At Swim, Two Boys - Jamie O'Neill [127]
“Do we say no to his works?”
Silence nodded its head.
“Do we cast him out?”
We do, said the tongueless faces and the priest signed to his henchmen to take Doyler away.
“Boys of Ireland,” he continued, “you will join your hands in prayer with me now that our sainted isle will be protected and rendered strong against the manifold perils that beset her. For this once, lest there be any doubt, we will pray in the Saxon tongue. In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost.”
In a hopeless stasis MacMurrough heard the praying, the braying versicles and hushed response. When he lifted his head he saw all faces lowered, save the friend’s, whose gaze was on him. The boy’s lips moved in suffrage, pleading with MacMurrough, begging him to do something. But MacMurrough could do nothing. He had crumpled inside, and his head lowered in shame.
There was an explosion outside, followed by another. The night through the windows burst into light. Star after star flared in the sky as the fireworks let off. Green, silver and gold the fragments glittered, then fluttered down like fabulous rain. And the air was rent by drumfire and shellblast and the surging cheers of the populace.
“Cushmawaunee,” he heard Mr. Mack say, “it looks as though we’re after missing the grand finale.”
On and on the fireworks come and into the night are falling still. Across the rift of a continent they fall, bursting in stars and fountains of light. They crackle in a thousand squibs, in mad minutes of furious joy. In metal rain they shower to rise again in scarlet flowers. Their dust like fairy dust descends, upon the brave, upon the coward.
They dart across the heavens of Greece, where Gordie watches the night sky. Beside him his chum remarks, Shower of lights tonight.
And Gordie says, Me da used say they was souls released from purgatory.
I never heard that before, says Gordie’s chum. Gob, but there’s enough of them.
They’d want to be, says Gordie.
Where y’off to now? asks Gordie’s chum.
See if there ain’t no water left on this tub.
When he comes back he says, Snacks, and hands the half-full of his can to his chum. The troopship gently rocks beneath them, at anchor in the bay.
Have you a sister at all? asks Gordie’s chum.
I haven’t, says Gordie. A brother only.
Shame that, says Gordie’s chum. A man could settle with a sister of yours.
He could, Steerforth, he could, says Gordie. He lies back on the deck and watches the glittering sky. The glittering sky and the shimmering souls that minute by minute escape the dark.
Who’s Steerforth? asks Gordie’s chum.
Away with you, says Gordie, cuffing his neck.
In Ballygihen, in the tumbledown lodge, Mary Nights at last laid down her head. Oh, but it was the beautiful elegant lodge of the world. Upon the flawless stone she lay, and through the splendid loft she gazed. What cared she for falling stars? Oh God, that all the stars would fall and leave the thick black velvet cloth. Oh God above, of love and light, loan me the blanket of the night, till on the cold and grumpy ground, I’ll warmly wrap it round me.
Her stiff old neck she turned on the stone. When might it end, she did not know. She did not know what end she pondered. But this she knew, and knew too well: the nights were drawing in.
CHAPTER TWELVE
He was swimming to the island, but the sea was slippery and thick, like a jelly that would set beneath him. Great guns he was going, but he wanted to try a kick in the legs. And it was true, it was better if he kicked. The push propelled him over the water, like flying, not flying but leaping, long horizontal leaps that skimmed the surface and he landed like an insect and kicked again. Strange to say, the water was uphill all the way.
He kicked through the crest of a wave and there was the Muglins before him. The water was warm now and shallow and emulsive. His feet felt sand underneath and he tiptoed through the ripples. He could hear her behind the rocks, she was singing or something, and the gulls moaned round and about, and flapped their wings. In a way he was