The Crow of Connemara

by Stephen Leigh

  Her last words seemed overlaid with another voice, and with that the last moments of the dream returned to him, the Morrígan speaking the same words, in the same tone. He seemed to feel the resonance of the voice in his grandfather’s stone as well. In the pocket of his jeans, it vibrated against his skin like a cell phone.

  “Maeve,” he started to say, but she shook her head and half-ran from the glade and into the trees. He stayed there, wanting to chase after her, but his legs refused to cooperate.

  She had disappeared into the trees before he could manage his first steps.

  22

  Mothers and Brothers

  “IT’S GOOD TO HEAR YOUR VOICE, too, Mom. Sorry I didn’t call earlier. Things have been a little crazy here, and some of the places I’ve been there just wasn’t any service at all.”

  Colin wondered if his mother could hear the excuses in his voice. He could imagine her in the living room of their house in Chicago; he could hear the TV on in the background, thin voices scratching at the speaker of his cell phone accompanied by equally tinny music. His mother’s breath obliterated them. “Jen told me she’s talked to you several times.” The accusation was implicit, with just a hint of guilt-inducing “You’ll call your sister, but you won’t call me” underneath it.

  “Yeah, sorry, Mom. Mea culpa, and all that.” He pressed his lips together. Downstairs, he could hear Mrs. Egan puttering around in the kitchen, and the smell of baking bread wafted through the house. “I’ll try to be better about that. I promise.” But if I move to Inishcorr, there’ll be no phone service at all . . .

  “Jen says you’ve met someone?” The bald statement had a dozen conversational hooks dangling from it. Silently, he cursed Jen for giving Mom the bait, and he wondered how he was going to avoid getting dragged into a conversation he didn’t want to have. He decided that a lie would be the best course for the moment. It’s no coincidence that Mom’s named Mary, he and Jen used to joke in their teenage years. She’s intent on making sure we stay virgins.

  “Her name’s Maeve, but right now we’re just friends. Nothing more. So there’s really not much to say. She lives on one of the islands around Ballemór; I don’t see her all that much.”

  “Ah.” He heard a click and the voice on the TV changed to Ellen DeGeneres’ distinctive voice. He imagined his mother, sitting on the couch with the remote in one hand and the phone in the other, her coffee steaming on the table in front of her. “Jen made it sound like this was something serious,” she said. Dangling the hooks again . . .

  “Well, Maeve’s five months pregnant, though I’m not entirely sure I’m the father. Still, I married her last week just in case, but, nah, it’s not serious.”

  From the other end of the connection came a gasp, then a shaking laugh. “Oh, you! You’re awful, you know that?” He heard the laughter die away quickly. “So . . . when are you going to be back, Colin? We miss you so much, and Tommy could use your help with the campaign.”

  “I’m sure Harris will do everything that Tommy needs,” he told his mother. “I’m managing to keep myself afloat financially playing music, my visa’s still good, and I’m learning a lot. I’m really not planning to leave anytime soon.”

  “Yes, but what good is all this music stuff going to do for you? Colin, someday you’re going to have a wife and family; how is music going to provide for them? Why, you’ll need medical benefits and a house in a decent neighborhood, and a down payment for that is going to be tens of thousands of dollars, and—”

  “Mom,” he said into the rush of her objections, the same litany he’d heard for the last several years, “it’s the twenty-first century. Maybe that wife of mine will be the one with the good job and benefits. Or maybe folk music will come back into favor again and I’ll be giving concerts in stadiums. I don’t know what the future holds, and neither do you. In any case, I’ll worry about a wife and family when the time comes.” Then, simply because he knew it would annoy her: “Or maybe I’ll just stay here in Ireland. Things are relatively cheap over here, and they like musicians. Maybe I’ll just settle down with Maeve, become an Irish citizen. I won’t have to worry about the high cost of living over there, and Ireland has free public health care, so I won’t have to worry about that, either. You’d just have to fly over here to visit your grandkids.”

