The Secret Wound

by Deirdre Quiery

  Gurtha played on his own at the water’s edge watched carefully by Nuala and Paddy. They stayed on the beach until seven o’clock. Nuala and Paddy each took Gurtha’s hand and walked along the edge of the water. Gurtha walked on tip toes and squealed every so often with excitement. The sun was still a few hours from setting, balancing among drifting pink clouds which coloured the waves turquoise. The irony smell of seaweed felt healthy just to breathe in. It was time for Gurtha to be bundled into a soft while towel and gently dried.

  They returned to Mrs Aspery’s but not before buying Gurtha an ice-cream from Mr Whippy, a chocolate flake stuck into the swirls of soft cream. Mrs Aspery smiled, listening to the singing from the bathtub as Nuala scrubbed away the sand from Gurtha’s tender body and found a third bottle of Guinness for Paddy who lit a cigar and sank into the leather sofa. His feet were on the ground but he didn’t feel them there. He felt himself more in the smoke which swirled in front of his face and drifted towards the kitchen where Mrs Aspery basted the roasting chicken. The skin was crispy golden, with clear bubbles over the breast. The potatoes were fluffy and spiked at the edges with a crunchiness Nuala could never master. Mrs Aspery peeped through the door at Paddy and asked, “Would you like a bread sauce with your chicken and maybe a few sausages?”

  Paddy sat up on the sofa, leaned forward and asked, “Do whatever you would do for Mr Aspery. It will be good enough for me.”

  She gave a short gasp – a breath like you might take in and never breathe out. It created a pause, a space in the room, only broken by Paddy holding his head in his hands and sobbing tears of joy.

  After the roast chicken, with the tiny sausages, bread sauce, roasted potatoes and mashed carrots had been heartily finished; there was, of course, apple pie and cream. Paddy did something which he had never done before in his life. He asked Nuala if he could tell Gurtha a story, after she put Gurtha to bed. She looked at him with open eyes, her eyebrows raised, her jaw slightly dropped and without saying a word, nodded.

  Paddy sat on the bed with Gurtha and Nuala retired to help Mrs Aspery with the washing up after a fierce fight to be allowed into the kitchen.

  Paddy stroked Gurtha’s head. Gurtha moved onto his side and pulled his legs up almost to his chin. He joined his hands together as though he was saying a prayer but then slipped his joined hands under his cheek, making his hands the pillow. He listened with eyes wide open to what Paddy had to say.

  “There was a man called Athaneus who by the time he was quite old – forty to be exact – he had lost the ability to talk. It happened quite suddenly. One night he was able to talk normally to his wife – she was called Alaya – the next morning he had lost the power of speech. He couldn’t tell her of course. He looked into her eyes that morning and he tried to tell her that he loved her. He made his mouth go all soft and curl up. When he did this dimples appeared on either cheek. Alaya knew that he was happy even though he couldn’t talk. He wasn’t sure what to do with his eyebrows and so he pulled them together – only a little and made them go a slightly higher on his forehead than he had ever been used to doing and with his nostrils he made them flare out ever so slightly.

  Alaya looked at him, waiting for him to say a word. She tried to interpret what he was trying to tell her with his facial movements. He kept experimenting. When Alaya guessed accurately which animal he was imitating he smiled and put two thumbs in the air. At times he twitched his nose like a rabbit and found that made him want to bare his teeth. He raised his lips and stuck his teeth over his lower lip. At other times he smiled like a cat, keeping his nose perfectly still and staring straight ahead. After five years he had experimented with being almost every single animal that he could imagine – even a snake. When he tried to be a snake he stretched his neck high into the air and moved his head from side to side, keeping his eyes focused on Alaya’s lips. He stuck his tongue out from time to time quickly as though he was catching an insect.”

  “What happened to him?” Gurtha didn’t move on the pillow but rather stayed very still.

  “It was on a Sunday, five years later when he wakened up in bed with Alaya – the sunlight was streaming through a chink in the floral curtains onto the bed. Athaneus knew before saying a word that he could talk again.”

