The Best Travel Writing 2011 - James O'Reilly [68]
From an early age, Jimmy was never allowed to stray far from the cottage because everyone knew he was not like other children. Patrick pointed to the small fields and hedgerows overlooking the cottage.
“Sometimes, I would be working up there and I would hear a little yelp like a goat and realize it was little Jimmy but I would never see him. He had no words and communicated with gestures. Believe me, he’s smart and knows more about the land than any of us. He’s a great help to his sister and looks after their livestock. I never tell tourists about him because they wouldn’t be likely to see him. On the other hand, they’d be on the lookout for him and might take pictures of him if they spotted him. Their kids might even make fun of him as kids do when they come across somebody strange. He leaves his house only at night or before dawn. In the early mornings, he likes to sit on the cliffs and lower a hand-line into the surf with feathered hooks attached to it and a big weight at the end. He lets it sink into deep water under the cliffs and jerks it up and down in a jigging motion. That way he catches lots of mackerel and Pollack and sometimes big conger eels. During the day, his sister keeps him close to home. At night, he knows never to stray from the lane. That’s his boundary as it were.”
Patrick paused long enough for me to describe the events of the previous night and laughed when I told him how I readied to repel intruders. Now I had his attention, I asked him how Jimmy acquired the Natural moniker. He glanced at me somewhat perplexed and nervously ran his hands through his hair. It was clearly a question he had never had to answer.
“I can’t really say I know the origin of his nickname,” he replied, nervously. “I think…but I wouldn’t swear to it… Jimmy’s parents were the ones who called him a Natural and, after a while it stuck. You see, he was strange but then maybe no stranger than some of the other folk in this part of the country. I remember my father telling me Jimmy was described as a Natural to stop other people being cruel and saying he was mad, crazy or a nutcase. Maybe Natural just seemed to be a natural thing to call him back then, if you know what I mean. Jimmy was purer than the rest of us in some way. He was innocent like the nature God created. I guess he’s always been a little closer to God than the rest of us.”
A week after my encounter with Jimmy, I met Declan on my way to Killybegs. He was striding along confidently, a slight swagger in his step. I stopped my car and got out to talk to him. When I told him I had met Jimmy the Natural, he nodded with reverence as though my knowing about The Natural conferred on me a particular status and responsibility. He stepped to within an inch of me, and grabbing my arm pulled me close.
“Whatever you do, don’t go telling any of the rowdies in town about Jimmy. We don’t want them going out the road when they’re drunk to play some prank on him. He’s one of ours and his secret is our secret. The Natural’s what we would all like to be. Am I right?”
I nodded and he let go of my arm.
“The best way to get rid of a hangover is to walk it into the ground,” he shouted as he strode off. He was on his way to sample the hair of the dog. “Keep the faith,” was his parting comment as he disappeared from view.
After the initial apparition, fishing trips took me to other parts of Donegal and I got home too late to walk into town for a pint. Nevertheless, when driving I never exceeded fifteen miles per hour on the lane for fear Jimmy might suddenly appear in my headlights. He never showed up but I felt deep down he was hiding behind a stone wall or hedge watching me. Without fail, each morning I awoke to