At Swim, Two Boys - Jamie O'Neill [80]
“The girls has their schooling.”
She was searching the sheet for any patch of dirt remaining. He fetched the pump for her, one-handed, and said, “I was working at their age.”
“And did I ask you did?” There, she’d found a stain. The soda sprinkled and her scrubbing began over. “Age eight, could neither lead nor drive you. Age twelve, there was no talking.”
“Age twelve, I was walking the road to Clare.”
He had spoken softly, not wishing her to hear, but unable to leave the words unsaid. She looked up from the washboard.
“Not on your own, son. Not a fall of your foot but my prayer was under it. I had the stones on the road counted each night for you.”
He frowned, avoiding her face. He could see her all right, in the cabin at night, with the shrimpses about her and her fingers numbering her beads in the dark. It was a long road that had no blessing to begin it. It was a long road to Clare all right, and him with a limp like Baccoch the Shooler.
He humped the child again. Already the wisps of hair were coloring. Red, to be sure. He saw the blue veins in the nose that had the neighbors whispering in corners. God love her for an angel, they shook their heads and said. Has she come to stay at all?
“She’s quiet to the world, Ma. Has she no words yet?”
“What words would she want?”
“I could bring her to the dispensary.”
“We have no call on the dispensary.”
“I can get money for a doctor. I know to get money for a half-crown doctor.”
“Listen with me, son. Your sister is grand. She’s slow only. Why wouldn’t your sister be slow? She has all God’s time.”
He felt the wide infant eyes upon him. Slow eyes that only his worry would trouble. His mother rinsed her sheet and left it on the washing-stone. Already the stone gleamed with whites. Before she would pour out the dirty tub, she muttered under her breath, “Beware the water.” It was a caution to the good people. The way the good people had followed from Clare to dance in the Banks about her daily.
“What has you up so bright?”
“I heard the cock-crow and I thought to take the morning’s breath.”
“Aye did you. And you tripped over some washing on the way. Whose is it?”
“Out of the houses over. Only the linens, but there’s plenty that.”
“Have they no copper at all?”
“They have an old monster in a shed all right, would have you shaking to fire it.”
He grinned. His mother would never use hot water if there was cold to be had first. “They have their share of sheets at any rate.”
“There’s every chance it wasn’t sheets you had in Clare.”
“Never in life. It was the hay below and a sack above and the pet pig to keep me cosy.”
“I had the pet boneen myself, I remember it.”
He bit his lip. “Ah no, Ma, I wanted to come home. I missed you, I did. I want to change things now. Change things for the better like.”
She said nothing, only concentrated on her work. But her face had softened and she was looking at them like she’d find them lovely, these strangers’ sheets.
“Why do you smile, Ma? I only mean the best for us.”
“And what would prevent me? Isn’t it my son here, the strong able boy would carry the world? And all the woes of the world would not be too many for him. It’s God’s morning to be smiling.”
He chucked his head. He didn’t mind her getting a pull of his leg. He was home then and sure of it. He felt a tug on his buttons. The tiny fingers had reached inside his shirt. “Lookat, Ma, she’s found me medal.”
“She likes her handsome brother.”
“Am I handsome?”
“’Tis the handsome man and him with a child. I did always think that.”
“Was I ever this little, Ma?”
“A fine thing and you was not.”
“But do you remember when I was little?”
“I do surely.” She turned from the tub. “Is there something troubling you, son?”
“Nothing, Ma. Was wondering only.”
“Let me look on you.” He stood up straight for her scrutiny and the sun met his eyes so that he squinted in its shine. There was an awkwardness he felt before his mother, and though he never intended it, he heard his speech come stilted at times, the way