  “What did he say?” Gurtha sat up in bed.

  “Nothing. He went into the bathroom and tested out that words could come out of his mouth. Words came out. I can’t tell you what those first words were you understand because he heard them and no-one else and then they floated into the air and disappeared. Even Athaneus could not remember what those words were. He became more fascinated by not the words themselves but how they appeared and disappeared. He found himself listening to the space that they appeared from and into which they disappeared. The words were not to be remembered. They were totally insignificant. He looked outside the bathroom door to make sure that Alaya hadn’t heard them. He sprayed the bathroom with air freshener as though that would disguise the fact that words had one again filled the air. He had realised during his five years of silence that there were really no words worth saying. The world was more mysterious, more wonderful and awesome without words. He felt that words broke the world apart like an egg shell falling apart.”

  Gurtha sat up in bed and whispered to Paddy.

  “A chicken comes out of a broken shell.”

  Paddy looked at Gurtha in amazement. How could a child so young see this positive side of a disintegrating world? Before he could think of a response, Gurtha had another question.

  “Did he not want to tell Alaya that he loved her?”

  “No.” Paddy shook his head. He regained a sense of where the story was going. “He found that there was love in the silence. It was as though the words were bubbles. They hold a small amount of love but when the bubble bursts you know that love is everywhere.”

  Paddy hugged and then kissed Gurtha on the forehead, pulling the sheets and blankets around him and silently left the room. He heard Mrs Aspery and Nuala in the kitchen still chatting and tidying the dishes. He went back to his bedroom, found his wet bathing trunks and a dry towel and slipped quietly out of the house, returning to the beach. It was ten thirty. The sun had set. Darkness had fallen over the sand and pebbles. There was luminous blue foam at the water’s edge. The sea was still, a gentle black liquid coal, swirling in front of his eyes. He folded his clothes neatly at the water’s edge, on top of the towel and pulled on his black swimming trunks and disappeared like a thick sea eel below the surface of the water. He remembered how in the darkness, he was only aware of water holding him, gently, rocking him. He turned on his back and floated, seeing the flickering stars fizz in the blackness above. The moon was a slither of a crescent. He could imagine sitting inside the curve of white and swinging from side to side.

  ♥

  In the Port of Soller, outside the Irish Bar someone played a guitar and sang, ‘Oh Danny Boy’. Paddy looked upwards and the moon was indeed once again a fine line of white, like a scythe lying on a plush velvet pillow. He looked into the sea, rolling towards him, each wave calling him in. He took off his shoes and started to undress at the water’s edge.

  ♥

  It was nine o’clock. Gurtha sat in a circle inside the Gallery with Cornelia, Barry, Stephanie, Todd and Angelina. Cornelia held Barry’s hand. Barry lay back in the chair with his eyes closed. Stephanie stared at Gurtha. Todd picked at a tooth with toothpick. Angelina crossed her hands on top of her lap. Gurtha held Paddy’s checked green cap in his hands and stared at the ceiling before taking a deep breath.

  “We need to get the Police involved.”

  Todd dropped the toothpick into an ashtray on the table beside him.

  “It’s not necessary for us all to go to the Police station is it?”

  Stephanie stood in front of Todd, placing her hands on her hips.

  “Are you saying that you don’t care what happens to Paddy?”

  Todd glared back in disgust and annoyance before placing
both hands on his knees and leaning forward, looking gently into Gurtha’s eyes. “I’m only saying, Gurtha, that if we split up we will maximise our efficiency. You and Cornelia go to the Police. We keep in touch by phone. It’s a small island. He’s not going to escape. Has he got a passport and money?”

  “I have his passport. He has some money.” Gurtha held his hands over his eyes. His voice trembled, soaring in pitch.

  “I gave him money.”

  Cornelia knelt down in front of Gurtha.

  “It’s good that he hasn’t got his passport. I am so frightened about losing mine that I have it with me all the time.”

  She showed them a small white purse with a white cord which she criss-crossed over her shoulder.

  “You always need to have identification on you here if the Police stop you or you buy anything with a credit card.”

