It was such a simple song. Even the men stood and listened. Everyone clapped, their hearts now set in the right place. Some of them started to cry. I might have cried, too, if I hadn’t hardened my heart, but I had.
Just then, Audrey Whitetree-Murphy arrived looking gaunt but very glamorous. She wore a Kentucky Derby straw hat. Uncle Ned went right up and asked her if she’d have a cup of lemonade and then he brought one to her.
I was furious for Aunt Bridey. “How do you bear it?” I asked her. I couldn’t stop myself.
“What?” She looked me dead in the eye, denying everything.
Right, I thought. Pride first.
“Liam wrote that,” Bridey said.
“He did? The one about the bus?”
“Aye.”
Liam and Willy cavorted near the water. Everyone looked. Of course Johnny had to join them. The fishing had begun.
Aunt Bridey sipped her own lemonade, leaned over toward me and said, “A clear conscience has the strength of ten men, Claire.”
I didn’t look back, just kept looking at the men. “Nowadays,” I murmured, “it’s a little hard to know what’s right or wrong.”
“Everyone knows what’s right and wrong.” She sniffed. “Just nowadays people like to pretend they don’t. Rather pretend the easy way is the right way.” She winked at me and the weather changed, the way it always seems to there, suddenly. Foreboding wind and rain came up. The fishermen remained, stout fellows. I put my Oriental parasol amast and it didn’t last long. The wind blew and when that happened, the light was always changing. It went from gray to sparkling and back. You could see rain and the sun in the sky at the same time. Darned if a rainbow didn’t appear.
Temple’s cameraman came along in the film Jeep. Everyone knew it was Temple’s Jeep. In front of them all, he said, “Claire, they’ve caught a big one upstream, you’ll want to get a picture of it. This looks like the winner.”
“All right.” I hopped in the Jeep, sensing the disapproval of everyone around me. It was too soon for a winner. The fun had just begun.
“You’ll not forget your parasol, lass.” Miss Ferry handed it up.
“Who is it?” Uncle Ned called, worried.
“Temple Fortune,” the cameraman sneered. “Mr. Lucky. Who else?”
So I went upstream and photographed Temple’s giant salmon. He stood astride it on the land. It flipped and struggled in the sparkling rain. “Pick it up,” someone said.
“I dunna like to hold him while he dies,” Temple said.
“Oi, the struggle,” Willy sighed, for Willy stood behind me while I shot.
“No”—Temple wiped his hands on a chamois—“the slime.”
Then I remembered my dream. Someone had come and told me what to do. Before me were four alligator-like amoeba things. I was to eat them and they, in turn, would eat the trouble inside me. There was one enormous one, big as a frog. I had some liquid I could drink them with, milk, or ale, and I took the big one first. I could feel it swimming down my throat and I remember the breadth of it passing my gullet.
I never remember my dreams. But this one was so strong it had awakened me. I stared at the grass. Suddenly I remembered where else I’d seen that digging claw before. Seamus had worn it on his tool belt. I remembered now. When I’d first arrived in Skibbereen.
* * *
I walked across to Mrs. Driver’s small gathering. Her regulars around her. Someone had put up a barrel and hacked a spigot into its side. The frothy amber liquid spilled out into the glass like cream.
“I was wondering,” I murmured to her, “what might have happened to Seamus?”
“He’ll be up the ridge with Jenny Rose.”
“Oh,” I said. “No. I mean, what might have happened to him to make him do such a thing? In general, what makes a person turn into a monster.”
She turned and looked me up and down. “What thing?”
“You know. To hurt an animal like that. Bob.”
“Bob?”
“To keep it alive so he could hurt it again. That frightens me.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I sighed. I’d better tell her and I’d better tell her now. “Remember, when he brought your cat, Bob, home? He’d tortured it first.”
“Seamus?”
“Yes, Seamus.”
Dayday rolled her sleeves back like a nun at the blackboard. “Well, miss, you can say what you want, but that lad never tortured nowt.”
