The Last Night at Tremore Beach

by Mikel Santiago

  I’m not sure how long it took for me to slip from adagio to lento moderato, but I began to feel lighter, and soon Kauffman started to describe something and asked me to imagine it.

  You are walking alone in a desert. But the weather is fair. There’s a light breeze. Now I want you to look off and focus on a fixed point in the distance, a mile or so away. There’s a pyramid in the distance, can you see it? There’s nothing else all around you. Keep walking toward it. . . .

  For some reason, my mind painted the desert sand a rose color. It was a nice, calm place, just as the doctor had told me. The sky was filled with green-tinged clouds. I walked until I reached the pyramid, which, to me, was a dark, cobalt blue. Dr. Kauffman asked me to look for a door in one of the pyramid’s four sides. He said I would instantly recognize it once I saw it, and he was right. It was just as he’d said. It was an elliptically shaped door lightly covered in sand. I used my fingers to trace the edges, and I cleared off the sand until I found a metal pull.

  Open it, the voice (the doctor’s) requested, and I did.

  You will find a set of stairs near the wall, leading to a dark downstairs. Go inside and begin to slowly descend them, one at a time. Take a breath, then a step. A breath, then another step . . .

  It was easy. I took one careful step after another. There was always another step waiting for me in the darkness, and it seemed like I was going down stairs for an eternity. But it didn’t matter. Pyramids are enormous, I thought, and these stairs go down a very long way. . . .

  It felt good to go down them. Great, actually. And the voice was always there to tell me what I should do next.

  When you reach the bottom, grab a torch, and walk down the hallway. We’re getting close, now. Very close, now, Peter . . .

  The hallway was very narrow, and there were wide steps—they reminded me of some I’d seen in Venice years ago—that continued to take me downward. The small, rectangular bricks on the wall reminded me of my old high school gym in Dublin. Ten laps for being late, Harper! Yes, sir!

  I kept going down the hallway in darkness, my mind filled with questions. What’s the point of all this, anyway? In life, you get what you get, and that’s it. Play the hand you’re dealt, Peter. I’ll be waiting for you, my son. Who is there with you, Peter?

  “I feel it. I think it’s my mother.”

  Don’t worry. Everything is fine. Keep walking. Breathe . . .

  We finally arrived at the end. I’m not sure when. The inner sanctum of the pyramid was an ancient and enormous space, a large vault illuminated by hundreds of votive candles spread along the ground. It reminded me of the exam hall in the Amsterdam conservatory. It’s audition day, but no one has arrived yet, I thought.

  Concentrate, Harper. Fear is your friend. Use it to your advantage.

  The voice told me to turn my attention to a large screen in the middle of the hall. It was a huge movie-projection screen. What do you want to see, Peter? What do you want to watch on the big screen?

  “Can I really choose?”

  An image of Clem’s face appeared on the screen.

  It was just as I recalled her on that fateful day. The day where hot became cold and in which everything turned on its head. I’d wanted to think back on it, but my mind had always distorted the memory.

  She sat in the kitchen in her gray sweater, stirring a cup of tea that had gone cold. She was waiting for me. “Where are the kids?” “They’re with my mom, Peter. I didn’t want them to be home . . . today . . . because I have something I need to tell you. . . .”

  Then, as if by magic, that vault, that inner sanctum, it all disappeared and faded into sky.

  Where are we headed now, Mr. Harper? the voice asked.

  “Good question!” I yelled. “I’d like to know that myself.”

  Now, I found myself at Bill’s Peak, and it was nighttime. The enormous thundercloud was floating overhead, spinning and roiling and about to unload on me once again.

  What do you see?

  Lightning. It was the actual bolt of lightning that struck me, its trail frozen in midair: a phosphorescent scar, a tear in the blackened sky. It was detailed just so, right where it had landed near the old tree.

  I approached it cautiously. I knew what it had done to me, that it could easily spark and leave me charred on the ground. I was just two feet away now. Could I touch it? I reached out and touched what felt like a glass wall. A huge, fractured glass wall. And then, on the other side of it, I saw something moving, a person coming toward me through the rain and darkness.

