Red Sky in Morning (12 page)

Aye. Call me Snodgrass, he said.

Alright then Snodgrass.

What’s yer story then?

None such.

Where are ye for then?

Who knows.

Do you have people over there?

Naw. Yourself?

Oh no, The Cutter said.

What’s that? said Coyle.

You’ll start him off again.

Snodgrass smiled and his eyes glittered and his hand dipped into a pocket. It emerged clutching a yellowing envelope. I’m going to join my wee brother. He wrote to me so he did.

Snodgrass took the letter out of the envelope and handed it to Coyle. It was smudged with thumb prints and the folds of the paper were wearing through.

You can read it if you like.

Yer alright so you are.

The Cutter chimed in. Go on. It’s your turn now. He canny read.

Coyle opened it and looked at it and saw Snodgrass beaming. Then he read out loud.

My Dear Bob. Come to swate Amerikay and come quickly. Here you can buy praties two shillings a bushel, whisky and coal same price, because we ain’t got no turf here, a dollar a day for digging and no hanging for staling. Och now do come. Your dear brother James.

He didn’t mention the price of the hoors, said The Cutter. I hope they’re cheaper than here. There was a hoarse laugh and Snodgrass scowled and he took back the letter. Then he looked up. Hey boys, he said.

The Cutter answered him guttural. What.

Twelve days since we’re gone.

What talent. The man can count.

The men snickered. Snodgrass looked down at the letter, held it with great delicacy, like it was something alive from nature or something that housed the living essence of a thing, and he folded it carefully with thick fingers and put it in his pocket. He looked at Coyle, excitement playing in his eyes.

Jamesy couldna read nor write hardly when he left but he must have been learning. Oh I canny wait. Do any of yous boys want to do a trade for tobacco?

A
DAMP BLANKET OF DRIZZLE
fell stippling the sea. The world a dour gray and he stood in line with The Cutter awaiting the fire to cook their food waving the bitter smoke out of their eyes. A storm of shouting erupted in front of them and The Cutter walked towards it—a dark-haired boy by the caboose stood slant-eyed and cursing his mother. The boy a head taller though he was not yet his full height and he had thrown his shoulders into the air like he had the cut of a man. His mother cringed and he threw a plate of food to the ground and then he lifted a hand in the air to strike her.

The Cutter stepped forward quick and he grabbed the boy’s wrist from behind him and the boy snapped around and cursed him and he turned back around and swore at his mother and he shook himself free of the arrest. He hurled venomous glances at the eager eyes of the crowd and he turned and ran away. The spilt stew shining on the deck and the woman dropped her knees down into it and she began to plead with The Cutter. Please master do not punish him. He’s wild so he is and there’s just the two of us. He donny mean it.

Her voice was hollowed out, brittle like rotting wood. She bent her head and made the sound of weeping, though Coyle saw there were no tears in her eyes and The Cutter threw his hands into the air and he looked at the watching faces and walked away.

T
IME DRAPED ITSELF
languorously on top of them so that the world mercurial did its merry dance but the days passed the same. Four weeks the journey might take, or eight they were told, the nights beginning to numb and then one night no different than any other he was awoken from his sleep. The pitch dark animate with the drone of sleeping men and the sonorous sound of the sea. He sensed movement beside him furtive and his ears pricked, a soft scuffle rat-like and the noise abated and he waited and then it began again—a stealthy persistence he knew was no animal. His body tensed and he tried to sharpen his ears and in his mind he sensed the figure of a man between the cots. Silently he shifted his weight onto his side and then he kicked out his leg. There was a staccato yelp pitched high like a dog and in the fear that came upon him he went down upon it, found himself on top of a man grappling blindly in the dark. He found hold of an arm and locked it behind the man’s back and he wrestled to get a hold of the other, took a sharp back kick to his shin and the breath went out of him. He loosened his grip and secured it again and he heard men start to awaken. The Cutter reached beneath him and found a box of lucifer matches and seized upon a match and lit it. It flamed brightly but was meager against the darkness and Snodgrass followed with the lighting of his own and in the dim light they saw the face of Coyle holding in restraint the arms of another. The man near face-down on the floor lying over the men’s baggage.

