At Swim, Two Boys - Jamie O'Neill [37]
Jim opened his eyes and realized that Doyler was speaking.
“Cá dtéigheann an taoide nuair thagann an trághadh?
Mar a dtéigheann an oidhche nuair thagann an lá?”
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Just saw the tide had turned. It’s an old thing they do say in Clare.”
The tide indeed had turned. Waves sent gentle spume on the steps that divided the cove. Behind, unseen, a spray landed with indignant horsy snort. Doyler unscrewed his flute, whipped the bits in the air to dislodge any moisture. It was all the ceremony he had for its care.
It was time and past to go, but neither shifted. In silence they gazed on the dark mid-main, then Jim said, “I hadn’t expected to find you gone that time.”
And Doyler answered, “I looked for you to say goodbye but.”
“But what?”
“I was in a stir leaving.”
“All they knew was County Clare and they couldn’t say when you’d be back and I kept thinking you’d be coming soon and then the college started and still no news and I knew then you were gone for good.”
“I was down with my mother’s people.”
“They told me that all right.”
Jim felt himself sloping like a weight was in his shoulder. His neck bristled when the arm came over and the hair of his skin felt the shock of touch as Doyler’s mop brushed against his face.
“Old pal o’ me heart,” said Doyler.
And Jim said, “Cara macree.”
“You remember that?”
“I do.”
“We were good pals that time.”
“We were great.”
“I thought of you down in Clare I did. I’d say you’d like it down that way.”
“I would?”
“We’ll go one day, you and me together like. We’ll stay on the island with my mother’s people. And I’ll show you the hut on the shore where we change for Mass. You’d laugh to see us. Traipsing in a grush of paupers, then out we troops in our Sunday majestics. They’d love you and all, with your college capeen.” He tipped the back of Jim’s cap so he had to catch it quick before the sea would take it.
“You’ll have me murdered,” he said.
“Hung, drawn and quartered,” Doyler agreed. Then he added, “I wouldn’t blame you going to the baths at Kingstown.”
There was a note of absolution in his voice. In like vein Jim answered, “I’d say the sea would have more of a challenge all the same.”
“There’s that all right. There’s many afraid they’ll drown in the sea. Not Doyler though.”
“Never?”
“Who’s born to hang will never drown.”
He had gathered spalls of rock in a heap which delicately now, one by one, he plopped in the water. “Will I tell you the story how I learnt me to swim?”
“Go on so.”
“Himself pushed against me one time and I fell in.”
Himself was how he called his father. “What happened?”
“Himself jumped in and rescued me, of course. They learnt him that in the army.”
“And did he teach you after that?”
“Not at all. By the time he had me hauled out a crowd had gathered. They had a collection made, bravery and so on. I tell you, from that day out it was dangerous walking near water with the man. If the thirst was on him and he hadn’t the entrance to a house, you was liable any minute to fetch up in the splash.”
“But your da wouldn’t do that to you.”
Doyler shrugged. “That’s not the best. I listened to meself and meself was after saying, if it’s this world you likes over the next, me bucko, had better learn swimming proper like. So I jumps in on me own one time without himself to rescue me. And I’ll tell you what, I did learn. Learnt mighty quick, I don’t mind me saying. So the next occasion he took me walking I was wary of his temper and I was waiting on him to make his move. I ducked out the way and what happened but he fell in himself.”
“What did you do?”
“I jumped in after, of course. But wait till I tell you. A fellow rescuing a boy is one thing. But a child of ten delivering his old man? The collection rate was doubled. He had us touring Leinster with that one, so