Red Sky in Morning (5 page)

M
AKE YOURSELF AT HOME
old man. Sit down.

Faller took the chair by the table and Ranty did as he was told, reaching out for the other chair with slowness in his bones. His throat tight and his eyes fixed on the man before him upright in the seat.

Scant light in the room to see. Ranty narrowed his eyes and saw Macken in shadow by the door, caught sight of the man’s single eye fixed on him and by the window in silhouette there stood the other whose body blocked what little there was of the light, the man unknown to him, arms folded beneath a low-slung castor hat.

Faller sat looking at Ranty with his tongue pressing into his lower lip. Then he rubbed at a moustache that hung long over his mouth and smiled.

Did you know old man the Irish never founded a town? Never founded a town. I’ll bet you didn’t. But it’s true. The Danes and the Normans came here and cut down your forests. They founded on those clearings every single Irish town that exists. Had to build them themselves. Dublin, Wexford, Wicklow, Limerick, Cork. You’ve got the Danes to thank for all of that. Perhaps you’ve never seen them yourself, stuck here like you are, an old rock on the top of this hill. But I can assure you old man the Danes did a fine job. Dublin especially. You’ve seen Dublin haven’t you Macken? You will vouch that it is a fine town?

The man by the door grunted and then walked over to the fire and spat into it. Faller’s eyes dancing now and his tongue pressed again into his lower lip and when he spoke his voice swayed with amusement.

The Danes and the Normans they built your roads too. The Irish never even founded a road. Imagine that. Thousands of years trudging in the rain and the mud, back and forth, to and fro, in your bare feet, up to your knees in cow shit. It must have been slow going that on your primitive paths. And nobody not once thought of making a road. You had to be helped with that too, didn’t you?

Faller turned around to the young man by the window and instructed him to go out to the horse and fetch him the rope. The room brightened. Then he turned and looked at the old man.

Not that you knew much about building either. You lived in your bothies made of clay and branches. You lived like that for thousands of years. But you could hardly call that living now could you old man? You had to be shown how to secure a proper roof over your heads. What I’m saying about all this is that you needed guidance.

Faller stood up out of the chair and leaned to the fire. He took the poker and stabbed at the turf and he put his hands towards the flame and rubbed them slowly.

When you think about it old man, you do have to wonder what the Irish were doing all those years. Imagine. What a state you would be in if left to your own devices. You really do have to think about that. To think of the advancement of the amenities of life. Well. I’ll tell you what you were doing old man. You were standing about in the rain up to your oxters in cow shit. The world pissing on your heads. Huddling in your dank forests. Squirming about in your little wooden huts. Stealing each other’s cows then murdering each other for it. It’s not what you would call civilization is it old man? No. I think not.

Gillen returned and closed the door and went to the window where his body smothered the available light. Faller stared into the rheumy eyes of Ranty, saw they were alighted now by something different than the worry he saw earlier on, saw it was dread, and he watched the old man chafing his hands under the table. He sat back down on the chair and his voice dropped to a whisper. He leaned into him, as if to benefit the man with a confidence.

It has to be said, none of this matters at all to me. But you do see the point. What I’m saying is you’ve always needed help. Needed guidance. And do you know what old man? That’s what I’m here for. I’m here to help you. To guide you. To show you what’s what.

Faller called to Gillen and took the rope from his hand and put it on the table. The room silent but for the working of the fire. Ranty turned his head from the eyes of Faller and forced a cough into his hand. Then he spoke in a quiet voice.

What’s all that talk about? You’re as much from this place as any man. Not a drop of foreign blood in ye.

Faller put his hands flat on the table and leaned into Ranty.

I’m not like you, he said.

He lifted a long finger and drummed it off his own forehead.

I don’t think like you.

He stood up and turned to his men.

Give me a few moments alone with the old man. I am going to help show him what I mean by guidance.

