounded like a stroked cat.
    Pa slammed down the bonnet and came in out of the wind. ‘That should hold her together until I can reach a garage,’ he said, putting on his seat belt. ‘It was a good thing we stopped. I reckon there’s an oil leak in there. It could have seized up at any minute.’
    We drove off again. Thanks to the pit stop, the incidentwith Rosie no longer fouled the atmosphere, and when a short while later we got held up in more traffic by the docks, I felt able to turn on the car radio. I moved the dial to Station 5, the sports station. John Hall was on, previewing the next day’s soccer fixtures. Pa turned up the volume.
    â€˜It’s the last day of the season,’ John Hall said, ‘and, the championship having already been won by Clonville, attention will be focused on the relegation clash at the bottom of the First Division between Rockport United and Ballybrew. It’s make or break time. Both teams have the same number of points, but United have marginally the better goal difference. They can therefore settle for the draw, whereas Ballybrew need maximum points – a problem, since Ballybrew have yet to win a game away from home this season. My prediction? United to avoid the drop.’
    â€˜Let’s hope he’s right,’ Pa said as the car inched forward. The wind had dropped but the sky had darkened further. The wipers were slowly mowing rain from the windshield. Pa tapped the wheel. ‘Johnny, what are we doing down there, scratching about with the likes of Ballybrew? A big club like United should be right up there with the Clonvilles, contesting the championship.’ We moved forward by a car-length. The rain relentlessly arrived on the