Where Old Ghosts Meet - Kate Evans [82]
Matt Molloy’s mind was on that night years ago and his bitter confrontation with Gerry Quinlan. The very notion that he could go off to New York and become an actor was ridiculous. How could he know about the loneliness and rigours of a big city like New York? Matt Molloy knew in his heart that he had been too harsh with his young student that night, and deep down he regretted it but he had never found the courage to admit it. He wondered now as he watched if, in fact, he had done him a service that day: if his advice, though harsh, had been sound. His eye caught the faded bronze knot of hair on the top of Peg’s head across the room. It shone like a beacon amongst the patches of grey.
“Mr. Molloy, maybe you have something to add. Being an outsider an’ all, you’ve been abroad and seen the world and at the same time know what we’re about here. What do you think? Should we shut her down or what?”
He heard the word “outsider” and knew before he stood up that his opinion would count for nothing. He was just a decoy. He knew he shouldn’t take the bait but he wasn’t about to back away, not in front of Gerry Quinlan. He stood up reluctantly, aware of the deep silence in the room as he collected his thoughts. He was searching for truth.
“This island is a barren, isolated place,” he began, “make no mistake about that.” His tone was quiet and deferential, his eyes averted, not wanting to make contact with anyone in particular. “Even at the best of times life here is a challenge and you respond to that challenge by working hard.” He shifted his feet, glad of the warmth coming from the belly of the woodstove. “Your life here has a strange, unrelenting rhythm. You know it, live with it and survive doing what you know best. In the new growth centres across the bay or in the city of St. John’s that rhythm may not be too different from what you know, but make no mistake, it will be different. If you choose to leave, you have to understand that wherever you go, you simply may not fit in with the new order. That is all I have to say.”
He sat down, glad of the partial concealment provided by the stove. He could hear some clapping but he had no way of telling if it was widespread. He wished he could leave now, quietly.
“Well, now, that’s all very impressive.” Like many of the island men, the speaker was short and powerfully built. He had a voice to match his bulk and a presence that demanded attention. Matt Molloy recognized him right away. Leo Power, another old student, bright enough, owner of the largest fishing boat in these parts. “Them’s grand words from Mr. Molloy, yes, won’erful grand words.” For a moment he stared at his boots and then turned a crafty eye on the crowd, taking time to eyeball certain people, making sure he had their attention. Then he straightened his back and pointed to where Matt Molloy sat by the stove. “But, tell me now, tell me this, what do he know about the likes of us? What do he know about makin’ fish or bein’ up to yer arse in debt before you ever gets to put yer boat in the water in the spring of the year and still in debt in the fall of the year no matter how good the catch. Now, I can take a swing at life, good as any man, and I’ll tell ye this.” He pointed his finger straight into the heart of the crowd. “If I has to jack up my house, put her aboard a raft and haul her across the bay, I’ll do it, and I’ll tell ye this much, I’ll not be beatin’ me brains out worryin’ about whether I fits in with the crowd over there or not.”
Wild cheers, shouting and arguing followed. That was the final word from the floor. A show of hands and it was over.
Peg looked about for Matt, thinking they could walk home together, but he had gone, so she made out across the path, happy for the first time about the whole situation. She knew now, for sure, what was best. They’d stay on, on the island, no matter what. The Byrnes too had made up their minds to stay and Pius Walsh. “He wasn’t goin’ nowhere,” so he said. He had no need