At Swim, Two Boys - Jamie O'Neill [195]
“Only things I asked him. Don’t worry about that now. Haven’t you me with you now?”
“I think I have.”
“Hold me so,” said Jim. He lifted Doyler’s arm and snook in under it. He bundled himself small the closer to be held. He felt a great emulsive flow of love, all the truer for his needing no arm to hold him. The parts had shifted. He felt the marvel of his will that had brought Doyler to him this night. Doyler had not understood about the island. But that would come. Doyler had nothing to fear. Jim would swim him to the Muglins, he would swim him home again. There was no end to the swimming they would do.
He was coming on to yawn. His breath sucked in the draught from the window. His shoulders hunched, his legs stretched to their toes, he made claws of his fingers in his hands—a fierce pandiculation of his limbs. This is my body. See how it fits. Everything fits. I am a finely tailored flesh. He arched his groin. Feel this, my stand. Its throb alone would fetch it. His breath streamed out. The magnificence of my chest.
“You yawning?” asked Doyler.
Jim flung himself on top like a coil released. He crushed his body upon Doyler’s, each muscle straining to bear and be known. He caught Doyler’s arms and reached them wide, spreading his legs with his own between. He pressed his groin, flesh upon flesh, upon Doyler’s groin, hub of their wheel.
“Whoa,” said Doyler. “What’s brought this on now?”
“Tell me if you love me.”
“All right, I love you.”
“Tell me again. Keep telling me.”
“I love you, Jim.”
“And why wouldn’t you love me? Amn’t I all you wanted? Amn’t I all of it yours?”
He nuzzled his head in the pillow. He had released Doyler’s hands and they enfolded him now. They seemed so big of a sudden. “Doyler,” he said, and of that same sudden his voice sounded small and quavery. “Doyler . . . what and we don’t make the island?”
“But we will sure. That spit of a swim, we’ll easy make it.”
“I know we will. We can’t drown anyway. The wars are coming and we need to be fighting for Ireland.”
Doyler said nothing, only patted his shoulder, and after a time, Jim said, “I’m sleepy.”
“Sleep so,” Doyler told him. Jim turned on his side, pulling an arm with him so that Doyler spooned beside, holding the arm to him, while his eyes closed, surely and immaterially to sink him in sleep.
But Doyler did not sleep. He lay on his lump of pillow, watching the night that gaped at the window. His arm moved up and down with Jim’s breathing, wisps of Jim’s hair tickled his face. Old pal o’ me heart. Indeed it was true, the wars were coming, and already far over the seas where the world turned, the sun was creeping up the sky.
And high and bright and clear it shone, early next morning when they stepped out to Mass. Outside the chapel, all along the railings, newspaper placards had been posted. “What does it mean?” asked Jim.
“Maneuvers canceled, it says,” said Doyler.
“I know, but what does that mean?”
“I don’t know for sure.” Two young Volunteers were standing about reading an Independent. Doyler wandered up. “What’s going on?” he asked.
They looked him over in his Citizen rig. “Maneuvers canceled,” they said.
“You telling me the Volunteers has funked it?”
“We haven’t funked nothing, pal. Orders came in the night.”
“That’s right,” said the other. “We’ll be off to the races now.”
These were Volunteers out of Dalkey. They wouldn’t know much about any rising planned. “Can I have a read of it?” Doyler took the paper. “No Parades!” said the headline. “Volunteer Marches Canceled. A Sudden Order.”
“What does it mean?” said Jim, coming impatient.
“I’ll tell you what it means. It means we’re free.”
“Ireland?”
“Where would you go with Ireland? We are, you and me.” He still couldn’t believe it. They had canceled the rising. The last minute the Volunteers had lost their nerve. Didn’t he know them for shapers? He was free of it all. He clapped Jim on the shoulders. “We’re in the swim!” he was saying.
Jim smiled uncertainly and the Volunteers looked on indulgently at this mad Citizen soldier who laughed out