I regarded her sadly. She didn’t want to know. I pressed the back of her hand. “I know it’s hard to accept. But I saw him.”
She sat down on the nubby bank and so did I. “If anything”—she screwed her wrinkled face up—“the opposite’s true. Like the time I gave him a job. We, all of us, give him a job now and again. For Mrs. Wooly, mostly, so she might have her extras. Tea and cakes and the like. Things she fancies.” She leaned over and whispered, “And tobacco. Just don’t tell Molly. Molly don’t like her smokin’.”
I laughed politely. “But go on about Seamus.”
“Seamus, now, it’s hard to pay him because he winds up usually doing the opposite of what you want him to do. And you’d like to paddle him more than pay him.”
“What do you mean?” I said.
“Well, like I was saying. I had all these snails in my garden in back of the house. They eat the leaves off everything. They eat the blossoms from the nasturtium. They can’t get enough a those forget-me-nots. And it takes two years to grow forget-me-nots. I planted my whole front path with them. Not one come up the second year. Why? I’ll tell you why! You can’t believe how much those snails can eat!”
I looked out over the heads of the drinkers. Temple was looking for me. “So, go on,” I urged her.
“Well. Last summer I thought, I’m going to gather them all up and get rid of them. I’m not one for poison, not with the cats and my two goats.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’ve got to get up way early in the morning while they’re still about, because before the sun is burnin’ bright, they’ll all be back home sleepin’ and you’ll never catch them. So I gave Seamus the job of being there early and getting them for me and he did that part. He was there bright and early and he’d pick them up off the leaves, big ones, small ones, then he was to go put them in the pail, the big one, a rusty metal rubbish pail by the house and he did that, too. I’d lined the can with a plastic and when he was done he tied up the bag like I showed him. He did that part fine.”
She took a draught of her lemon and beer. “The next day, he come back for his money, like I told him, y’see. I’m not one to rise up early. The guests stay late and if there’s a good game of darts, they’ll stay later still. So I told him come late on the next day and he did. But when I came to the back door, there’s Seamus there crying his eyes out. I said what’s the matter, Seamus? and he couldn’t talk, for all the blubberin’ he was doin’, but he pointed his fat finger at the rubbish pail and there’s this snail on a rose branch sticking from the bag, made his way to the top, and Seamus says, ‘All night long he musta been climbing! All night long!’ I look at him. ‘He’ll want to go home to his mam!’ he cried.”
Dayday looked at me. “What was I to do? All right, I said to him, I said, ‘Seamus, what do you want me to do?’ and he snuffled and cried out to me, ‘Let them go home!’ Like his poor heart would break. ‘All right,’ I said, then, just to get him to stop, ‘you can let them go home.’”
“So what happened?” A sun shower started and I put the parasol over us.
“Seamus,” she continued, “spent the next hour picking every last snail from the garbage and transporting them back to the yard. He put every last one on its own leaf, he did. There you have it. And you wonder why my garden looks the way it does!” She put her hand on my bent knee and hoisted herself up. “So it’s not Seamus who’d torture a creature. You’re all wrong, there.” She put her cape back on. “You see it couldn’t be him.”
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Something was going on at the spot I’d just come from, where Mrs. Wooly sat. A couple of people drifted over there. “But then you’ll be wrong about so much, I’ll wager,” Dayday muttered.
I looked at her, puzzled.
“Daft. I mean that fine fellow.”
“Temple?”
“Tch. Not him. The broken-hearted one.”
I stood up myself. Temple, surrounded by admirers, waved when he saw me.
“Mrs. Driver”—I pushed my way through the assortment of revellers—“but what about that story of Seamus when he tortured the pig?”
“I never heard that.” She turned her back on me.
Puzzled, I just stood there, following her back with my eyes.
Then, she turned around, her little mouth very defined beneath a trace of mustache. “I remember a story about a pig. I remember that one. But that were not Seamus. A man from Clonmel told me that story. Used to live here. What was his name?” She shuddered. “Oi. He were ripping drunk when he told me that one. I thought he made that up.” She shook her head. “You hear all art of things in my line.”
