A Small Part of Me

by Noelle Harrison

  ‘Yep.’ He looks down at the menu and Cian comes over to the table.

  ‘Who’s that, Mammy?’ he says, picking up the photo.

  ‘Its Luke’s son,’ she says. ‘He’s called Sam.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘He’s at home, with his mom,’ Luke says. ‘He was sick, that’s why he couldn’t come with me.’

  ‘Will I get to meet him?’

  ‘Afraid not. He lives in Seattle and we’re going the other way, to Tofino.’

  ‘Can we go to see him after we’ve been to Toffee-no?’ Cian asks. ‘Please, Mammy?’

  ‘I don’t think we can,’ she says hesitantly. Cian moans and slumps onto the chair. ‘Come on,’ she says, flicking through the menu. ‘What would you like?’

  Christina doesn’t eat much. Luke asked her if she wanted a drink and she ordered a bottle of wine. She was embarrassed when it arrived and he explained that he didn’t drink. Now the bottle was nearly empty and her eyes were glittering.

  ‘This is amazing,’ she says. ‘You know, I’ve never been anywhere like this before. My husband didn’t like flying, so we used to holiday at home. I always wanted to travel.’

  ‘I’ve never been to Europe,’ Luke says.

  ‘So that makes us similar, really, except that I never left home. I stayed living in exactly the same town all my life and you left twenty years ago, didn’t you? How old were you then?’

  ‘Is that a crafty way of trying to find out how old I am?’

  ‘Yes, of course it is,’ she laughs.

  ‘Well then, I’d have to be honest with you. I was sixteen, but I really left when I was even younger, around eight. I grew up in Tofino and only went back to visit the island when I was sixteen. After that I took off for Seattle.’

  ‘That’s very young. My eldest son is older than that, and he’s still at school.’

  ‘Is that Johnny?’ he asks. She looks surprised. ‘Cian told me about him.’ She takes another sip of her wine. ‘You don’t look old enough to have a son that age,’ he says.

  ‘Now you’re trying to find out how old I am! Keep guessing.’ She takes another sip.

  ‘How’s the fish?’ he asks.

  ‘It’s delicious,’ she says, looking at it lamely. ‘It’s just that I’m not so hungry.’

  ‘I am,’ Cian says, finishing his last slice of pizza. ‘Can I have a dessert?’

  ‘You’d better ask Luke first,’ she says, picking up the bottle and draining it into her glass.

  ‘Sure you can, Cian,’ he says.

  ‘So, Luke,’ she says, leaning forward across the table, ‘are you visiting your parents?’

  ‘No.’ He stiffens.

  ‘But I thought you were going home.’

  ‘They’re not there any more,’ he adds.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Are you going to see your grandfather, the one who collects the songs?’ Cian asks.

  ‘Yeah, I hope so.’

  ‘Will you ask him to sing you the bear song, and then you can sing it to me?’

  ‘Okay.’

  Christina looks confused. ‘What’s that all about?’

  ‘It’s a tradition where I’m from,’ Luke explains. ‘There are songs for everything. Each family has songs for different rituals. They all mean something. You can own a song. That is, the song belongs to you – it’s yours. My grandfather is a singer of songs. He’s collecting all the old songs so that they’ll be saved because when someone dies the song goes with them. That’s what he does.’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ Christina says. Her eyes are wide and bright.

  ‘That’s what I believe he’s doing. He writes to me sometimes.’

  ‘Luke, how does your grandfather collect the songs?’ Cian asks.

  ‘He goes around with a tape recorder and lets people sing the songs, then he marks the tapes with their names. Sometimes it can be difficult because people are afraid that he’ll steal their songs. They’re very precious.’

  ‘I wish we had something like that,’ Christina says wistfully. ‘A song that belonged to our family, so that no matter where you were, you knew you were connected by the song, by the thread of it.’

