It was noon. I felt I was cradling little Apollo.
Liam fed the hook into the mouth of the earthworm. The hook slid deeper into its gut as it squirmed. ‘Chew on that, my hermaphrodite.’
‘How can you do that and not bring your breakfast up?’
The sea breathed deeply in, and deeply out.
‘Ah well, Mam. Life’s a bitch, then you die.’
He got up and cast off. I lost sight of the float until the plop sounded. My eyesight is definitely getting worse.
Seals were basking between the rock pools. The bull hauled himself into the sea, and sank from sight for thirty seconds. Thirty yards out his head appeared, reminding me of Planck.
‘You must have fished with live bait when you were a girl, Ma?’
‘I usually had my head in books. Your grandmother was the real fisherman of the family. She’d be out before dawn on mornings like these. I must have told you a dozen times.’
‘You never have. What about Grandpa?’
‘His pleasure lay in weaving extraordinary lies.’
‘What like?’
‘One time he said King Cuchulainn had given Bonnie Prince Charlie all his gold to look after before he went mad and turned into a newt. Bonnie Prince Charlie, running from Napoleon Bonaparte, hid the gold under a stone on Clear Island, and if we looked hard enough we’d be sure to find it. We spent a whole summer, me and the Docherty twins. Then Roland Davitt pointed out the chronological inconsistencies.’
‘What did you say to Grandpa?’
‘I asked him why he’d lied.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He told me that no scientist based her research on secondhand data without checking its veracity beforehand, using the Encyclopaedia Britannica in the village school.’
A motor boat crossed the sound. I looked through the binoculars.
‘It’s okay, Ma. It’s only Daibhi O’Bruadair raising his lobster pots.’
Mo, don’t be so jumpy! God knows when you’ll next have a free morning with Liam. Could be tomorrow, could be years from now.
For a little while we said nothing, Liam standing there fishing, and me lying on the warm rock. I listened to the waves breathe through the shingle.
The rain was falling onto the roofs of Skibbereen, coming out of the guttering in great gurgling arcs and slapping onto the pavements. The nursing home attendant poured one cup of tea in the china teacup. It had a wide brim to hasten thermal equilibrium and a mousepaw-sized handle to hasten spillage. ‘I’m sorry the head matron couldn’t be here to see you herself, Dr Muntervary... but visitors usually let us know in advance that they’ll be paying a call.’
‘It’s just a flying visit.’
The nurse and I caught each other searching the other’s face and we both looked down. I could imagine the Texan speaking to her: ‘I’m an old friend of Mo and John... if Mo shows up, give me a bell. I’d love to surprise her.’
We looked at my ma.
‘Mrs Muntervary? Your daughter’s come.’ I suspected the softness in the attendant’s voice only appeared when visitors came to tea.
I looked around the room. ‘Very nice in here...’ What rubbish.
‘Yes,’ said the attendant. ‘We do our best.’ More rubbish. ‘Well, I’ll leave you for a little while. I have to supervise the crochet class, to make sure there are no upsets with the needles.’
Everything in the room was magnolia. Anonymity is grey, forgetting is magnolia.
I looked at my mother. Lucy Eileen Muntervary. Are you somewhere, looking at us both but unable to signal, or are you nowhere now? When I visited at the end of winter you had been upset. You remembered my face but not who it belonged to.
Wigner maintains that human consciousness collapses one lucky universe into being from all of the possible ones. Had my mother’s universe now uncollapsed? Were cards flying back across the baize back into the dealer’s pack?
My mother blinked.
‘Ma...’ A voice used to address a saint believed in only when needed.
‘Ma, if you can hear me...’ Now I’m opening a seance.
Why are you putting yourself through this, Mo?
Without where I am from and who I am from, I am nothing, even if the glass is gone and conifers are growing through where the roof should be. All those wideworlders in transit, all those misplaced, thrown-away people who know as little as they care about their roots — how do they do it? How do they know who they are?
My ma blinked.
‘Ma, do you remember dancing with Da in the parlour?’
I persuaded myself that she was enjoying the patter of raindrops on the windowsill. We watched the waterflower-fireworks until the attendant returned.
Over Lios O Moine comes Father Wally, freewheeling on his tricycle, his habit flapping behind him in the wind. I watch him getting nearer and larger, and find myself calculating a parallax matrix. We wave. Liam is still concentrating, swishing his fishing line from time to time. I can hear Father Wally’s tricycle now, a rusty brigand on coasters. He dismounts cowboy-style, standing on one pedal and jumping as it cruises to a crash. His face is red from the exercise and the wind, his hair fine and white from age.
‘Morning to the pair o’ye! You survived the gales, then. Your eye’s looking better, Mo. I called into Aodhagan to see about saving my bishop. He told me you’d be here. It’s a fair old spot to see dolphins. Fish biting, Liam?’
‘Not yet, Father. They’ve probably just had breakfast.’
‘Shufty up on our blanket, Father. I’ve got a thermos of tea and a thermos of coffee.’
‘I’ll go with your tea, there, Mo. Coffee is fine for the body, but tea is the drink of the soul.’
‘I read a few weeks back,’ said Liam, ‘that tea was first processed accidentally in the holds of long-distance clippers from India. It took so long, and got so hot, that the crates of green tea started to ferment. And when they opened the crates at Bristol or Dublin or Le Havre, the stuff we call tea is what they found. But it was all a mistake, to begin with.’
‘I wasn’t knowing that,’ said Father Wally, ‘so many things there are to know. Most things happen because of mistakes.’
‘Can I leave you with Ma, Father Wally? I want to cast off further down. I think the seals might be scaring the fishing off.’
‘Even Jesus tended to put fishing first.’
After the upstairs raid, I knew I had to leave right then. Huw tried to dissuade me, and talked about coincidences and overreacting, but there was no way I’d risk bringing those people into his life, and he knew I was right. We spoke in whispers as I packed. I judged it too dangerous to try to leave Hong Kong by the airport. Huw walked me to a big hotel near his office. I said goodbye to my only friend east of Lake Geneva. I checked in with my real name, and then took a taxi to another hotel, where I checked in with my fake passport.
The following day I lay low. From the travel office in the hotel I obtained a visa for China and a train ticket with my own compartment to Beijing. When I was a girl, I dreamed of such journeys. Now I could only dream of its end.
Tomorrow, mainland Asia would swallow me whole.
Father Wally and I sat nursing our cups of tea, watching Liam fish in front of creation. Mount Gabriel rose on the peninsula to the blue north.
‘Fine lad,’ said Father Wally. ‘Your da and ma would be proud of him.’
‘Do you know Father, in the last seventeen years, I’ve spent only five years and nine months with Liam? That’s only twenty-six per cent. Am I crazy? It’s like John and I have been divorced. I didn’t mean it to be like that. I sometimes worry I’ve deprived him of his roots.’
‘Does he look like a victim of deprivation to you?’
All six feet of Liam, because of John and me.
St Fachtna crossed the water towards Baltimore. I tried not to see it. ‘Have a digestive biscuit, Father.’