‘I’m only a blind harper,’ answered my husband.
‘Just a limited affair,’ said Liam, ‘confined to friends and family.’
‘I thought I was going to be smuggled out in secret.’
‘Not without a quick bevvy first, you weren’t.’
‘We knew you were decided, Mo,’ said Father Wally.
‘But we wanted to give you the chance to change your mind,’ finished Red.
‘Yoohoo! Liam!’ said Bernadette Sheehy, sitting on the wall, crossing her legs.
‘Hello, Bernadette!’ sang John and I.
In the bar of The Green Man it was standing room only. Eamonn’s boy was playing his accordion. Even the birdwatchers in their anoraks were there, bemused but happy. I looked for the New Zealander, but she wasn’t there.
A birdwatcher in a leather jacket was leaning on the bar. He turned around as I entered. ‘Good afternoon, Dr Muntervary. I thought Ireland was all bombs, rain and homosexual giants of literature.’ He took off his wide brown sunglasses. ‘This is quite a shindig. It’s a shame we can’t stay longer.’
The floor of The Green Man swelled. And then, so strangely, I’m relieved it’s all over. At least I can stop running.
‘Ma,’ Liam knew before anyone else. ‘It’s him, isn’t it?’
The jig carried on, spiralling around with a life of its own.
What happens to all the seconds tipped into the bin of the past?
And what happens to the other universes where electrons follow other paths, where thoughts and mutations and actions differ? Where I was captured in Huw’s apartment? Where my father is still alive and my mother bright as the button she always was, where John never went blind, where my precocity and ambition were those of a small farmer’s wife, where nuclear weapons were invented by 1914, where Homo Erectus went the same fossilised way as Australopithecines, where DNA never zipped itself up, where stars were never born to die in a shroud of carbon and heavier elements, where the big bang crunched back under the weight of its own mass a few jiffies after it banged?
Or are all these universes hung out, side by side, to drip dry?
‘Yes, Liam,’ said the Texan, after the jig had stopped. ‘It’s him.’
‘Mo,’ said Mayo Davitt in Gaelic, ‘do you want us to shove him into the harbour?’
‘Talk,’ commanded the Texan, ‘in English.’
‘Fuck,’ responded Mayo Davitt in Gaelic, ‘a donkey.’
The Texan sized Mayo Davitt up, like a soldier would.
‘There isn’t to be any fighting,’ I said, wishing my voice hadn’t sounded so frail.
Red Kildare stood in front of me. ‘Clear Islanders take exception when outsiders come along and take our scientists.’
‘And the Government of the United States takes exception when a foreign scientist makes free use of the world’s most sophisticated supercolliders and AI research paid for by NATO — hell, by America — and then uses these experiments to formulate theories which could change what technology is, and then bolts, for all we know into the arms of the highest bidder.’
‘I bolted first,’ I corrected, ‘and then formulated the theory.’
‘How can Mo steal a theory when it’s the fruit of her own God-given intelligence?’ asked Father Wally.
‘I’d love to discuss the theosophy of our situation all day, Father. Truly I would. But we have a helicopter on standby, so let me cut to the legal position. Under Requisition Clause 13b of the NATO Official Secrets Act, the Light Box Research owns whatever comes out of Dr Muntervary’s head. We own Light Box Research. A preacher of your intelligence can reach your own conclusion.’
‘Get on your helicopter and sod off then.’ Maisie advanced. ‘You’re not welcome in The Green Man, and you’re not welcome on Clear Island.’
‘Dr Muntervary? Your godmother thinks it’s time for us to leave.’
Freddy Doig got up, and Bertie Crow too. ‘Mo’s going nowhere!’
The Texan shook his head in fake disbelief, jerked his thumb at the window, and we all looked. Brendan whistled softly. ‘Holy Dooley, Mo, you have been doing well for yourself.’
A line of marines in combat gear stared back. Some islanders stood in awed huddles, some were hurrying away.
‘Dear Lord,’ said Freddy Doig. ‘What film did they get those guns from?’
‘Somebody tell me what’s happening,’ commanded John.
‘Soldiers,’ said Liam. ‘Ten of them. To apprehend my supercriminal ma.’
‘If I could see you,’ said John to the Texan, ‘I would use every muscle in my body to try to stop you. I want you to know that.’
‘Mr Cullin,’ said the Texan. ‘These are the cards your wife has drawn. I guarantee that her treatment as a guest of the Pentagon will be in accordance with her stature. But her wildcat days have to end. She must come with us. I have my orders.’
‘Take your pigging orders,’ said Bertie Crow, ‘and ram ’em right up your Yank—’
A helicopter drowned him out, chopping the water and jostling the fishing boats.
The Texan glanced back at the marines and reached into his jacket for his cigarettes. We all saw his holster. He lit up, taking all the time in the world. ‘How do you want to play this, Doctor? The outcome will be the same. You know that.’
All eyes were on me. ‘Everyone. Thank you. But I’ve got to go with them.’
The Texan allowed himself a smile.
‘After we have negotiated terms. Term one: in matters pertaining to Quancog, I am accountable to nobody.’
The Texan feigned surprise. ‘What is this about “Terms”, Dr Muntervary? “Terms” might have been on the table six months ago. But you forfeited your right to “terms” when you became a fugitive. You are ours, Doctor, and so is your black book.’
‘A black book, is it? Would a black book be worth something to you now?’
Impatience narrowed his eyes. ‘Lady, you don’t seem to realise. Your work is American Defense Department property. You had the black book when you visited your mother in Skibbereen. You have it now — somewhere — and if you’ve hidden it, we’ll find it. Get your working relationship with the Pentagon off to a good start, and give it to me. Now.’
‘You’d better ask Feynman, then.’
The Texan’s voice grew tauter. ‘There’s nobody of that name. We’ve been following you since Petersburg, lady. Allowing you to continue your work in peace, and making everything good and smooth for you. There has been no “Feynman”.’
‘It’s not my problem if you don’t believe me. Feynman has the black book.’
Father Wally laughed. ‘Feynman the goat?’
The Texan did not laugh. ‘You just said “goat”?’
‘I’ll gladly say it again for you,’ said Father Wally. ‘“Goat.”’
The Texan glared at me. ‘You mind telling me what a goat wants with quantum cognition?’
I swallowed. ‘Goats aren’t fussy when they’re hungry.’
‘Mo,’ said John in Gaelic. ‘Are you bluffing?’
‘No, John. I’m too scared to bluff.’
The Texan’s fists and jaw clenched. He put on his sunglasses. ‘Nobody leaves this room.’ The islanders fell back as he marched out to the marines. He yelled a few words at the saluting one. Through the open window we heard the words ‘purple fuckin’ blazes’. He pulled out a cell phone from a holster, scowling as his spoke.
John murmured in my ear. ‘This is dangerous.’
‘I know.’
‘But if you pull it off, I have a term of my own I want to suggest...’
The Texan stomped back into The Green Man.