Mink River: A Novel

by Doyle, Brian

  25.

  Declan and Grace and Nicholas fish all night. The doctor stays up very late with Daniel who is awake but cloudy. Declan catches the biggest halibut he has ever seen. The doctor keeps Daniel awake as long as possible to check his responses and acuity. Grace catches an even bigger halibut, a fish the size of a door. At about two in the morning the doctor lets Daniel drift off to sleep. Grace’s fish is so strong and desperate that all three of them haul it wriggling wrestling bucking into the boat. The doctor finds that he is not tired at all and he settles down at his kitchen table to read the Acts of the Apostles. The fishing is so good that Declan keeps their long lines out almost until dawn. The doctor cuts a pear into cubes and slowly eats each piece. Declan and Grace cut their sandwiches in thirds and each shares a third with Nicholas. The doctor’s spectacles slide infinitesimally slowly down his nose. The wind changes north to south and the sea roughens. The harsh singing of the sea makes Daniel moan. Get in the cabin, Nicholas! shouts Grace. The doctor reads aloud to Daniel to soothe him back to sleep. Haul in and let’s run home! shouts Declan. But there arose a tempestuous wind called Euroclydon, and when the ship was caught, and could not bear up into the wind, we let her drive, reads the doctor. Let her run on the wind! shouts Grace. And being exceedingly tossed by the tempest, we lightened the ship, and cast out with our own hands the tackling of the ship, reads the doctor. Cut the lines! shouts Declan. And when neither sun nor stars appeared, and no small tempest lay on us, all hope that we should be saved was then taken away, reads the doctor. Stay with the boat! shouts Grace. But there shall be no loss of life, for there stood by me this night a spirit, saying, fear not, and it shall be thus: you and all them that sail with thee are given life anew, reads the doctor. The river! the river! shouts Grace. And they sounded twenty fathoms, and then fifteen fathoms, reads the doctor. Hang on! shouts Declan. And they committed themselves unto the sea, and loosed the rudder, and made toward shore, and falling into a place where two seas met, they ran the ship aground, and so it came to pass, that they escaped all safe to land, reads the doctor. Grace and Declan stagger out of the water coughing. Daniel falls asleep. Declan stares at his battered boat dead on the shore. The doctor brushes his teeth and turns the heat down and checks the locks and turns out the lights and disrobes. Grace searches desperately for Nicholas. Daniel dreams of halibut as big as houses and salmon bigger than the biggest canoe. Declan searches desperately for Nicholas. The doctor gets into bed and takes off his spectacles and folds them carefully on his night-table. Daniel dreams of forests beneath the sea deeper and denser than any woods there ever were. Grace sinks to her knees laughing and shivering when she sees Nicholas walk out of the water with the two enormous fish on his shoulders. And so it came to pass that they escaped all safe to land, mutters the doctor to himself, and falls asleep.

  26.

  Michael the cop is waiting at the dock at dawn for Declan’s boat to come in so he can break the news about Red Hugh O Donnell’s death on the highway but when dawn reddens and fades with no sign of the boat and the weather still wild he gets the shivers and gets back in his car and heads along the beach road looking out to sea. In his car Tosca is singing her great aria near the end of Act Two: con man furtiva quante miserie conobbi, alleviai, sweet consolation I brought to those who are poor and unhappy! Michael sings along with her and the music swells and throbs bravely but he thinks darkly how often he has been the singer of death songs to people who find his presence on their doorstep no consolation at all. Many times he has delivered bad news to men and women and children and his news cut a ragged wound in them that would never heal all the rest of their lives and he knew it and they knew it. Perche me ne rimuneri cosi, Tosca implores God, why do you withdraw your hand from me? Michael has told a father that his son has drowned. He has told a child that his father has drowned. He has told a family gathered nervously for Christmas dinner that yes, the infant who wandered off into the woods has been found, but no, the child is no longer alive. He has told a wife that her husband has been imprisoned. He has told three children the oldest of them fifteen that their father has been imprisoned for life for reasons they all knew but did not say. He has told a mother that her son was killed by a drunk driver. The mother of the boy killed by a drunk driver had white hair and a face carved from white stone and she held her white front door with white knuckles and when he asked if he could come in she didn’t say anything and when he asked a second time if he could come in she said no and they stood there silently face to face in the freezing morning for a long minute and then she said so quietly that he almost didn’t hear her which one is it? which reduced him to tears then and still does whenever he thinks of it like right now near the end of Act Two so to be safe he pulls his cruiser over to the side of the road and dries his eyes with his sleeve as Tosca sings desperately mi vuoi supplice a tuoi piedi, on my knees I beg for mercy.

