Back then I would see them on a regular basis. Up and down O’Connell Street usually. A big man. His face all jowls and smiley. Bald as an egg. He wore a large trench coat. The lady plump. Shorter than him. Jet black hair making her look younger.
Salute them when passing. His response animated, eyebrows raised. She seemed reticent, shy. From her, a knowing glance.
They were always busy talking as they walked. Chat, chat, chat.
The last time I recall them was in the Kylemore Café. We nodded to each other. They relished their food. Took turns putting down their cutlery in their busy banter.
Outside the window a statue of James Joyce. Didn’t he talk of a clattery café? Inside, the noise of crockery and the din of people and forks and knifes and cups and saucers.
watching their conversation
the deaf couple