WordSmith: A release to remember
As I write, I'm anticipating the arrival of a significant anniversary, one that I'd like to share with you. But before that, let me take you back to the summer my sister Maria was possessed by the devil. At least, I thought she was. The truth was she was in the throes of her first love, which I suppose, in itself, is a form of possession.
Being only seven, and cursed with an overactive imagination, I mistook her change in demeanour as evidence that she'd been taken over by a demon. When she developed a stye in her eye, this manifestation was all the proof I needed of her possession.
I was still reeling from one failed attempt to exorcise her of the demon when the holy-water filled pistol I intended to shoot her in the stye with expelled its holy ammo in my pocket. Sitting in a ditch and munching on blackberries, I ruminated. I had to look to a higher order to rid my sister of the demon. Having polished off the blackberries, I rose from the ditch and made my way to a nearby spring-water-well. Feeling replenished I inhaled, exhaled and said aloud, “Dear God in Heaven, please help me in my good mission.”
At this point I will introduce the character I called 'the boy with Bruce Lee hair'. I called him this because he had the same glossy black locks as the Hollywood martial-arts film star; posters of whom adorned Maria's bedroom in Manchester.
One afternoon while wandering around a local farmyard Bruce-boy called me over. “Tell me, how's Maria? I've not seen her around this good while,” he asked. I paused a while, wondering if I should tell him the full story. Instead I decided to tell him only one part, “She's got a stye in her and she's not coming out till it's gone,” I said.
He shook his head with concern, “Those things can be brutal alright.” Then he leant down to my level, looked me in the eye and said, “Will you tell her something from me…” He looked around and when sure we were alone he lowered his voice and said something that made my skin prickle…
Watching him walk away I felt myself lighten. When I was sure he was out of earshot, I once again looked skyward and said, “Thank you God The Father for sending me that message, I'll make sure Maria gets it.” Then off I shot in search of my sister.
I was out of breath when I found her sitting on our granny's bed. “Gerard, what's up?” she asked, alarmed by my panting physicality which she took for distress. I raised my hand, taking deep breaths to slow my racing heart. I had to be rested and calm before I gave her the momentous message. Finally, with a resting heart beat I looked Maria in the eye and said, “I have an important message for you.”
She sat bolt upright and grabbed my shoulders, “From the boy with Bruce Lee Hair?” she asked, almost feverishly. I nodded as she shook me, “What is it?” I stared and delivered the message directly to the stye in her eye, “He's taking you to God The Father.”
As I expected her reaction was dramatic, her head shot back violently. And then came from her a deep maniacal laughter. When she recovered she looked at me and said through a gentle smile, “Oh Gerard, you muddled up the words, you're so funny…” When she leant to give me a hug, I stepped back, “No I haven't, that's what he said.” She suddenly seemed so joyful as she announced, “He's taking me to The Godfather – it's a grown-ups film.”
I got it all so wrong. That summer my sister was moving away from the edelweiss-covered innocence of the Von Trapps, the world she shared with her kid brother in The Sound of Music, and towards a darker-bloom: the grown up world of the Corleones in The Godfather, where her first love waited in the shadows.
I didn't know it then, but August 1972 would become a significant movie-moment in my life. It was the month/year 'The Godfather' arrived in Ireland, and for my seven-year-old self its release opened a door into another world. Somewhere between the Von Trapps and the Corleones, my childhood ended – or at least the first little cracks appeared in it.
I think of this story whenever the anniversary comes around; when cinema told me that beyond the bright, familiar world of childhood lay another one: seductive, violent, complicated and morally ambiguous. I thought my sister was possessed by the devil. In reality, she was simply growing up.
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