“Who was that, Mrs. Driver?” I think she was a little tipsy herself.
She smacked her lips. “Och. Your memory goes. He used to live right here in Skibbereen, he did.” She looked down. “I often wondered why he never come back. Nowt to visit.”
Temple grabbed me by the hand and spun me around. He was so happy. I couldn’t help smile for him.
“What’s gotten into you?” I chuckled.
“Off to the colonies, Claire,” he whispered and let his breath and a scrape of his tongue stay inside my ear.
I pulled back and smiled.
“Now,” he said.
“I’ve just got to—”
His face fell. “What now?”
“—go see Jenny Rose.”
“Come on, Claire. You can do that later.”
I pulled away.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. It just feels wrong. I mean, so mean. To do it while I should be off looking for her.”
“But, she’s nothing to you. A week ago you didn’t know she existed, right?”
Right.” I looked up the Ilen and over the moor where Bally Cashin lay. “I just want to check she’s all right.”
“What’s this?” Bernadette remarked, taking us in. Me and Temple. “Some’s got their bread buttered on both sides, I see,” she said.
“I want to know if you’re coming now,” he said.
“Can’t you see Jenny Rose could be in danger?”
“What sort of danger could she be in? Jesus! And can’t you see that you can’t tease me like this forever? Some of us don’t have that luxury of staying where we want to, some of us have to work.”
“I work!” I whirled about in anger.
“Well some of us have to move on when we must.” He pulled in his chin. “You’re being coy, is what you’re doing. Little late for that, love.”
I tried not to be annoyed. “Temple. Just let me go. I’ll be right back.” I smiled. “Really.”
You could tell he was furious. Poor Temple. When he got mad, his skin got all rashy. He turned himself in profile. He was smiling at the people from the weighing tent. The Evening Star had sent their photographer as well. He waved to them but he talked to me. “You trot your husband out to make me jealous so I’ll marry you—”
“Marry you?” I flew at him. “I’d never get married again! I wanted sex, that was all.”
One eyebrow went up in two pieces.
I pulled away and climbed on the bicycle. I could feel his eyes on me while I rode away but I didn’t care, I didn’t care what I’d said, either. I really was worried about Jenny Rose because there were so many things to sketch over here and why wouldn’t she come? This all was her idea. And if Seamus hadn’t been the one to torture that poor cat, who had? Who else could have been to the bed and breakfast that morning?
Willy Murphy stood with his mother. A group of young people hung about. The local radio station from Cork had got wind of all this and they were interviewing Mrs. Whitetree-Murphy, as if she were the spokesperson. She was holding Willy’s suitcase close to her legs.
“Willy?” I tapped him from my saddle. “I’m going to go up and look for Jenny Rose.”
I hesitated for a few moments, hoping he’d volunteer to come with me. He didn’t, though. His mother said something and everyone laughed.
I went on my way. I turned and saw him in his safari outfit, deliberating, but still standing there on his skinny white legs.
I remember that journey so well. The bicycle and tires were strong but so were the ruts in the road and it was like a contest between them. I was sorry I’d put the Oriental parasol in the basket for all the bouncing around it did.
For a while I would ride on the green to avoid the great rattling. Then there were bushes and you had to go back to the road. It was cold with the wind. I remember leaning down hard against it, across the handlebars, climbing the hills. I was oddly frantic. Then going down them you had to pull yourself back on the footbrakes. I felt a great urgency to see Jenny Rose. Just to see her well. Then I felt almost silly when I got to the Trinity Lanes because suddenly the sun broke through. It was a lovely June day and I thought, Look at me, I’ve gone completely paranoid.
So I took the coast road, pedaling easily now. I don’t know what had gotten into me. It was such a glorious day. I’d get Jenny Rose and we’d go back and join the others. Leave it to Temple Fortune to win first prize. I smiled to myself. He was jealous, wasn’t he? I’d straighten it out. There was still time.
