The Heart's Invisible Furies

My 28 highlights

• He extended a hand and she stared at it for a moment as if baffled by its appearance. “What do you want?” she asked. “Money?”

• “I’ve had a recurring dream since I was a child that if I ever set foot on a boat, then it would sink and I would drown,” said my mother, inventing this bit of nonsense on the spot, for she’d never had any such dream and only said it now so that the plan that she and Seán had concocted on the bus would come to fruition.

• “What’s a homosexual?” I asked. “A man who’s afraid of women,” said Maude. “Every man is afraid of women as far as I can see,” said Julian, displaying an understanding of the universe far beyond his years.

• Maybe there were no villains in my mother’s story at all. Just men and women, trying to do their best by each other. And failing.

• “I actually considered cardiology for a while myself,” said Peter. “As my specialty, I mean.” “Oh, are you a doctor?” I asked, turning to him. “No,” he said, frowning. “I work in construction. Why would you think that?” I stared at him. I had no answer.

• Of course, I looked terrible, like the victim of some random act of overnight violence, mugged and left for dead before being inexplicably brought back to life by a malevolent physician.

• “We’re going,” said the man, and Julian jumped up immediately. “Why are you not wearing your shoes or socks?” “I was trampolining on Cyril’s bed.” “Who’s Cyril?” “I’m Cyril,” I said, and the man looked me up and down as if I was a piece of furniture he was considering acquiring.

• The final member of our group, Mr. Denby-Denby, sat directly across from me and more often than not, when I looked up, I found him watching me with the intensity of a serial killer deciding how best to disembowel his victim.

• The question of how Charles and Maude met, fell in love and got married was one that fascinated me throughout my childhood. Two people who could not have been more ill-suited to each other’s company had somehow managed to find each other and sustain something resembling a relationship while apparently feeling no interest or affection for the other whatsoever. Had it always been that way, I wondered? Had there ever been a time when they looked at each other and felt desire, respect or love?

• “Can I ask you your name?” asked the boy, and my mother hesitated. “Is there a reason you want to know it?” “So I can call you by it,” he said.

• Those of you who read the newspapers might be familiar with Max Woodbead. He’s represented most of Ireland’s top criminals in recent years, including many of your own fathers.

• “Oh you must go sometime. There’s a wonderful atmosphere to the place for one thing. The scent of incense mixed with the smell of dead bodies is only breath-taking.”

• “You’re supposed to say that you love me.” “All right,” I replied. “I love you. How are your chops?” “Undercooked. And the potatoes are very salty.” “You put the salt on yourself. I saw you.” “I know, but still. I’d say something to the waiter but, as you know, I don’t like to cause a fuss.”

• I stripped quickly and stepped into the stall—the water pressure was abysmal and the temperature had only two settings, freezing and scalding, but somehow I managed to wash all the crap from my face and hands, dissolving the single bar of soap into nothingness as I scrubbed myself.

• I longed for a place of my own, a door with only one key.

• Maude had a career of her own, for she was the author of a number of literary novels, published by a small press in Dalkey. A new one appeared every few years to positive reviews but minuscule sales, something that pleased her enormously, for she considered popularity in the bookshops to be vulgar.

• We could live with the person we love the most, for companionship and affection, but we could go out and have sex with willing partners and perhaps even talk about it when we got home.” “By

• “Are you not feeling yourself?” “I am,” I said. “Quite regularly, actually.” “What does that mean?” “Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “No, I’m fine. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

• “Here’s the thing, Cyril,” he said, leaning in a little. “I’m not really comfortable with labels, you know? They’re so defining.” “Well, yes,” I agreed. “I mean, that is what labels do, by their nature. They define things.”

• The Church was never a friend to me. I’ve always felt that the Catholic Church has the same relationship to God as a fish has to a bicycle.”

• It was a difficult time to be Irish, a difficult time to be twenty-one years of age and a difficult time to be a man who was attracted to other men. To be all three simultaneously required a level of subterfuge and guile that felt contrary to my nature.

• “You’ll be starting a family soon,” said their wives, practically lactating at the idea of my impregnating Alice at regular intervals over the years ahead.

• “It was very disturbing,” she replied, shivering a little, as if someone had just walked over her grave.

• “They should call the child Jesus,” said the taxi driver. “What’s that?” “Your son and his wife,” he said. “They should call the child Jesus. On account of the day that he’s born.” “Yeah,” I said “Probably not.”

• “Don’t you ever miss having someone in your life, though?” he asked. “Of course I do.” “No, I don’t mean Bastiaan. I mean someone else.” I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I’m part of that generation of gay men who were lucky if they met someone once. I don’t have any interest in starting something new. For me, it was Bastiaan or no one.”

• Clouds of smoke moved aggressively toward him and as he turned his head away he noticed me sitting outside and offered an apologetic wave, four of his fingers dancing despondently in the air like an imprisoned pianist forced to play one of Chopin’s more depressing sonatas from memory.

• “I came back hoping you might be here,” he told me by way of introduction. “I did too,” I said. “I thought if you weren’t going to speak to me, then I should speak to you.” I looked directly into his eyes and somehow already knew that seated across from me was the most important man I would ever know in my life. More

• “Happy Christmas to you,” said Peter, an enormous man bursting out of an extra-large shirt. “And may the blessings of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, be with you on this momentous day.” “Fair enough,” I said.