At Swim, Two Boys - Jamie O'Neill [204]
“Telling you what?”
“The rising of course.” Doyler let a laugh. “Don’t you see,” Jim reasoned, “I’d be running from billy to jack and who’s to say would I find you at all?”
“All right, honor bright, cross me heart and hope to die. I’ll send it in a telegram, urgent. A night letter, a marconigram, a pigeongram even. I’ll send smoke signals out of the Sugarloaf. That do you?”
“I only want to be with you.”
“I know you do.”
Doyler’s hand had removed. He fetched a phlegm and a gobshell splashed in the bladderwrack. He had turned on his belly again. He looked disappointed, and Jim reached a hand to his shoulder. “It’s all right, Jim,” he said. “We’ve come this far. I can wait.” Another spurt jetted through his teeth. A moment, then he said, “You see the Martello beyond on Dalkey Island? Do you know the story with that? What it was—”
“Is this true now?”
“Go way, would I lie to you? Back I don’t know when, after the British gave up them towers, well, that one on the island over, don’t ask me why, it got forgot.”
“No,” said Jim. “That was the Sandycove tower.”
“It was not. You know so much, do you know what happened?”
“The sergeant and two swaddies kept at their duties, twenty years they kept at them. Me da told me all about it.”
“Your da’s a decent skin, and I wouldn’t go against him save he’s not within the bawl of an ass of it. ’Twas a corporal with two gunners. And never mind their duties, they didn’t do spit the week long save blow their bunce in the Dalkey shebeens. Now that corporal’s name was Reilly. And it’s after him you get it, living the life of Reilly. Now.”
“Is that true?”
“True as I’m lying here holding your lad in me hand, it is.” Jim felt a laughter burst from him. Then Doyler said, “Can I kiss you now?”
“You know better than to ask.”
“Why wouldn’t I ask?”
“You know you can kiss me.”
“I’ll kiss you all over.”
But it was Jim who kissed first. He lay atop Doyler, pinning his shoulders, and kissed his forehead and his cheeks, his chin, his throat, kissing the apple in his throat. He kissed the bruise on his shoulder and the seven hairs, counting them, on his chest where the half a medal lay. He watched Doyler’s face through the strands of his hair while he snuck down, still watching, and kissed the very tip of his horn which bounced up against Jim’s nose and his chin making him blink, till he kissed it again on the hop. He felt his face like a red velvet. He was charged with the wonder of desire and delay. He pulled up again and made a hold of Doyler’s arm.
“I’m not shy, you know,” he said.
“You don’t be acting very shy.”
“But you understand we had to come?”
“I know I wouldn’t miss it.”
Jim nodded. He said, “I suppose it’s soft wanting to cuddle always.”
“It is not. I’d hate you and you didn’t.”
“Gordie used bring his arm round me in bed sometimes. I used love it then. I’d wake in the night and his arm would be there. One time then, he was lying awake and I think he twigged that I was awake too. He gave the hell of a shove and kicked me down the bottom of the bed. We were sleeping head and toe after that.”
“Is it hard with him gone?”
“I dream of him.”
“You would too.”
“I don’t know if you ever dreamt of anyone was close to you and he’s dead. It’s terrible strange. He’s always walking, I don’t know, some hill or other. He’s not walking fast or anything, save it’s hard catching up with him, hard to keep up even. He won’t turn to look at you, just keeps walking on. And you’re saying, What’re you doing here? After they told us you was dead? You’re shocked like and all annoyed. You can’t get any talk out of him. And you’re crying really and saying, Why’re you doing this? Won’t you come home now? He’s not looking at you, he’s just walking on and on. I try to hold his arm, I try to turn him round. Don’t you know we miss you? Don’t you know you can come home out of this and we’ll forget all about it? There’s everything so weary with him. And he just says,