Madigan and Mary

Madigan stood in front of the long mirror, watching himself button up the green tweed waistcoat he hadn't worn in 20 years or more. He tugged at it uncomfortably, remembering all those starched Sundays, slipped on his jacket, and tied a bow in the narrow bootlaces of the brown brogues that felt at least one size too small.

Sister Ophelia opened the door and glared down on the green suited man, holding a small box to his side. He swept a cap off his head, and stuffed it in his pocket.
"Yes?" She barked, wondering if he shouldn't be ringing the tradesman's bell at the side door.
"I've come to visit."
"Who?" 
"Mary, Mary Madigan." The Sister couldn't hide her surprise.
"Mary Madigan? she doesn't have visitors." Madigan disapproved of her briskness and drew himself up tall
"Well today she has me."
As the wooden heels of his Sunday shoes clacked down the floorboards of the narrow corridor, Madigan was assailed by a variety of smells.
First cabbage, cooked cabbage, doubtless a staple for the Invalids of St Catherine's Home. Then disinfectant. Scrubbed onto the walls, the floors, the hands, swept along on a swirl of habit when a nun rushed past with a pewter jug. Finally a mixture of illness and incense. Percolating its way from the chapel and the communal room, where the Priest performed mass for those too infirm to make the pews, yet well enough to be outside their room.
Eventually Sister Ophelia paused at a door, and, without knocking, went inside. Madigan hesitated on the thresh-hold. 
The room was small, wooden, bare save a bed immaculately made, grey blanket tucked in neatly, a bright white sheet turned down. Beyond a window, with a cross hanging down from the rail, and a view down the tree lined cinder path to the road A wide wing backed chair in which slumped a tiny, thin, hollow cheeked woman, in a white nightshirt and a blue wool dressing gown. A pair of tartan slippers Madigan remembered Padraig giving her one Christmas.
"Your brother Mary, come to visit." Sister Ophelia announced and beckoned him within, she went and stood by the open door, as Madigan crept in and stood beside the chair.
Mary's eyes were glassy, her mouth moved up and down as if she were chewing or reciting, but it was just movement, she gave no sign of noticing he was there.
Madigan thought he should hold her hand, but the skin was so white, the wrists so slender, full of bones and sinew. He was fearful of hurting her.
"Hello Mary." He spoke softly, then looked at the nun, asking 'is this all?' with a glance. Sister Ophelia nodded and quietly withdrew, leaving the door open so he heard her footsteps walk away, and then he sat on the bed.
He opened the music box, so the serenade played, and looked to Mary for some response, but there was none.
"You remember Mary, when Nana played this tune, and we sat eating sugar almonds and drinking coco?" He gently placed the box on Mary's fragile knee, and rubbed his lips, his eyes heavy with tears.
He rose quickly, pulling the cap back onto his head. Wanting to be away, to forget this vision of his beloved sister, wanting to picture her forever as a child running around the apple trees, as a woman shouting wildly at him for another foolish mistake, drinking stout with him and dancing while the band played.
He stopped at the door, turned and went back to her. Kneeling beside her chair while the music played and gently placed a kiss on her china cheek.
"Be kind to her Lord." He whispered.

Sister Immaculata forced the edges of the blanket under the mattress and crossed to the door, switching off the light so Mary, now in bed, fell into shadow. Light still came into the room from the corridor.
She watched as Sister Ophelia, who had drawn the curtains, went to the chair and took the music box. Sister Immaculata give her a stern look.
"She doesn't need it."  Sister Ophelia tucked the box under her arm, and pushed passed Immaculata in the doorway.

Mary closed her eyes, her mouth still moving gently. A low hum started from her throat, broken, crackling, but distinctly like the tune the music box had played.



(For Part One read 'Madigan')