H
E CAME TO A RIVER
gurgling over rocks that fell to rest in a pool. His body dull with hunger and he lay down on the bank, a bed of ferns waiting uncoiled to receive him bending under his weight. He lay on his side and watched the waters glassy on the bank, stared deep into the swirling rusted pool. His mind sagged for it was sleep he wanted more than anything else and he slipped into slumber, the soothing of distant voices and the ceasing of time to be.

When he awoke he sat himself upright for a while in thinking, began to accept that things were gone beyond fixing, and he leaned over the river and dipped his hands. A quick coldness and he doused his face with it and rubbed his eyes and stared into the pool. He rummaged and found a broken branch and peeled dead flesh and he found a stone and sharpened his stick into a pike. He leaned out over the bank and held his breath and pierced slowly the surface of the water, his eyes peeled to the liquid darkness. He waited and saw nothing and began to think of sleep and he stood and shook himself awake. He walked in quick circles on the bank and flapped his arms and doused his face again with water and then he kneeled down with the pike and waited.

He saw himself on the surface and pierced it gently with his pike and he saw his brother as a youngster beside him, the pair of them leaning and ducking their sticks and then Jim bringing an eel squirming to the surface and he thought of his brother now and winced. Why didn’t I do something? Could have done something. Could have waited and cut him down at least.

He waited and watched, the water slowly swirling, and then he drove down his rod decisive. An eel bedded was broken and brought buckling to the bank, a squirming serpent silver-bellied. He dropped it down fine and fat, its fangs snapping at the air. The flesh was oiled and glistening and the creature shook itself out of its confusion and made towards the water as if some keener intelligence other than instinct was at work and he yanked it by the tail and swung it deeper into the bank. He reached down and closed his palm about the creature’s neck and took a stone and hit it. The shape of the head holding firm but the body quickening into spasm and he sat on the grass and watched the life leave its body.

No knife for cutting and no way to eat it but to eat it raw. He sat on a stone with his back to the trees and sunk his teeth into the meat. Flesh stiff and unctuous in his mouth and he chewed it slowly. And then he heard the rustle of the man behind him, the man who had been watching him the whole time, and he turned with shock and made as if to run, the eel falling out of his lap, but he caught sight of the man just smiling and Coyle found himself standing.

The stranger was small, the top of his head reaching no further than Coyle’s chest. His head was too small for his shoulders and his ears too small for his head that sat smooth as an egg. He had a crooked-toothed grin and a bag in his hand.

Are ye trying to scare me? asked Coyle.

I ain’t seen a grown man catch an eel like that and I certainly ain’t seen him trying to eat one the way you’re going about it.

I left the fire at home so I did.

The stranger motioned his head and pointed behind him towards the forest.

Come with me if ye want to be cooking it. I’ve got a wee house.

Coyle stood and watched the stranger disappear into the trees.

He called out. Are we near Ballycallan?

A voice reached him laughing from the trees. Ballycallan? Yer way off. This here’s Meenaderry.

I donny even know where I am anymore.

T
HE PATH WAS NO PATH
. The stranger steered as if arbitrary, a zigzag of scurried feet to stop and meet with the mossy floor where he picked and bagged brown mushrooms. Coyle followed, the eel slumped in his hand, and they walked further into the forest, the reaching light growing fainter and the river dimly heard. Overhead birds flapped and settled and he listened to a pair furiously chatter and wondered what they were and he stopped and looked to the branches and when he looked around again the stranger had gone. He walked on ahead but there was no man to be seen and he peered into the gloom, the forest offering no path nor the shape of any man. He walked further and stopped and turned and he looked at the eel and took a bite out of it bitter and stood chewing. He began to walk back the way he came when he heard the voice call behind him.

Don’t be getting lost now.

Coyle turned around and saw the stranger walk then bend to gather mushrooms by a tree and then he was up again and pointing in the direction Coyle was to follow.

If you’d keep still a minute I might find ye.

The forest crackled around them and the sky scratched through. They steered around a great fallen fir claimed by moss and rot and then there came a small clearing and half strangled in green the shape of a house. He stood outside and coughed into his arm and the man opened the latch and stood in the doorway waiting for Coyle to finish.