The Cutter slid his legs from the top bed and landed upon the floor. He tossed the match and lit another and held the flickering flame faint towards the other’s face. The Mute. Teeth and gums baring.

You, The Cutter said angrily. He let the match burn to his fingers and lit another.

Ye thieving fuck, he said and he went to hit him but he stopped himself. The Mute wriggled to be free and some of the men sat up on their beds while others called out for them to be quiet.

In the flickering match light Snodgrass sat up and began to light his pipe. Coyle stood The Mute up and The Cutter searched him and found nothing but the man’s knife and he took it. Won’t be needing this, he said. Where’s that brother of yours?

Word went around and it came back that he was sleeping and Coyle let go of The Mute who slinked back into the thick wad of darkness.

Good man Inishowen, said The Cutter.

Just heard something that’s all. I didn’t know what he was up to.

Up to no good so he was the fucking thief. We’ll have to keep an eye on him. Lock up your stuff boys.

Talk to the brother of his the morrow, said Coyle.

Either a talking or a drowning. I’ll bloody do it myself.

The men went back to their beds and curled cramped, their minds wrestling with thoughts of sleep but their hearts beat as restless as the sea.

N
OBLE GROWLED A WORD
that sounded like cards and he produced and waved a pack and then he spat tobacco on the floor. The Cutter grumbled and swung stiffly off his cot and stood up with his back covered in straw. Snodgrass and Coyle leaned in and they lifted luggage to fashion a makeshift table and The Cutter began to dust himself. Noble started to cut the pack when Sam Tea leaned in beside them. The man carried more muscle than The Mute but he was the weaker brother of the two and he nodded to the men, his face all serious while Coyle nudged The Cutter.

Listen boys, he whispered. I’m sorry about that wee incident the other night.

They looked at his red-rimmed eyes all earnest and caught the whiskey on his breath.

What are ye whispering for? said The Cutter almost shouting.

Tea cringed and put his hand in the air as if to quieten the man and then he looked behind him.

We were wondering when you might say something, said Coyle. I’d begun to take odds from the men. If you’d come tomorrow I’d have made a few shillings.

Tea shrugged then scratched his nose. There’s not much I canny do with him but I do my best with him.

Noble began to deal the cards and the men each picked up a hand and Tea nodded to the table.

What are yous playing? he asked.

Twenty-five.

Tea nodded. There was a wee bit of trouble back home so we had to go.

What was it he done? The Cutter asked. Can I take a wild guess?

Tea’s head dropped and he spoke almost inaudible. He was caught thieving, he said.

The men said nothing. The Cutter looked at his cards and played a seven of spades and he made an animal squeal of excitement. He looked up smiling. That’s a fucking surprise. Tell him to stay well away from here or I swear he’s going to get it.

Coyle looked up at The Cutter but said nothing. Tea looked at the deck and then he nodded and his arm fished into his pocket and he produced a flask. I hear ye, he said. Wee sup?

H
E LAY ON HIS COT
troubled by memory. His father handling that horse old and forlorn on its feet. The mare dappled gray and its frame shrunken with age and the old man nursing it gently from the edge of the field with aim towards the stables. The horse walked stiff and slow until it stopped in the middle of the yard and he whispered to it encouragement but the horse was arthritic and its rheumy eyes spoke that it would go no further for now.

Coyle left his father’s side and returned with straw in his hand and he offered it flat to the mouth of the animal but the horse showed no interest. The boy looked up at his father and the man looked back at the boy and he shook his head and spoke softly into the ear of the horse, pleaded to no avail, for the horse was like rock now resisting and the intransigence of the animal became too long for the man’s liking and he pleaded further and less quietly and then what he dreaded most. From the big house the shutting of a door and then the shape of Faller and young Hamilton walking with his head cocked before him. The foreman’s eyes fixed on the scene and as they neared the father cursed the beast and then spoke an apology to it and he pulled at it one more time but the horse looked at him sadly.