  Cornelia’s eyes were unusually soft, eyebrows slightly raised in interest and her jaw dropped an inch or so as she whispered to Gurtha.

  “Don’t think the worst. He is not going off the island. Not unless he swims.” Barry opened his eyes, abruptly sat up and glanced around the room.

  “Does anyone want a drink or is it only me?”

  Cornelia got to her feet in a graceful movement, resembling something between a yoga movement and an adage ballet twist. She took two steps towards Barry and placed her hands on his shoulders.

  “There will be no drinks for you or for anyone until Paddy is found. What kind of people do we have here? For God’s sake let’s get out there and find him.”

  ♥

  Barry watched Gurtha and Cornelia scurry along the Calle Son Joan and turn left at the bottom. Cornelia’s pink silk dress disappeared from sight like a Matador’s cloak whisked from the eyes of the bull. When Barry was sure that they were definitely gone, he turned to Angelina who stood behind him, leaning against the closed gallery door, arms crossed, a small cream handbag with pink silk flowers slid along one arm like a bracelet. She closed her eyes slowly, let her head fall back took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. With her eyes closed she whispered,

  “This is a nightmare. Poor Paddy. Where do we look first?”

  Barry noticed a narrow line of silver eye shadow, long heavily mascara coated lashes which slowly opened to reveal hazel green eyes which were not unlike Cornelia’s. Barry found that he had to look away from Cornelia’s eyes as if they weren’t human eyes. They were frightening at times – marbles of another world holding dark secrets. He asked Angelina, “Would you like to have something to eat first?”

  He blushed. He looked at her to detect a response – a flicker of surprise, annoyance, or interest. Surprisingly a smile opened gently on Angelina’s face.

  “If you behave yourself. Don’t spoil it.” She reached out her arm to link it with his.

  “These cobbled streets are hellish to walk on with high heels.”

  Barry felt her body press against his and then release, press and release with every step she tottered. Her linked arm pulled down on him and then relaxed, pulled down again and relaxed. All his attention was on the right side of his body where Angelina was tethered. The left side of his body scarcely seemed to exist at all. His face continued to blush and throb with heat.

  An old woman sitting on a chair outside her house to the left watched him approach with Angelina. Her grey hair permed into tight curls. She wore a blue polyester dress with a wide yoked neck and no waist. Her hands rested on her thin thighs hidden in the swathes of blue. As they arrived beside the old woman, Angelina stopped.

  “Do you think we should ask her if she’s seen Paddy?”

  Barry nodded, “You ask. You speak Spanish.”

  Angelina slipped her arm away from Barry, walked towards the old woman, crouched down beside her, taking her hand and caressing it as she asked.

  “Have you seen an old man, bald, this height”, she raised her arm above her head, “who was sitting over there”, she pointed at the gallery. Paddy’s chair was still outside.

  The old woman shook her head, holding onto Angelina’s hand. Angelina stood up, took a small step back releasing her grasp on the old woman’s hand but the old woman continued to hold on. She stared into Angelina’s eyes, “You’re beautiful.”

  There was a silence. Angelina tugged a hand free. The old woman’s hand fell back onto her lap. Keeping her eyes on Angelina, she repeated,

  “You’re beautiful. He knows that.” She pointed at Barry. “He’s the one for you.”

  Angelina touched the old woman’s hand.

  “Do you think so?”

  The old woman held a finger to her lips.

  “Sometimes you know, sometimes you don’t.”

  Angelina turned towards Barry who was looking at her from a distance, and as she drew beside him, she linked her arm again with his.

  “She didn’t see anything.”

  The light was now falling and the tall narrow buildings were creating a black shadow against the blue sky which held the remnants of light from the day. Swifts flew energetically overhead, diving and soaring above the terracotta roof tops.

  Barry’s hands were sweating with the air humid and sticky without a breeze.

  They arrived at an old house which had been converted into a restaurant at the end of a cul-de-sac. A thick candle burnt fiercely in the still air. Barry opened the door.