  But you have many times delivered news of wonder and joy, he says to himself, and he thinks of the baby born on the hood of his car one warm spring night, and lost children found, and pets recovered, and thieves apprehended, and tires changed, and batteries resurrected, and property returned, and hunches borne out, and premonitions proven accurate, and crimes prevented, and the public protected, and hearts eased, but then Tosca plunges her dagger into Scarpia, shouting that’s the way Tosca kisses! and Michael’s heart lurches and he slams his cruiser into gear and roars down the road to the beach, because through the wild drumming rain he sees Declan’s beached boat and Declan and Grace and Nicholas huddled next to it, and when he gets down there he bundles them into the blankets that he carries in his trunk, and bundles an exhausted Nicholas into the back seat with a thermos of coffee, but before he bundles Grace and Declan into the cruiser too he tells them quietly that Red Hugh O Donnell, chief of the clan, hard of hand and head, who asked no help or quarter, quick to lash fools and children with his long white rod, an slath ban, is dead, killed on the highway by a log the size of a boat. Ah e morto or gli perdono, says Tosca quietly, he’s dead, now I forgive him, and she lights two candles and puts them by Scarpia’s head, and lifts a crucifix off the wall and puts it on his chest, and kneels and blesses herself, and then rises and leaves and closes the door gently behind her, and so the curtain falls on Act Two.

  27.

  The old nun’s funeral was held at dawn, in accordance with her specific wish that her life be celebrated as holy light was reborn in the world, and also at her direction the ceremony was held at the school, in the auditorium, where, as she had written in her meticulous mathematical handwriting in her will, she had spent so many thousands of hours in work and prayer and song, and where she wished, in a manner of speaking, to conclude her story. The Department of Public Works arranged all details of the event and the doctor quietly paid for coffee and rolls and fruit afterward.

  The old nun had asked that the reading at her funeral be from the Acts of the Apostles, and she asked further that each reader read one sentence, so that many members of the community might thus weave their voices together in prayer for the unimaginable voyage of her spirit.

  So they did.

  And when the day was fully come, they were all with one accord in one place, said the priest.

  And suddenly there came a sound from heaven as of a mighty rushing wind, and it filled the house where they were sitting, said the doctor.

  And there appeared to them cloven tongues like as of fire, which sat upon each of them, said Maple Head.

  And they were all filled with the spirit, and began to speak with other tongues, as the spirit gave them utterance, said Owen.

  And they were confounded and they were all amazed and marveled, said No Horses.

  And then they said to one another, what meaneth this?, said Worried Man.

  Others mocking said, they are full of new wine, said Cedar.

  And Moses the crow lifted up his voice and said unto them, There are wonders in heaven above, and signs in the earth, and she is raised up, and loos
ed are the pains of death, and therefore does my heart rejoice, and my tongue is glad, and I rest in hope. I am full in joy.

  Now when they heard this they were pricked in their hearts, and they prayed and sang, and many wonders and signs were seen, and breaking rolls of all sorts and shapes even unto those stuffed with orange and red jam, they did eat with gladness and singleness of heart, and an acre of rolls and a sea of coffee disappeared with wonderful dispatch, and the school basement echoed with stories and laughter, and when finally they streamed forth from the school into the bright morning they walked in joy and peace, some to visit Daniel at the doctor’s house, and some to work, and some to sea, and their thoughts were various and intricate beyond understanding, being composed of yearning and content and joy and despair in unequal measures, but each one, male and female alike, young and old, walked with an elevated spirit, and was memorious of the old nun, who had a laugh like the peal of a bell, and was unfailingly tender with everyone, and cut her own hair, and twirled a lock of her hair with her right hand while she wrote with her left, and sang exuberantly, and never buttoned the top button of her coat, and never lost her temper with her students, and loved to watch storms at sea, and carried her worn wooden prayer beads everywhere, and knocked on doors with both hands at once, and wore only red hats, and gave away books after she read them, and wept sometimes for no reason she knew, and loved to walk along the beach, and ended each walk along the beach by staring longingly out to sea, and was fond of saying to Moses, as she undid her coat after a walk and hung up her hat and set the teapot going on the stove, Our paths are in the mighty waters, Moses, and so are holy and hidden.