Young Hamilton just half a head taller. That’s all he was. Bastard. Must have been no more than fourteen. The way he drew near that horse grinning, the long snout of Faller’s gun dipping heavy in his hand. Coyle had looked at the gun, saw that it was barreled twice and he watched how the boy struggled with it and the towering man lean in to cock the weapon for him. Put it to the head, he said. The gunshot smacked the walls and jolted the boy who put his hands to his ears and when he turned around again he watched with ringing ears the mechanics of the horse cease to function, its knees crumple and its legs unspool from under it as the creature collapsed onto its side, one leg flickering briefly and then it became still but for its blood which was bright and glossy and pooling about their feet. Faller put the gun back in his belt and looked briefly at young Hamilton who stood proudly and then he turned to Coyle’s father.

I told you about that old horse. Have somebody clean it up.

The pair of them walking back to the house together.

H
E SLEPT AND WOKE
from shallow sleep with the small fingers of his daughter in his hand. Her face liminal before him in that dark hold, the red rose of her lips and the sea rings of her eyes the very same as her mother and he could feel her body nimble with energy in his lap. He sat up awake. The bed cramped and his back ached and he scratched his face. The ship yawing deeper now than before. He lay back down and heard a whisper towards him. Inishowen? The Cutter’s voice smiling in the dark. Are you awake?

Naw. Fast asleep so I am. What about ye? I thought ye were sleeping.

I went for a wee walk. Off getting myself seen to. Bit lighter now on me feet.

You and everybody else in here. The whole boat will tip over if all our money keeps going to those hoors in the women’s quarters.

He heard The Cutter shifting his weight and then the man sidled down onto the bunk beside him. I’ve been thinking, The Cutter said.

What you been thinking?

The sooner we get off this boat the better.

Did you come up with that yourself?

Aye. Been pondering it all night.

You keep pondering then.

He heard The Cutter rustling about for his pipe.

Been pondering you too so I have.

No wonder you can’t sleep.

Aye. Well. Wondering what kind of strange beast ye are because I canny figure.

That’s great so it is.

I’ve known types to be on the run but you donny strike me as one of them.

Who says I’m on the run?

The Cutter shunted a compressed whisper in the dark towards Snodgrass. Hey boy. I know yer awake. Give me your matches.

His request was met by silence and The Cutter reached out and poked the sleeping man. There was a groan and a mutter and Snodgrass found his voice in the dark. What do ye want?

The Cutter reached out and ribbed the lying man again. Matches, he said.

Yer an awful cunt so ye are. Here, he said. A rattle in the dark and The Cutter grasped blindly and he found the hand and took them.

Anyways, he said.

The Cutter tamped down his pipe and struck a match but it went out again. Coyle sat up. The Cutter struck another and put it to his pipe. He sucked on it in the dark. Gimme here. Coyle took the pipe and toked on it.

I hope it was worth it, The Cutter said.

What was?

Whatever it was that you did.

Why’s that?

Because once you get to where we’re going you’re hardly likely to get back.

That’s great so it is. I ask you to buy me a ticket and you have to go and get one for the boat that is going away the furthest. Real considerate.

There was no other passenger boat sailing. Anyhow, I needed the company. Here have a wee toke on this now and shut up.

T
HE DAYS BLURRED INDISTINCT
from one another. And then the rain, the relentless sound of it. He imagined mountains of small stone being loosed ceaselessly upon the deck, loosed steady for two days now. It made cooking on the deck impossible, produced a restlessness that pressed down upon them in their hunger, filled the air and gnawed at them until it left them more enfeebled than before. They ate raw what they could and heard word of men from the family quarters swearing trouble if they could not feed properly their wives and children. A man stout and elderly led a delegation to the ship’s master who met the minor insurrection with the proud jut of his jaw. He made an order for more grog to be released and then he turned his back and the men took to drunkenness and cursed the sea and the weather and they cursed their hunger. They drank too the water that had become foul, corrupting in wine casks until it sat in their cups like thin tea, muddied and bitter, and after a time some of them stopped drinking it. The Cutter threw his cup of water across the room and some of the men cheered. Gimme some matches, he said.