  THE QUILT

  Two months after Luke’s mother died, his father went out to sea and never returned. They said there was a storm and he drowned. His cousin told him that Thunderbird took him, brought him up to the mountain and he was happy there. But Luke knew what had really happened.

  He saw it in his father, the light going out. He saw it weeks before he disappeared, so he wasn’t surprised when he didn’t come back. His father had let the sea take him because he couldn’t bear to be without her, Luke’s mother. He left them all behind.

  Luke’s grandfather wanted Luke to stay on the island with him, but Luke’s sister, Gail, insisted that he go with her to live on the mainland. She said that he was too young to be raised by an old man. She promised Grandfather that they would visit often and he would be able to teach him the old ways.

  Luke wanted to go.

  He loved his grandfather and the stories he told him about the battles the Indians had fought a long time ago in the Clayoquot Sound. Afterwards Luke would spend hours drawing the characters in the sand on the beach, jumping up and down and re-enacting the drama. But he did all this on his own.

  He was the youngest in the family. All of his brothers and sisters were grown up, and Gail, the eldest, was living just outside Tofino with her Canadian husband, Jeff.

  Luke didn’t want to be on his own any more. He didn’t want to look out the front door of his grandfather’s house and see the track to the cemetery. He didn’t want to have to visit his parents’ graves, see them take away their names. He couldn’t bear that. Luke wanted to go somewhere new now. He wanted adventure.

  Gail and Jeff ran a guesthouse just outside Tofino. They were planning a large family, but for now there was only Luke. He had his own bedroom, with a view of the ocean, and he liked to look out the window sometimes and imagine he could see Japan. He was just a regular kid now. He went to the school in the town and he had friends from Canadian families. He was different, but the same. Everyone was kind to him.

  When he left the island Luke brought just one thing – a quilt. It was the one his mother had been making before she got sick. It wasn’t finished, but he had all the pieces in a little basketry box she had made as well. He could have asked Gail to finish it, but he wanted it just as it was, incomplete, a fragment of his mother. The pieces of the quilt were the colours of the ocean – that’s what he liked about it – and his mother had sewn whaling motifs on it in black. He always kept it at the end of his bed. When Gail asked him again and again if he would like her to finish it, he shook his head. He couldn’t bear the thought of another hand on the needle, threading the thread, putting their touch upon his mother’s creation.

  In his little basketry box Luke possessed a secret – three strands of his mother’s hair. Three black strands which remained strong while the rest of her faded away. The day after she died he had found them stuck to a sweater she wore and he had hid them in his box. He had this little part of her, and he would always have it.

  GRETA

  After all that time of thinking she was trapped for good, it turned out not to be so hard after all.

  Over the last couple of weeks Greta had begun to notice that there was always a gap of a few minutes between the nurses coming off duty and the nurses coming on. This would be at visitors’ time as well, so even though the door automatically locked every time it was closed, there would be people coming in and out. There could possibly be an opportunity to slip out.

  Greta waited until it was a day when she was allowed to wear her own clothes. She was nervous but determined. Her opportunity came as a number of people left the lock-up ward. She looked about her, then quickly slipped out. The easy part was going down the stairs and out past reception because she attached herself to a large group of people who were leaving and walked behind them
until they got to their car. It was then she had to make a dash for the gates, praying all along that no one was watching. Once she was out on the street she was completely disorientated. She just went towards the spires.

  Greta ran nearly all the way into town, past the cathedral, and when she had put a little distance between herself and the hospital, she found the road to Oldcastle. She got a lift.

  Greta went back to The Mill.

  She believed she could pick up where she had left off. If Tomás would only look at her, he would know that he had made a mistake. She had stopped taking her medication the day before. It took her motivation away. She still had the pills in her pocket, in case, but she was feeling quite high then and had no intention of coming down.

  When she arrived, Tomás was out. It was Angeline Greta saw, in the garden. She was planting dahlias. She had never wanted dahlias in her garden.

  Angeline looked up, and her body tensed. She looked shocked.

  Greta, how did you get here? she asked.