I got to the hill by the studio and disembarked. I called out. No one came. I hopped back on the bike and turned but just then the door creaked open and I turned to look. No one was there. Oh well, no one there. I had half a mind to just go but I thought of Jenny Rose and how upset she must be with Willy leaving. I wheeled the bike up to the door and called her name. No one came. The door banged in the wind. Childishly, I wished the dog were with me.
“Jenny Rose?” I went in just a little. There was no one. It wasn’t dark in there so there was no reason to be frightened but, I don’t know why, something made me hesitate. The open door fluttered the sketches and blew them off the tables. My neck ached. I sighed. I’d have to fix that. I couldn’t just leave them to blow away. I leaned the bicycle against the house and went in. Something passed before me. I stood very still. It was Bob, the cat, black, limping stealthily from right to left, his yellow eyes on me. I let out a frightened shriek before I realized what it was. Nerves, I guess. Then I gave a laugh, to put myself in charge, like, feeling silly, and went over to batten down the drawings. Jenny Rose must have left in a hurry, I thought, not to latch that door right. Probably changing her mind and then racing to see Willy Murphy before he got away.
When I reached the table, the hairs on my neck stood up. There was someone behind me. I could feel it. I turned slowly. Against the door, Seamus stood, flattened and big-eyed. We both screamed.
I was terrified. It didn’t matter now what Dayday Driver had said about Seamus. He was huge and he loomed here and now, blocking the door. And back at it again with that cat, Bob. For a moment I thought I could jump through the glass window but I realized I might well slice myself and bleed to death before anyone would come. They were all at the River Ilen. The family. Even Johnny. Willy probably gone by now to London. Seamus held the door shut tight with both hands. My best bet was to play dumb.
“Why hello!” My voice trembled.
“Why hello!” He gave me my own voice back.
I couldn’t do this. I took a step back. “Seamus,” I said, “your mother is down at the River Ilen. They’re all there.”
“I’ll not watch them catch our Tantalos.” He shook his head—all Willy—then pounced on Bob the cat.
I put my face in my hands. Nothing happened. I opened my eyes and looked between my fingers. He stood there in his big corduroy jacket and rumpled f
armer grays, Bob in his arms. Bob’s foot was bandaged and a part of the ear was off. He pet the cat absently. “Jenny Rose was here with Willy Murphy all night long,” he said in a singsong. “They made a wicked fire! The whole of the room turned to cozy.” He shook his head. “Ah, it was grand.”
I looked to the latch on the door behind him. It wasn’t on tightly. If he moved to the side I could make it …
“Then Johnny the detective Benedetto come up,” he continued. “And what do you think, we put more wood on that fire! Och, it was fine!” He cocked his head dreamily. “They talked and talked the whole night long, they did. And they let me stay.”
“Who?” I said, just to keep it all going.
“Jenny Rose and Willy Murphy and that Johnny did!” He banged his fist on the door and made me jump. But he’d loosened the latch even more. It would drop if I waited. “They were talking and talking,” he said. “All about the Queen.”
“The Queen,” I said.
“Yeh,” he said, troubled. “Johnny says Jenny Rose can go live with the Queen.” He put his head down.
I stayed where I was. Outside, you could hear the wind. “Oh! You mean Queens!” I cried, my mind working despite everything. “Johnny told her he wants her to come live in Queens.”
His face lit up. “That’s it.”
“Seamus,” I tried. “Let’s go get something to eat.”
“Nay,” he said, standing back before the door.
We were at an impasse. There was nothing to be done.
We stayed like that for what felt like a long time. Then he said, “Jenny Rose said she’ll not leave Skibbereen!”
I thought, if I die, it’s not going to be from sitting here waiting for it. I stood up, walked over to him. He didn’t move a muscle. Matter of fact he seemed to be waiting for my lead. I took a chance and pulled him to the side by a pinch of his shirtsleeve, and opened the door. I watched him from the corner of my eye. He stood there, waiting patiently. I walked through the door. He followed me out. I picked up the bicycle.
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