  There was silence on the other end for a moment, though he heard her intake of breath. He imagined her sitting there, staring at the TV and trying to decide if that was another joke. “Well,” she said, drawing out the word over a long breath, “I’m sure you’ll do what’s right in the end.” He knew that in Mom-speak, that translated as And you’d damned well better do what I think is right.

  “Sure, Mom,” he said. “I’m sure I will. Listen, I have a silly question. Do you know what a caul is?” She didn’t, and he explained. “Anyway, was I born with one?”

  She gave a cough of surprise. “Why on Earth would you ask that?”

  “Someone said that she could tell that I had been. Something about it being considered lucky.”

  “What kind of people are you hanging around with there, Colin? Gypsies and fortune tellers? Is this Maeve of yours one of them? Of all the ridiculous things to ask—”

  “Mom. Just answer the question. Was I born with a caul?”

  Television voices chattered beneath his mother’s breaths. “I . . . I don’t know—they told me they had to clean you up before they gave you to me, and I couldn’t see what they were doing. Your Aunt Patty might remember. She was there, since your father was stuck in Indianapolis at some meeting. You could ask her, if you really want to know. It seems silly to me, and rather gross, honestly. All I cared about was that you were healthy. Yours was the easiest birth of all of you. I was in labor with Tommy for twelve hours, and eight with Jennifer . . .”

  He was half-listening now, having heard these stories too many times over the years: Tommy was breech and they almost went to an emergency C-section but the doctor managed to turn him at the last minute. I swore I’d never have another child after that horrible experience. But a woman forgets these things, dear, and Jennifer was a sweet, even-tempered child from the moment she emerged. Now you—you squalled with colic for the entire first two months and the only thing that would sooth you was riding in the car, and your father or I would put you in the car seat and drive you around for hours . . .

  Colin allowed their conversation to drift into polite niceties. He heard all about Tommy’s progress with the campaign and how his “coming-out” hadn’t seemed to affect the polls too badly, and how well Jen was doing (though his mother somehow neglected any mention of Aaron), and how her knees were hurting and the doctor was thinking it was incipient arthritis and at some point she’d probably have to have knee replacement surgery (“You see, it’s things like that that countries with public health care just won’t provide until you’re practically crippled . . .”).

  He finally made his excuses and disconnected with the promise that he’d call again soon.

  He suspected that their definitions of “soon” would be wildly divergent.

  After the conversation with his mother, he hesitated, sitting on his bed as he listened to Mrs. Egan puttering around downstairs, but he finally pulled up the contact list on his phone and pressed the number for Aunt Patty’s cell phone. There was the hiss of the overseas connection, a long pause, then he heard the phone ring on the other end. After four rings, he thought he would need to leave a message, but he heard a click and then Aunt Patty’s voice, a little breathless.

  “Colin! I’m at the mall; my phone was in my purse and so I didn’t hear it right away. How are you? I’ve been hoping you’d call so we could catch up.”

  “Sorry, Aunt Patty. I’ve been busy here, and some of the places I’ve been just don’t have cell service.”

  “Oh, I understand. Have you called your mom, though? She calls me at least every other day to see if
I’ve heard anything from you.”

  “I just talked to her. Which is actually why I’m calling you now.” He took a breath, running his tongue over his lips. “Listen, I’ve a strange question to ask you. I asked Mom, and she said you might know. When I was born. . . . Well, do you know what a caul is?”

  Aunt Patty laughed. “As a matter of fact, I do. And yes, when you were born you had a caul, if that’s what you’re wondering. You looked like someone had plastered a really ugly, pale blue, splotchy wet cloth over your face. Took the doc a few moments to get it off so you could start breathing. There were a few anxious moments for me watching them, but I don’t think your mom really noticed, and it was easy to forget about once everyone knew you were all right. God, I haven’t thought about that in years, Colin. Why in the world are you asking?”

  “Believe it or not, the subject came up here in Ireland.”