This here’s a stranger who’s going to be eating with us.

Stale cat piss nauseous on the air and a young woman took shape from shadow. She stood bone-thin and no more than sixteen, a head too small for shoulders like the stranger beside him and her hair a mussing growth of fawn. Coyle stood scuff-faced and dirty and she stared at the guest and took the bag from the man and emptied its contents, the air dusted with spore. The stranger pointed to a chair and Coyle sat down and a young boy crawled over to him and stood up. No fear in this child’s eyes. A strange one. And then the child rubbed his nose and turned to play with the kitten.

Gimme here that eel of yours.

Coyle looked at the stranger. Can’t see into the man’s eyes. What’s he hiding? Reminds me of Mickey Joebilly the way he moves. Joebilly always sneaking about the place to rob ye. The man produced a knife and took the eel from him and he put it flat on the table. He drove a nail into its head and angled the knife blade into the neck and halved it open lengthways and he tossed the innards into the middle of the floor where it was leaped upon by cats.

He chopped the fish meat and wiped away the blood and oil with the back of his hand and Coyle went to the fire and hugged over it and he fought the urge to cough but it took hold of him again and when he was finished he found the pair were watching. The girl fed the fire and the eel was cooked in stew and Coyle grabbed a bowl and ate the watery food and when he was done he asked if he could sleep a while and the stranger assented even though the day was still young.

The sun slid slowly down the sky and when it was nightfall the stranger said not a word and let the guest stay as he was still asleep by the fire.

H
E AWOKE IN THE LOST HOURS
of night, the fire asleep and a hush upon the house. Need to get away from this place. Need to take a piss. He readied to get up when he heard moaning from the other side of the room. The soft scufflings of sex and the stranger’s low grunt and he turned his body quietly away. Jesus. The man panting like some kind of animal and he lay there for some time trying to ignore the sounds in the room till he felt a tickle in his chest and he eased his breathing but the assault came anyway. He sat up and coughed deep till he was spent and fell back upon the straw and the sounds ceased, to be replaced by whispering and then the voices stopped and he lay awake wondering how long they’d be listening to each other.

T
HE STRANGER WAS GONE
and just herself in the room and he sat up and said he’d be going. She told him to stay and said she had made him some food and she brought it to him in a bowl. Oats warm and soaking. She watched him eat and when he was finished she sat down beside him. A gulf of silence between them and then she leaned towards him. Cold?

He ignored the question. She began to rub his back and he tensed at her touch and she moved to his shoulders and put a mouth to his ear. Lie with me.

He looked at her with alarm and saw into her eyes, a softening of sea green, and she put a hand on his back again but he freed himself with a shake. He turned away awkward and she stood up and faced him and took a hold of the hem of her smock and hoicked it up to her shoulders. Breasts white as two pails of milk.

Take me, she said.

Put yer dress back on.

She walked forward. Ye can take me.

I donny want to take you.

Please, she said.

He turned away from her and she pleaded again and he shot to his feet and took hold of her and yanked the dress back down. She lashed her arms around his neck and tried to kiss his face but he shook her free and pushed her to the floor. He turned and saw the young child was watching. The boy looked at him with ugly eyes and ran to his mother and pulled at her clothes and when she got to her knees she slapped the boy across the face and the child went away wailing. She sat on a stool and stared at Coyle. A hurt expression marked her face and he shook his head and made for the door. She beat him to it and stood in front of it, apologetic now, asking for him to stay and when he said no she said it’s raining now, you can’t go out in that, and he looked at her with incomprehension. He told her, no, he had to go now and he asked her to move aside but she shook her head and he looked at the child and blushed and the child looked at him afraid and he put his hands to his hips and sat down. He watched the fire vacantly, warmed his hands and looked at the cats curled variously about the room and then he saw her sit down and he took his chance, grabbed his blanket and he was up at a run taking in his hand the latch of the door.