V
Water
Sickness
“This wouldn’t be such a bad way to be,” Liam commented for the hundredth
or so time, “If I could be picking myself up and leaving this Island. How long
will it take them to get back here?” He pranced back and forth across the
strand and up onto the walkway nearest the storehouse.
Bridey had admired the way he had kept himself together up until now. By
looking at him, his full cheeks, straight hair and shoulders that drew so far
back his chest would look larger than it should, one would have no idea how he
had met his death. But as he pranced, his nerves getting the better of him,
just as they used to, his face shriveled up. Red and black burns scorched his
cheeks and neck. His chest opened up and his innards threatened to spill out.
She had to turn away from him entirely when he dropped his hand onto the ground
beneath him.
She cleared her throat. “Liam, please be picking that up.”
“What?” he demanded turning on her.
“Your hand. You lost your hand.”
“Oh.”
She caught the lost look of his when he paused to study her. He hadn’t
changed. Totally caught up in the moment he was, never to be realizing what was
going on about him. “You know,” she began quietly. She cleared her throat
again, as she tucked her feet beneath her skirt. She turned to look full force
on Reggie. “Liam.” She nodded. “About your appearance.”
“M’what?”
Reggie broke in. “Your appearance, chap. You look as good as the day my
ruffians scraped your remains out of that broken sewer pipe. I do believe Mrs.
O'Brennigan would vomit up her lunch if she had had eaten anything.”
“Huh?”
“O'Brennigan, your hand and your stomach. Pull yourself together man.
Even in this state it’s hard to look at you.”
“Oh.” He turned back to the Channel. He was just as lost again in his
concerns. If they came back tonight, it would have to be now. The blues of the
skies were fading into purple and black as the sun set behind Killelea. The
only light came from the lighthouse beam. And it seemed as if he’d be about to
give up hope, he noticed something. “Here they come,” Liam called. He picked up
his hand and used it to point at the craft bobbing about on choppy seas.
Realization finally hit him. He reattached that hand. When he returned to
Bridey, he smiled his best. “That’s them,” he said, his color returning to
normal and his innards resealing themselves again. “And if I’m not mistaken,
there’s more than just men in that boat. I swear I see a goat.”
Liam straightened and threw his chest out as far as he could. A good
little while passed before the boat came into view, and yes Liam was right. How
the bunch of them kept that rowdy old goat in the boat was a mystery. It kicked
up its heels and nayed like a madman. And when they did land, Corrigan dropped
the oars inside the boat and Murphy dropped the rope holding the goat. The
animal took off instantly, kicking up sand as it scooted across the strand. How
on earth they had made it back, only God Himself would be knowing. Corrigan
stumbled and Murphy giggled. Brendan shushed them. “Wee Sean,” he said.
“Quietly, lads, we carry him to shore. He can sleep it off on solid ground.”
“Straight away,” Corrigan agreed. The man climbed from the boat, and
wandered off with Murphy following him.
“I’ll get you, Wee Sean,” Brendan assured the tiny man in the bottom of
the boat. The only part visible of Wee Sean was his foot which hung over the
edge of the boat, just above the water line. Brendan tried to pull Sean up by
the little man’s arms. When that didn’t work, Brendan tried pulling the man’s
legs. Finally the redhead tired, and wandered away. Sprite lifted his head
shyly. With the goat kicking up his heels, the dog obviously took up refuge in
the bottom of the boat. He slunk off after Brendan.
As the unliving watched, the waves washed in and lifted the boat from its
perch on the strand. Wee Sean and boat together drifted into the Channel.
* * *
Connor smiled shyly. He had tried to kiss her, but she deftly moved
aside. She smiled just as shyly. “You can be walking me to m’door,” she said.
“M’Mam will be looking for me soon.”
“Let her look.”
“Tell that to Eamonn. You know he’ll be the one she sends.”
“Eamonn? Your brother, the footballer?”
She smiled. Her eyes twinkled as brightly as the stars above. The
crickets, the frogs and toads, the chickens, pigs and sheep agreed. It seemed
as if at that moment every living creature awoke to both encourage them, and to
caution him about his abruptness. “So what are ya saying, Connor Corrigan? That
you can handle him? That won’t be setting straight with m’Dad, and ya know it.
Especially if you ask him anything. Like ya said.”
He nodded. He pulled his hands in before him, as if not to touch her, and
began slowly along the road. “You’re right. You’re right. I do have something
to ask him.” A big boy was he, his eyes slitted and busy, his cheeks full and
wide. He could smile easily, but more so around her. Deirdre Darcy was an
angel, a cherub. She was tiny like either of her parents, with big, round eyes,
delicate eyebrows, a heart shaped face and freckles, and long and wavy, reddish
brown hair. She shared with him the most charming laugh. He loved to make her
laugh. Pity her father would be so hard to please.
He paused at the Crossroads. About the corner and down a bit, a door
opened, and light fell across the pebbled roadway. Someone stepped out.
“Eamonn,” she said. “I think I should be leaving now.” She hurried. Passing
Eamonn, she slipped into the cottage door. Eamonn remained, wordlessly watching
Connor. Should he approach the other? They were friends. Always had been
friends. Just that some lads changed when their sisters were involved.
The cottage door shut behind him, and Eamonn stepped into the roadway.
“Should I be chasing you off?“ he asked.
“Try it, I dare ya, shorty.” Connor drew up, filling his lungs with cool
dampness. “Ya want to know what I think, Eamonn?’
“I’d be afraid to ask.”
“I think I could crow like the cock first thing come morning. And if your
father is kind to me, I’d be the luckiest man in the world.”
With hands in pockets, Eamonn considered Connor’s words. He rolled from
toe to heal and back again. “Do you want to know what I’m thinking, Connor?”
“Sure. What would that be, Eamonn?”
“I’m hoping m’father is kind to ya. It might be fun having a bigger
brother.”
* * *
When Wee Sean Darcy awoke, he found himself floating about in a large
rowboat. The sun had risen high into the sky and he was alone. To his
everlasting horror he saw something he never wanted to; the Backside, high as
it was, shear that it was, and the strand and rocks below. A view from the
water no less. Give or take a few more hours, he was sure this leaky jumble of
warped boards would carry him as far as England itself. And that thought turned
his stomach as much as the thought that some bugger had set him adrift. He
struggled with his head and his stomach, and at last picked the oars from the
bottom of the boat.
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