  I escaped, Greta said.

  Oh my God! But Greta, what are you doing here?

  Greta’s face burned. How can you ask me that question when you’ve stolen my life from me?

  Angeline put down her shovel. We’re all responsible for our own destinies, she said.

  Greta turned white. She wanted to kill her, and she just might have if she’d had a weapon in her hand. Angeline became nervous.

  I never meant to hurt you, Angeline said quickly. I’ve always tried to help you. I went to the hospital again and again, Greta, but they never let me see you. It’s Tomás, not me, who wants you locked up.

  Greta shook her head. She couldn’t believe her.

  Angeline continued, What do you think Tomás is going to do when he gets home? Did you think that he’ll welcome you with open arms? Or will he just put you straight back in the car and drive you to St Finians?

  Greta hadn’t thought of that, and the possibility terrified her. She could never go back.

  Angeline, where’s Christina? Greta’s voice broke. I need to see her.

  She’s not here, she’s out with Tomás.

  It was too much to bear. Greta began to feel herself fold in, her high spirits swept from under her. She was falling, falling, and she would never get up.

  Angeline took her arm and brought her into the house. She gave her a drink and told her to stay calm. She said that she would help her, and that she would make sure that they never sent her back to that terrible place.

  Greta was back in her house and nothing had changed, but it all felt different. The green hall was darker and the red carpet bloodthirsty. Angeline took down a small jar from the dresser and opened it. She took out a bunch of notes. She shoved the money into Greta’s hand and told her to take it.

  Where do I go? Greta asked in a daze.

  Angeline thought for a second. Go to Maureen, go to America, she said. You should be safe there.

  She ran upstairs, and when she came back she had Greta’s passport and a few of her things in a bag. Greta looked inside – there was a picture of Christina. Her hands shook as she closed the bag again.

  When you feel better, Angeline said, you can write, and we’ll sort something out. But for now, you’re better off running away. Tomás will only take you back to the hospital. Imagine what it would do to Christina if she saw you like this.

  Don’t let her forget me, Greta begged. Promise me that.

  Angeline took her hands. Her fingers were cold, but her brown eyes were warm. I promise, Greta, she said.

  At the door Angeline ran after her, hugged her, and said, But it won’t be for too long, will it? You’ll write soon, when you’re better? You’ll see Christina then, and Tomás.

  Angeline moved away from her, looking uncomfortable, and Greta tried to search her eyes to find the truth. She still couldn’t be sure of her.

  Are you in love with my husband? she asked her.

  No, Angeline said, not Tomás.

  And it was as if she meant to say someone else.

  CHRISTINA

  She feels better now. The wine has warmed her, made her more confident. They walk back into the night. The air feels balmy and Cian’s hand is warm inside her own.

  ‘Will we walk for a while?’ she asks.

  ‘It’s late,’ Luke says, glancing at Cian.

  ‘It’s okay, he can sleep in tomorrow.’

  They walk down a path in front of the pub, which eventually takes them onto the beach. The energy from the ocean vibrates around her and she can see huge piles of driftwood on the beach. She thinks they’re beautiful. They look like prehistoric white bones in the moonlight. Cian lets go of her hand and runs ahead. She looks over at Luke. He follows his own path across the sand. His head leans forward and his hair falls across his face. She wishes she could express how alone she feels right now, how at this moment she’s tiny and frightened, buoyed up by the wine, yes, but aware all the time of the edge, how she could tip off in a second, everything gone.

  He says something.

  ‘What? Sorry, I didn’t hear you.’

  ‘I was wondering why you’re heading for Tofino.’

  ‘I have to see someone there.’

  ‘Who?’

  She sits down on a pile of driftwood, pulls her feet out of the sandals and fingers her toes.

  ‘It’s my mother,’ she says. ‘When I’m thinking about it now, this all seems pretty crazy, ridiculous. I really can’t believe that I’ll actually find her.’