  Who was it, I wondered, as I shuffled backward, scared. Was it one of those three assassins?

  It took me a minute to recognize him. He had a ratty beard, a white T-shirt soaked in blood, and a tired look in his eyes. “You’re a piece of shit,” I used to say when I saw myself in the mirror in the mornings—and that’s exactly the image standing before me now. It was a version of Peter Harper on the other side of glass.

  But the other Peter Harper was hurt and scared. He had seen me, too, and was headed toward me. He was limping and holding his side. His face was swollen and blood was trickling from his lip.

  He came right up to the glass, standing equidistant from me. He raised his fist and pounded onto the glass. Everything shook.

  That face . . . He never so much as opened his mouth, which looked as if it were full of something. Blood, maybe. His eyes seemed wild, and clearly there was something wrong with his mind.

  Peter, are you okay?

  He pounded against the glass again and again. The other Harper was pounding on a nonexistent door—and he wanted to come in.

  I started to tremble. “What do you want from me?” I yelled.

  Peter, it’s time to come back. Okay?

  “No! Wait. Not yet . . .”

  Despite my fear and disgust, I came closer to that shattered glass and stared right into my monstrous self’s eyes. He looked scared, and I could see tears of blood running down his cheeks.

  “Tell me, Peter. Tell me what you want . . . !”

  We’re going to count to three, Mr. Harper. One . . .”

  The light became brighter and brighter. I felt myself drifting away from this place.

  “C’mon, you son of a bitch, say it! Tell me what you want!”

  The other Peter Harper started to open his mouth to say something. A thick, viscous liquid dribbled out. He edged right up to the glass, and I put my ear up against it to hear.

  Two . . .

  In a hoarse and desperate voice, he whispered, “It’s too late. They’re all dead.”

  Three.

  TEN

  AT THE END of a very long day, I watched as Judie and the kids came down Archer Street toward where I was waiting outside of Kauffman’s building.

  Dr. Kauffman had chosen not to meet with Judie before my session, maybe because he wanted to maintain a professional stance. When we were saying goodbye in the hall, Kauffman said he thought it’d be a good idea for him to see me again. “We hit on a couple of interesting things during our session. It would be good to revisit them.” We agreed to meet in August or early September when the children were back in Amsterdam. Until then, he encouraged me to relax, enjoy my time with the kids, and to take as little medication as possible. “If you have another vision, try to write down what you remember. Send me an email if it happens again.”

  THE NEXT DAY, we drove back in silence under a steady rain. My thoughts were still jumbled. After a long and intense session with Dr. Kauffman, I barely shut my eyes that night. Judie was off, too. Returning to Belfast had unhinged her a bit. That night, when we slept in separate hotel rooms, she’d had really bad nightmares. Beatrice, who’d shared a room with her, told me about it over breakfast the next day.

  “She moved around all night, as if she were scared of something. I woke her up, and we fell asleep later, holding each other the rest of the night.”

  We paid a visit to the Giant’s Causeway on the way home. The weather didn’t stop Beatrice
and Jip from getting out of the car to explore that almost mythical labyrinth of basalt columns which faded in and out of a foggy mist.

  The children explored the massive columns, and when they ducked behind one formation, Judie and I gave each other a deep, loving kiss. With the children around, we’d forgotten the taste of each other’s lips. I sat back and admired her beautiful face that bore a wrinkle or two of experience and a few scattered freckles around her nose.

  We listened to the children laughing and yelling in the distance. I held Judie’s hands firmly in mine.

  “I’d like to talk about something with you.”

  I felt her body tremble. My opening line had all the makings of a serious conversation.

  “Hey, don’t worry, I don’t have an engagement ring stashed in my jacket pocket,” I said, laughing.

  She nodded, wordlessly.

  “I’ve been thinking about returning to Holland, or Belgium, at the end of the year. I want to be closer to the kids. I realize I need them in my life, and there’s no getting away from that. Seeing them every three months just isn’t enough.”

  Her face changed. She pursed her lips, and there was an uneasiness in her eyes. Maybe she would have preferred the ring, after all. Maybe this was sounding like goodbye.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I agree with you . . . it’s what’s best. They’re two great kids. They deserve to have their father nearby.”

