‘Mr. O’Malley was searchin’ everywhere this mornin’ for ’is orange pullover with a hood, but surely nobody would steal such as that, he says. I thought mebbe he sent it down with ’is laundry an’ Bella folded it with th’ family wash, but ’t was no pullover to be found. Mr. O’Malley calls it ’is lucky fishin’ shirt, so we’re all on th’ hunt for ’t.’
‘And I’ve been tearing up jack looking for my cell phone.’
He delivered the Mobile Library and Snack Hamper to the patient, found Liam, took him up on his offer, listened to a tutorial on the idiosyncrasies of the vehicle, collected the keys, had serious second thoughts.
Then again, why not? It was a beautiful morning, cool as mid-May in Carolina, and what did he have to lose? He and Walter had talked about Katherine needing a backup driver, just in case. One thing was clear-he did not want Walter to be the backup driver. When Walter looked away from the road, as was his wont, the car veered in the direction of his gaze.
William sat by the fire studying The Sligo Champion, Cynthia was absorbed in the journal. A true library, he thought.
‘You’re looking fit this morning, William.’
‘Same as y’rself, Rev’rend. I hear you’ll be takin’ a turn in m’ oul’ clunker-she was a beauty in her day.’
‘I’ve decided to step up to the plate and drive like an Irishman.’ He jangled the keys.
‘Ye are an Irishman,’ said William.
He kept forgetting that.
‘’t is a grand, soft day for runnin’ about. Might I go with ye, then?’
‘Why, yes. Of course.’
‘’t isn’t th’ automatic Yanks are after drivin’, she’s a stick.’
‘I drive a stick at home.’
William collected his cane, buttoned his cardigan. ‘Your missus says she’s comin’ along with th’ ankle.’
‘She is. Dr. Feeney had a look this morning. She just needs to stay off the foot.’
‘We’re ruined entirely by such as that-jumpin’ out of cupboards at defenseless women an’ all. Anna, she’ll make it up to ye some way.’
‘No need. I’ll just say goodbye to my wife and we’ll be off.’
He wasn’t so sure about this.
‘Okay, Kav’na. I’m out of here to practice driving on the wrong side. Do you need to practice with your crutches before I go? You can’t sit there forever without moving around.’
Through the open window, the distant sound of a bleating sheep. She looked up in the dreamy way she had when her mind was elsewhere. ‘It’ll be three times in a half century I’ve raced around on the wicked things; I’ll be fine, just set them closer.’
He set them closer, leaned down, and kissed her. ‘Stay off that historic ankle.’
Anna came in from the entrance hall with a trug of purple iris. ‘Da,’ she said, anxious, ‘are you off somewhere?’
‘I’m goin’ with th’ rev’rend to help with ’is drivin’.’
‘I need all the help I can get,’ he told Anna.
‘Are you sure, Reverend?’
‘If somebody around here would just call me Tim,’ he said, mocking the wistful.
‘I’ve never-’
‘I know-you’ve never called a clergyman by his first name.’
‘Yes. I mean, no. Never.’
‘Try it,’ he said.
‘’tis th’ Protestants don’t mind th’ first name,’ declared William.
She took a deep breath, smiled her engaging smile. ‘Tim.’
‘See there?’
‘Put on your ones an’ twos an’ come with us,’ said William.
‘No, Da, I’ve got my work to do. Go and enjoy yourself.’
She pressed his hand, he smelled the faint scent of iris. ‘Have a good time, then, and come back safe, please God.’
They crunched over the gravel to a faded green vehicle unlike anything he’d ever seen, and clambered in. William sat with his cane between his knees, expectant.
He fumbled with the ignition, stepped on the brake, pushed in the clutch, fired the engine.
A cacophony of shrieks and moans, and they were off.
He glanced in disbelief at William, who was laughing, and tried to wrench the stick out of first gear into second, but could not; it might have been set in concrete.
‘You got t’ torment th’ bugger!’ William shouted over the roar and babble.
‘Pull back on ’t, ’t will squawk like ye’re strip-pin’ it. Are ye heavy on th’ clutch? Bear down!’
He bore down and wrestled the stick into second. Perspiration blew from all pores. Then, the gear grooved into its sweet spot and they were out of the car park and into the narrow lane.
Green fields furled away on either side of the track, the broad lake gleamed on their right. He got a deep breath, looked at William, laughed.
‘Runnin’ like a top!’ shouted his passenger.
The intense green of Ireland had become a cliché, he supposed, with all credit going to the goodness of rain. But it was composed of more, he reckoned, than a plenitude of moisture- something supernal was ever rising from the core of this ancient land carved by glaciers.
A goulash of gear rattled on the backseat-hubcaps, spare tires, a jumble of waders and Wellingtons, a jar of nails, a couple of salmon nets.
‘Any morning traffic in the lane-to speak of?’
‘Maybe th’ lad as tends th’ deer comin’ in, maybe not. Can’t say.’
‘What about the steering?’ The wheel was behaving like a loose tooth.
‘’t is a lazy wheel, ye’ll have to show it what’s what.’
He should have taken a swing around the car park before setting off. When bombarded by other people’s agendas for his time and energy, he lost entirely what feeble mind he possessed. But that was all spilled milk and no use bawling; he was doing this thing.
Somewhere toward the end of the hedgerows, he did what he feared-ran too close to the masquerade of moss and ivy and struck the stone beneath. There was the horrific sound of scraping metal, as the side mirror was ripped from its hinges.
He killed the engine. The jet lag which he’d largely ignored, together with the upheaval of last night, crashed in. He had no strength even for humiliation.
‘I’ll replace it,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Ah, now, every dog’s a pup ’til he hunts. ’t is no matter. Crank ’er up an’ keep goin’.’
He cranked her up. Stuck the smashed and dangling mirror back on its thingamajig. Wrestled the stick into reverse. Backed away from the wall.
‘Hold it!’ shouted William. ‘Ye’ll be knockin’ off th’ taillamp. All right, now, pull ahead.’
He crossed himself. He pulled ahead. They were off.
Somehow-he didn’t know how-the whole equation started to work once they clamored past what Aengus Malone called the landlord walls.
‘I’m going out to the highway,’ he said, ‘if it’s all right with you.’
‘Go out!’ said the old man. In the strong morning light, William’s hair was a blaze of white fire.
‘Left or right?’ he asked.
‘Left!’
Once they hit asphalt, the rattle and bang of the thing had a kind of music, after all. The noise was similar to the effect of taps on a shoe-letting a man know he was alive, and breathing, and going where he had to go.
‘Hallelujah,’ he said.
‘Ah-men,’ said William. ‘An’ there’s a pub down th’ way.’
‘Not for me, thanks.’
‘Ah, no, for me,’ said William. ‘’t is a long month of Sundays since I drank a pint with th’ sun up.’
Roughly three miles on the wrong side, and so far, so good, he thought, as they topped the hill and pulled onto the gravel of the roadside pub.
They sat at the bar with the morning sun warming their backs through the open door.
‘I was a livin’ terror,’ said William.
‘I’d fight a bear if there be one about. ’t was a monstrous thing reared up in me as a lad. It frightened even m’self, an’ scared th’ wits out of th’ boys I roughed about with. When it came on, ’t would send ’em runnin’ home to their oul’ mothers.