  He sits down next to her. She can feel his body close to her. She moves her legs over so that the material from her dress brushes his jeans. She continues, ‘I haven’t seen her since I was Cian’s age. She walked out on me and my father and it’s taken me this long to get around to finding her.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ he says quietly. ‘You must be very angry.’

  She’s about to yes, she is, but when she thinks about it she knows it’s not true.

  ‘I don’t know now,’ she says hesitantly. ‘How can you be angry with someone you don’t know?’ He says nothing and she continues. ‘I’ve been bitter though, for a long time, because why should I be marked by rejection? Why me?’ She shivers, feeling the familiar quickening of her heart, pins and needles spreading throughout her arms and legs.

  ‘It happens to most people, you know,’ Luke says steadily. ‘You’re not the only one.’

  She thinks of Johnny and it makes her feel worse. The awful realisation of what she has done to her son hits her and she bangs her hand against a large rock behind the driftwood, saying breathily, ‘Yes, but I was so little, and I needed her, and now I’m so furious because I gave all that love away to the one person I shouldn’t have.’

  Luke looks puzzled, but she just shakes her head, unable to speak any more. She stands up, panting. She can feel her heart surging into her mouth. She waves her hand at him, go away, go away.

  But he doesn’t move. She turns to look at him and he stares calmly back at her.

  ‘What is it, Christina?’

  She gasps, reaches out to him, but is unable to speak. Luke puts his arms on her shoulders, forces her to sit, then swivels her so that her whole body is facing him. She’s breathing fast. ‘I can’t breathe,’ she manages to whisper.

  ‘Look at me,’ he says.

  Her head is swaying. She looks over towards Cian.

  ‘He’s okay, just look at me,’ Luke repeats.

  She looks at him then, and it’s like she never looked at him before. His face is so wide it seems to take up the whole space of her vision. His lips are parted slightly and she can feel his breath on her face. She looks at his eyes and they suck her in, and again she has that feeling that she knows him, and from that feeling is a sense that he can see her, really see her.

  ‘Okay,’ he says, ‘now close your eyes and listen to my breath.’

  She closes her eyes, her nostrils dilate and all she can hear is the rush of sound within her – heart, mouth, breath, head �
� but behind that she detects his voice again. ‘Listen to me breathe,’ he says, and this time she can hear him. She listens to the breath enter him, as if it’s coming from above both of them, and leave him, somewhere close to his belly because she can feel it bruise her as it exits.

  ‘Try to breathe with me,’ he says softly.

  Images are propelled into her mind – running around the airport with Cian, jumping off the bus to get into the hotel, driving away from Johnny…

  ‘Push all those thoughts away,’ Luke’s voice breaks through, ‘and just breathe with me.’

  She follows his lead, breathing in like a child and exhaling noisily through her mouth. Gradually she feels herself come down. The fear subsides, her fingers cool. She opens her eyes and shivers. His eyes are still closed and she’s gripping onto his shoulders; she can see marks there. She leans forward and kisses him. He opens his eyes.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispers.

  He smiles, and before he has a chance to say anything, Cian comes bounding over.

  ‘What are you two doing?’

  ‘Luke was helping me,’ she says.

  ‘Why? What’s wrong?’ Cian’s voice sounds tired.

  ‘Nothing now.’ She gets up. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  WHALES

  We believe in God now Luke, Gail said to him.

  But what’s the difference between the unseen spirit and God?

  His sister would shake her head in exasperation. Luke, would you just listen to me? You don’t want to be different from everyone else, do you?

  No.

  We’re Catholics now, like Jeff, and we’re Christians like everyone around here. We believe in the baby Jesus and the Virgin Mary and God, okay?

  Okay.

  It’s not so different from the island. Some of the people there are Catholics too.

  I remember.

  But Grandfather wasn’t, nor was his mother and father.

  Luke didn’t want to make Gail angry, something he did often, and his sister could hit swift and hard. One look at the old wooden stick on the back porch was enough to bring him to heel.