At Swim, Two Boys - Jamie O'Neill [203]
Doyler’s eyes, like black crystals, were looking him in the face. A steam rose from his shoulders. His arm went up round Jim’s neck, drawing him down. Still their chests heaved.
“That was some chase you put me through.”
Jim nodded. His eyes closed as he came down to Doyler’s mouth.
“What is it?”
“It’s a ship it sounds like.”
They clambered round the rock. It was a ship all right, low in the water, a small grey-hulked vessel. The ensign flew, a squat gun poked.
“The Helga.”
“Aye, HMS Helga all right. Submarine patrol. Don’t wave.”
“No.”
“I mean they’ll think we want rescuing.”
Then Jim said, “The flag, quick.”
So they hauled out the flag, Jim holding the bottom corner and Doyler, standing a little above him, the top, while he kept an arm about Jim’s neck. The breeze took the green and flapped it mildly. A sailor was leaning over the rail. He watched them a while, then another sailor came. Jim thought they might be laughing. Then both sailors came to attention and brought their hands to salute. And so the King’s ship passed and the green flag flew from the Muglins.
“Well, we have that done.”
“We have.”
“We’ll be heading back now, I suppose.”
“We will not,” said Jim. “We have the tide to turn first.”
There was a dip in the rock out of the wind. There was even a slab they might lie on, with a seaweed growing that a mind unfussy to these things might take for moss. “Didn’t I tell you?” crowed Doyler. He scraped off the winkles and spread the green flag over. There they stretched. The air had a hazy look. There was the very slightest sniff of ammonia.
Jim listened to the sea-sounds, wave and gull, till these sounds no longer obtruded on his mind, and an immense sea-quiet settled about him. He looked out to seaward, to the vastness of ocean, blue and deep-blue and green-blue, a little awed by its immediacy, that feeling of infinity, that here it begins. There was no horizon, only a shimmering haze, and this intensified the sense of boundless expanse. And then to landward, and the shore so stunningly close, quite toppling in its rush towards them.
Doyler might have followed his thoughts, for he said, “It looks amazing near, don’t it?”
“It does too.”
“You wouldn’t credit all that trouble of getting here.”
A year near enough, thought Jim. Doyler lay on his belly, his face on his folded arms. Jim turned that way too. The sun beat down. He said, “Was it today it was planned for, Doyler?”
“Was what planned?”
“The rising.”
“Oh that. I think so.”
“You would have told me.”
“I didn’t know if I would. I’d tell you now of course.”
“Yes of course.”
“I have parade this afternoon. I can’t miss that. But nothing will happen.”
“I see. But you would tell me?”
He didn’t say anything for a while. Then he said, “You know, I was scared with the rising. Would you believe that?”
“No.” Another pause, and Jim asked, “Would you be scared now?”
“There’s nothing to be scared of now.”
He had turned on his side and Jim had turned too to face him. Doyler kept glancing up, his eyes checking, each move his fingers made, glancing back at Jim’s face. “They’re like toadstools,” he said.
“They are a bit, all right.”
“Do you mind what I’m doing?”
“It’s nice sure.” But there was still this business not absolutely cleared up, and so as there could be