  28.

  No Horses and Maple Head stroll over to the doctor’s to visit Daniel but when they get there he is asleep and so they sit by his bed and talk. Maple Head strokes the carving of a sea lion by Daniel’s bed. A remarkable thing, she thinks. Almost alive. Sentient.

  What wood is this? she asks.

  Ironwood. Found it on the beach. Driftwood. It wanted to be something of the sea, I could tell.

  You have an extraordinary talent, love.

  If only it made me money.

  At least you found your true work, Nora. Along with being a mother. And wife.

  I suppose.

  Is something wrong, love?

  Tell me about the old days, Mom.

  O those days are gone and gone, Nora, and I was a small girl only at the tail of them. These are new days and lovely ones too.

  Sometimes I think that all people in all times must have had the same joys and sorrows, says Nora. Everyone thinks that the old days were better, or that they were harder, and that modern times are chaotic and complex, or easier all around, but I think people’s hearts have always been the same, happy and sad, and that hasn’t changed at all. It’s just the shapes of lives that change, not lives themselves.

  Maybe the old people had less time to be sad. Are you sad?

  Tell me about the old people.

  What about them?

  What did they make from which wood?

  O the artist’s curiosity. Well, red cedar was for canoes, as you know.

  Yes.

  Yellow cedar was for bows.

  A whippy strong wood. I use it to carve birds.

  Yew was for harpoon shafts and such.

  Hard to find now.

  Hard then too. A shy tree.

  And spruce?

  Spruce and hemlock knotwood was good for fishing hooks. And red alder was for bowls and masks. That fellow Peter who had the library show of his masks used alder, I noticed. He respected the old ways. He said he’s tried other woods but the alder was the right wood, he could feel it.

  The wood will tell you what it wants to be.

  How?

  Hard to explain. You can feel it fighting the knife or easing into it. How about maple?

  Maple was for paddles.

  Ironwood?

  Needles and arrows.

  Fir?

  Caskets.

  Pine?

  Mostly we used the pine gum as a poultice for heart pain and rheumatism. I still make it for your dad and this reminds me to make some for Daniel’s knees. He’ll need it when he gets his casts off. Poor sweet boy.

  Gram? says Daniel and the arms and hands of both mothers lift like startled birds and fly toward his pale drawn smiling face.

  29.

  It is night and the stars are cold in the sea and Owen is holding Daniel in his lap and the two of them are swathed in blankets and robes on the deck of the doctor’s house and Owen is telling a story.

  Well, son, my greatgrandfather Timmy Cooney walked and walked during the Hunger. He walked always west, to the sea. From miles away sometimes he said he could hear the voices of children crying from the Hunger. He saw children left at rich people’s houses, on the steps or in the gardens. He saw houses bricked up and the people inside them dying from the Hunger. He saw people change their religion for a bit of soup. He saw people with the fever and they were as black as tar and all swollen up. He saw dead people being buried in bogs and trenches. He saw one house with a trapdoor in the kitchen where when one of the family died the others would put the body down the trapdoor. He saw a man carry his dead brother miles to the graveyard and then dig his brother’s grave and then exhausted and sick he died himself and fell into the grave on top of his brother. That man’s name was Conchubhar and his brother’s name was Daithi. He saw a dog carrying a child’s hand along the road. My greatgrandfather took the hand from the dog and buried it on a hill and put a stone over the grave. He buried a lot of people and put stones over their graves. All the rest of his life he wouldn’t move a stone in a field for fear it would be a gravestone. He heard voices every night for years singing laments, caoineadh. He could hear them from miles away. He used to say he could hear laments and children’s voices every night of his life until the day he died. He would sing a lament himself every night, stepping outside into the night and singing and then stepping back inside and banking the fire. He said there were more laments to be sung than any one man could sing in a lifetime but he was going to sing as many as he could anyway. He figured if he sang caoineadh every night of his whole life he might be able to lament all the children of a whole valley. That would be a good thing to do, he would say. So he would do that. After he got married to my greatgrandmother Maighread he got her to sing caoineadh with him every night too. They figured her laments might cover all the women in that valley. Then when my grandfather Martin was a boy they taught him to sing caoineadh also, the three of them stepping outside every night before bed and lifting up their voices to the trees and stars, and then stepping back inside. Timmy Cooney figured Martin’s songs might cover all the dead men in the valley, especially since Martin was a boy and had many more years of singing in front of him than Timmy and Maighread. So they did that. That was a good thing to do.