  A waiter guided them through a corridor with blue and white tiles on the floor. A spiral staircase on their left wound its way up to the first floor - they continued walking into patio garden. The waiter found them a table for two at the far end of the patio terrace, beyond the illuminated swimming pool. There was a semi-circular stone seat with soft feather filled cushions in red, yellow and green and a table also made of stone with a lantern and a candle flickering inside.

  Angelina rested her elbows on the table, moving her hands into a prayer symbol. Barry looked at her intently and commented, “You seemed to be getting along well with Gurtha.”

  Angelina lifted the menu and began reading it, “Yes – he’s not like other people here.”

  “In what way?”

  “He thinks differently.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s not only thinking about making money, or buying a bigger house. He’s thinking more deeply about life.”

  Barry set his menu to one side, “What do you think his relationship is like with Cornelia?”

  Angelina also set her menu on the table. A waiter approached.

  “Bacalao with tumbet. That’s for me.” Angelina smiled at him.

  “Make that two.” Barry took a sip of water.

  “Can you bring us a bottle of your house white wine, please?”

  Barry mopped the sweat away from his forehead and asked again.

  “I’m curious what you make of the relationship between Gurtha and Cornelia.”

  Angelina removed the clips from her hair and allowed it to fall onto her shoulders. She shook her head from side to side, smoothing her hair with her hands, lowering her head over the table. She pulled her hair together again and wound it into a bun which sat on top of her head, securing it with three long hairpins.

  “She seems very fond of him. They’ve know each other a long time. I would say that they’re very good friends.”

  Barry sat upright, breathing heavily.

  “Do you think that they’ve ever been more than good friends?”

  Angelina shook her head.

  “I don’t think so. But why don’t you ask Cornelia? After all, she is your partner. She would be the best person to tell you.”

  The waiter approached the table and filled their wine glasses.

  Barry sipped on his wine.

  “I don’t think Cornelia would tell me. She isn’t someone who tells the truth.”

  Angelina lifted her glass of wine and before taking a sip, looked at Barry in puzzlement, “That sounds odd coming from you. Is there not a bit of projection going on here? I’m assuming that you haven’t tol
d her about us?”

  Barry shook his head.

  “What is there to tell? You’ve said that it’s over.”

  Angelina opened her napkin and folded it over her knees.

  “Yes. It is over before it even started. However, you said that you didn’t love Cornelia. What are you going to do about that? If you don’t tell her – isn’t that another lie?”

  ♥

  “Are you getting into the boat or not?” Todd threw his jacket into Stephanie’s basket.

  “Shouldn’t we keep looking for Paddy?” Stephanie reached for Todd’s hand and shakily stepped into ‘Pepino’ – Cornelia’s wooden boat. The brass fitting which Todd had been polishing earlier in the week, gleamed in the moonlight.

  “Give me a break. You would have thought that Gurtha would have known that his father is crackers. It’s his fault for leaving him on his own.”

  “I don’t see it like that.” Stephanie sat at the back of the boat near the motor. She instinctively dipped her left hand into the water. It was still warm, like tepid tea.

  “Paddy may be a little forgetful but I don’t think anyone would have anticipated that he would go ‘walk about’ without telling Gurtha where he was going.”

  Todd slipped the key into the ‘dead man’s switch’ and ensured that it was safely attached to his wrist. He started the motor and ‘Pepino’ slowed edged away from the peer. Within minutes water began to slowly enter the boat, silently seeping around Stephanie’s feet.

  “Oh my God - is this boat seaworthy? Why is there so much water coming in?” She grimaced, swinging both legs onto the seat in front and clutching the straw basket to her chest.

  “It’s a wooden boat. It’s perfectly natural for it to let in a little water.” Todd pointed at a pump on board.

  “I took it out last week with Barry. He needed to use the pump, but it was OK.”

  “Do we have to do this? What will the others think if they see us? It seems so self indulgent.” She shivered. Todd ignored her, focusing his attention on steering ‘Pepino’ clear from a small outcrop of rocks. Stephanie insisted, “Isn’t it dangerous? We haven’t got lifejackets.”