  “Really? How odd. I mentioned it to my mom—your Maimeó—afterward. She was the one told me what a caul was. She said that, back home, there were tales about children born with cauls and that supposedly Daiddeó Rory was born with one, too, so maybe it runs in families. It’s supposed to mark the child for something special, according to Maimeó. I can’t remember if I ever told your mom that or not. If I did, she probably didn’t think much of it.”

  “No, it seems she didn’t. She wasn’t even sure what a caul was. But thanks, Aunt Patty; that’s what I wanted to know.”

  “Glad I could help. So tell me, how are you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Uh-huh,” he heard through the speaker. “That’s the answer someone gives when they don’t want to actually answer the question. I know you better than that, Colin. Let’s try again. How are you?”

  He didn’t respond immediately. On the other side of the line, he heard the tinny blandness of mall music over the speakers, and fragments of people passing his aunt, who waited patiently for his response. “All right,” he said at last, “things have been somewhat strange. This is going to sound bizarre, but I’m wondering if I’m not caught up in part of the same impossible tale that Daiddeó Rory wrote down—all that nonsense he talked about in the journal you gave me. I thought that was just some tale he was making up, but now . . .” There was nothing but the hiss of the connection in his ear. “Aunt Patty?”

  “I heard,” she said. “Is that why you were asking about the caul?”

  “Yeah. Maeve, the woman I’ve been seeing here, she said she could tell I was born with one. And . . . Well, I’m not sure exactly how she knows some of the things she tells me or does some of what she does. I’m even starting to wonder . . .” He stopped.

  “Do you trust this Maeve?” Aunt Patty asked. “What does your heart tell you, Colin? Dad—your grandfather—always told us that if we followed our hearts, we couldn’t be led astray, no matter where we ended up. That was always good advice for me.”

  “I’ll remember it. Aunt Patty, please don’t tell Mom any of this. Not even Jen or Tommy. I don’t want anyone worrying. Or thinking I’ve gone off the deep end, either.”

  “What about me?” she said, though he heard a laugh riding under the words.

  “I figure you can handle it,” he told her. “Listen, I’ll let you get back to your shopping. You’ve given me a lot to think about, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “You do that, dear,” she told him. “And listen to that heart of yours most of all. Of the whole family, you’re the most like your Daiddeó. Maybe more than any of us thought. Take care,” she said, “and call me if you need to talk more. I’ll be here.”

  “I appreciate that. Bye, Aunt Patty.”

  He pressed the End Call button. He dropped the phone to the bedspread, then took off his glasses, placed them alongside the phone, and rubbed his eyes. He put his hand in his pocket, pulling out his grandfather’s stone. He rubbed the polished facets between his fingers as he sat there.

  Lucas wouldn’t answer Colin’s repeated calls and messages. Mrs. Egan’s attitude toward Colin had turned decidedly frosty; when she did deign to talk to him, it was with short, clipped sentences. The story of the storm and Darcy’s picture standing in the middle of the table was now, with embellishments, a part of local lore. The tale of how Maeve had “threatened and nearly put a curse” on Mr. Mullins seemed to be all the gossip in town, and the fight at Regan’s between the Oileánach and the townsfolk had taken on mythic proportions.

  When Colin walked into town, he could feel the stares and hear the whispers. When he looked at them, they’d look quickly away; when he came close enough to possibly overhear, conversations would abruptly cease. He tried to tell himself that it was only paranoia, that they weren’t paying any more attention to him than they would any stranger on the street, but he knew better.

  To the people of Ballemór, Colin realized, his decision had already been made. He was now just another Oileánach, whether that was what he wished or not.

  On Sunday, after dinner, he remained at the table after the other residents of the bed and breakfast had left. Mrs. Egan bustled in with her cart to take the dishes into the kitchen. She didn’t look at him as he watched her. “Mrs. Egan, I’ll be settling my bill tonight. I’m planning on leaving in the morning.”