  30.

  Daniel and the man who sells boxes are talking. They are both in chairs facing the night ocean. Daniel is wrapped in robes and blankets. All the windows are open. Gulls are pleading and wheeling. The man who sells boxes has seventeen days to live. Daniel has the statue of the sea lion in his lap. The man who sells boxes has a box of photographs in his lap. The photographs are of his wife and daughters and sons. He sifts through them and some make him grin and some make him wince and some make him hold them up in the light for a long time, staring.

  Is that your family?

  Yes. My wife and I have two daughters and two sons.

  Tell me about them, says Daniel.

  O there are too many stories to even know where to begin and I am no storyteller, says the man with a smile. You tell me about yourself first. What’s your name?

  Daniel Cooney, and I don’t have much to tell yet, says Daniel. I’m twelve years old and my favorite thing in the world is my bicycle. Was my bicycle. And my family. Is my family.

  You have brothers and sisters?

  No, sir. But I have my mom and dad and my
grandfather and grandmother live here and I am very close to them. My grandmother is actually my teacher in school.

  You’ll be back on that bike in no time, Daniel, says the man.

  I’d like just to walk again, says Daniel.

  The doctor says you will walk again and he never lies. He says you’ll be running quick as a cat.

  Have you known him a long time?

  Long enough to trust him with my life. What’s left of it.

  Are you going to die soon?

  In about two weeks. Give or take a day.

  I’m very sorry.

  Thank you.

  I’ll say prayers.

  Thank you.

  Daniel doesn’t know what else to say and he is suddenly exhausted again and the man who sells boxes sees Daniel’s eyes sag and he says, listen, son, you close your eyes and rest and I will tell you about my family, you just drift off while I talk, okay? and Daniel nods groggily and the man says, now here’s a photograph of my wife taken when we first met. We were in a play, you see. There was a scene where I was supposed to open a closet and find her and at the first rehearsal I opened the closet and she stepped out and I forgot my lines. What a face! I couldn’t take my eyes off her face. I loved her but she didn’t love me, Dan. I waited a long time until she loved me back. Years. She loved other men during those years. Many men. That was a hard time. I wanted to love other women too, to stop feeling lonely, but I just couldn’t work myself up to it. I tried hard but you just can’t command yourself to fall in love. It doesn’t work that way. Well, finally there came a time when she couldn’t take her eyes off my face, either, and we fit together, we fit in good times and bad, we always stayed tender and kind with each other, which is a real deep thing in a love that wants to last, you know, and we had our children, lost one in there, we actually have five, I say four but really it’s five, and now I have about two weeks to go before I go meet the missing one. Give or take a day. Her name was Laura. We called her Miss Laura Lee. It’ll be good to see Miss Laura Lee again but I’ll sure miss the other kids. They’re all gone from the house now, even the youngest, she’s down to college now, has her first boyfriend down there. I wanted to meet this boy but I don’t suppose I will now. He wouldn’t come up to see a dying man. I wouldn’t either I guess. I’ll tell you something, Dan. I’ll miss her the most of all the kids. Her name is Gina. I love them all but that Gina has some zest, all right. She’ll be a fierce woman, that one. It’ll take a hell of a man to love her right. Be like living with a thunderstorm. Same as her mother. A fierce woman. Force of nature. The kind of woman you just hang on for the ride. The most exciting and the most heartbreaking woman you could ever meet. They don’t know their own minds most of the time but their hearts are so damn big it hurts ’em inside. It’s a lucky man who gets a woman like that. I don’t suppose there are many women like that in this wide world. It’d be a wild world if there was, I’ll tell you that. I’ve only met the two of them in all my born years. Married the one and watched the other come swimming out of my wife twenty years ago her eyes wide open from the start. Been a wild time with those two women, I can tell you that. Never a dull moment. Not one. A lot of tears and a lot of laughter. Wouldn’t trade a minute of it. Even the bad times were deep, you know what I mean?