At Swim, Two Boys - Jamie O'Neill [15]
He crushed the wrapper and let it fall behind.
The breeze died and the heat was suddenly material, like a cloak that dropped on his back. The wall made him conspicuous. What might a watcher suppose was his purpose? He counted the clues to his identity: school cap, shop name on bike, bills in the pannier. His availability to interpretation intimidated him. He saw that his arms were hugged round his knees. He sniffed the muggy flocculent smell, then let go his legs. In his mind a formula impersonally repeated: he has never swum in the Forty Foot, he has never swum in the sea. Of a sudden he leant forward to check for the Muglins, but the rock of course was obscured by the Point.
It was time to be gone, but a murmur of voices cautioned him. The bathers from the Forty Foot had rounded the bend and were nearing the promenade below. The younger was a shock-headed black-haired lad, Jim’s age, though bigger-built. He tossed his cap in the air as he walked and as he walked he lurched slightly, weak of one leg. For all he had been swimming, he had a filthy look about him and his towel was a rag of threads. The other, by his tweeds and tone, was of the quality.
Jim believed he recognized the lad. He was not sure but, delaying to see, he left it too late to leave. Movement now would draw their attention.
They halted at the private steps that led to Ballygihen House. The toney man, who had his back to Jim, said, “I might show you still, if you’d a mind.”
The lad shook his head. “Due back for work. Already late as it is.”
“Another time, perhaps. I believe you’d take to it. Don’t think about the leg. You’re quick enough off the mark.”
“Another day maybe.” He had the usual Dublin drawl, but with an open edge, like a kick, at the end of it. Breath of the west, Jim thought.
The man made a sudden motion—“Here,” he said—and silver spun in the air. A fist shot out and nimbly the lad caught the coin.
“For your trouble,” said the man.
Ivory flashed between thick dirty lips. “No trouble at all.” The smile, like the face, was familiar. Then the lad’s gaze lifted and he saw Jim watching from above. His eyes were dark as night, not dull, but gemmily shining. The smile broadened as though in invitation, as though the rocky shore and the birds and the blue were his to share.
“What cheer, eh?” he called.
Jim found himself smiling back. And long after, while he scorched down Glasthule Road, well late for school, he was smiling still. What curious cheer.
Mr. Mack kept a keen eye on the young lad shoveling out his midden. Vile job that. Vile smell. Murder on the lungs, day in day out. Never grow accustomed to a smell like that.
Sturdy fellow, though, beef to the heels. And would want to be. That job won’t last long. Way behind the times. Sewers will be here any day soon and no need of all this foostering. Funny that. The modern way means this fellow’s out of an employment.
Sucked cheeks dimpled to a smirk. They’ll always want a general stores.
Hair as black as the devil’s waistcoat. Could do with a scissors while we’re about it. Jaunty as muck and in muck he’s covered. Only white is in his eyes. Disease, all sorts you get with a job like that. “Careful with that bucket, now. Don’t be swamping it. Can’t have slops all over the shop.”
That’s a good one. That’s a good motto for the contractors. Your business is our business. Might send that in. Bit on the flowery side, all the same. Second