  “Oh, is that so?” He could see her struggling to keep a smile from her face. “So . . . tell me that it’s not to that dark witch woman yer going.” She put his plate on the cart with a crash. “Yeh risk your very soul with that ’un,” she told him sternly, the wrinkles deepening in her face. Her forefinger wagged at his nose. “’Tis what Father Quinlan says, and he’s a man of the cloth so he’d know.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Egan, but I don’t believe that.”

  “That’s the trouble with yeh, if yeh don’t mind my sayin’,” she told him. “Yeh don’t believe in the proper things.” The finger looked in danger of wagging again, and her face had soured.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter. Actually, I’m thinking of heading farther up the coast—maybe toward Sligo.”

  Her lips pursed hard at that, and she nodded once firmly. “That’d be good for yeh. I’ll put together a nice breakfast for yeh tomorrow morning, and a sandwich to take for lunch. Yeh’ll be taking the bus, then?”

  “Don’t know. I might check at Regan’s to see if someone’s heading up that way and wouldn’t mind a rider.”

  “Well, just yeh be careful. And if yeh come back this way, give me a few days’ notice and I’ll make sure yer room’s still available.”

  He ventured a smile. “Thanks, Mrs. Egan. I appreciate that. I’ll certainly recommend your place to anyone coming to Ballemór.”

  Her lips might have twitched. She took his plate and pushed the cart of dirty dishes into the kitchen. A few minutes later, with the sound of dishes rattling in the sink, Colin went upstairs to pack.

  “Yeh still think he’s worth yer time? Worth our time? Maeve, if yer wrong, yeh’ve doomed us.”

  “Are yeh speaking for all yer kind, or just for yerself, Niall?”

  Niall scowled, but he lowered his gaze. “For me, mostly,” he admitted.

  They were standing on the battered quay jutting into Inishcorr’s harbor. Maeve could feel the boards shifting under her feet as the waves lapped at the pilings. The Grainne Ni Mhaille was tied up at the end of the quay, bobbing gently in the swells; Keara and four others of the Inishcorr villagers were already on board, working on the lines and sail.

  Niall had climbed up from the water as Maeve approached, discarding his seal’s skin even as she saw him. His hair was plastered to his skull, dripping saltwater from the long ends, and his face still bore the fading bruises of the fight at Regan’s. He was also entirely naked, seemingly unconcerned about the chill wind on his sea-soaked body. Maeve was certain that was deliberate; he could have chosen to stay in seal form, knowing that she was planning to take the hooker to the mainland.

&n
bsp; “Then why are yeh still carrying on with me, Niall?” she asked. “Are yeh disputing that this is my decision to make? Are yeh questioning my authority on Inishcorr? Do yeh think yer better prepared than me to do what’s necessary? Yeh think yeh have even a tithe the power that I have, that yeh can open the way to Talamh an Ghlas on yer own and without the bard and the cloch?”

  “Yeh do’nah know if that man even has the cloch.”

  “But I do,” Maeve insisted. “I know that. I held it once, and I’ve seen it with Colin; the same one. I saw it call down the mage-lights t’other night.”

  Niall’s head shook, scattering cold droplets: a rain of denial. “I’m not questioning yer authority, Maeve, only the choice yeh’ve made with the man.”

  “Why?” She nearly spat out the question. “Yeh heard the Crone same as I did: Colin’s caul-born, like his grandfather. He could hear and see us in our true forms, even if he di’nah understand what he saw. He fits our needs. He’s the one was sent to us.”

  “’Tis possible. I’m not sayin’ the man’s a total wanker, only ’tis also possible that there could be another just as well suited, or better—someone who means less to yeh. Maeve, everyone can see that yeh also like the man, and maybe more than like him, if yeh take me drift. That’s what’s got everything all bolloxed. I wonder if yer still goin’ to be able to do what has to be done when the time comes—and I’m nah the only one wondering.” He nodded his head back toward the village. “Yer the Eldest. We follow yeh because of that. But are yeh lettin’ yer feelings take yeh down the wrong path—one that has consequences for us all?”