  I felt her wanting to pull away, but I clung to her gently.

  “Wait. That’s not all. I was wondering if you’d come with me,” I said.

  As the words left my mouth, I was a fourteen-year-old all over again, asking my high school crush for a date at the Tara train station in Dublin.

  Judie’s eyes widened, and she let out a nervous laugh.

  “To Holland?”

  “Yeah . . . well, anywhere on the continent, really. Germany, Holland, Belgium. We could have our pick as long as there was a train to Amsterdam. Look, Judie, I could help you open another store, something like Mrs. Houllihan’s, and you could set it up just as you want. You’re such a hard worker and you have so much talent, I know you’d make it work, no matter where in the world you set up shop.”

  She laughed.

  “I . . . don’t know what to say, Pete.” She held my hand tight. “Thank you. Thank you for including me in your life. I really wasn’t expecting this.”

  Her reaction wasn’t what I was expecting either. (How about a nice, resounding, “Yes!” and her jumping into my arms, saying she’d follow me wherever I went?) The rain let up a bit.

  “Well, it’s all just kind of happened, hasn’t it? It doesn’t feel like we’re rushing anything. I have really strong feelings for you. We’re more than just a fling. And, well, I was wondering if you felt the same way.”

  “I do,” she said, drying her eyes a bit. “This is all so . . . unexpected.”

  Unexpected. I felt a big “but” coming on. My heart sank.

  “Can I think it over a bit? It’s not a ‘No.’ You’ve caught me totally off guard. I hope you understand. I can’t make a big decision like this on the spot. I’m sorry if that doesn’t sound so romantic.”

  I squeezed her hand.

  “Don’t worry. I know we’ve never even discussed this. It’s crazy, I’m sorry. I’m an idiot for putting you on the spot.”

  “No, Peter, it’s okay. But just understand this is . . . big. It’s a big change for me.”

  “No, of course, Judie,” I said.

  The children reappeared from behind a column, two little water nymphs in red and yellow ponchos.

  “Dad! Judie!” they called. “Come check this out! We found a huge crab!”

  I put on my best smile. Judie acted fine when we found the crab and later in the car as we drove back to Clenhburran in the rain, I put in one CD after another until we got back to town. I guess I didn’t feel like talking.

  PART THREE

  ONE

  A BLACK VAN with the name Blake Audiovisuals was parked in front of Chester’s store, with its sliding doors open. Two workers dressed in black carried boxes, speakers, and rolls of cable into the store.

  “Where are they going to set up the screen?” Donovan asked.

  “Over there, at the end of the port, by the overhang,” Chester replied.

  “Well, I don’t see any scaffolding. I’m not sure how they’re going to do it.”

  Chester, Donovan, and Mr. Douglas had taken the day off to soak up the excitement around the port. With a can of Bavaria beer in hand and leaning up against the snuff-and-stuff store, they commented on the comings and goings of people and equipment.

  It was the day of the outdoor movie night, and you could feel the anticipation around town. The idea they’d initially hated and criticized months ago over beers at the pub was a lot more interesting now. So the women had come up with this whole deal? “With what money? Ah, city hall funds. We didn’t even know that money existed! Hey, we could set up a screen for the Six Nations Championship instead, next time! What do you think?” They all nodded, smiles on their faces, their Bavarias half-finished. But in their hearts, they understood their women had more tenacity than them, and that when the funds were available next year, they’d win that battle again.

  “How’s it going, Harper?” one said as I walked up. “So we hear you’re going to play the piano tonight. Can’t wait to hear it. Beer?”

  I declined with a smile. I’d only come for some smokes and the morning paper. And to ask if they had seen Judie. She wasn’t at the store, and some of the women had told me she’d be down by the port.

  “I thought I saw her down by the fish market. They won’t let us in while they’re setting up. Ah, but they’ll let you in. Get in there, and tell us what the women are up to.”

  The men erupted into a barroom guffaw. Chester bared his six teeth proudly. We stepped inside, and he charged me for our regular transaction: cigarettes, an Irish Times, and a copy of the most recent thriller that had made it to town. Back out on the street, Donovan was asking the tech where they planned to mount the screen and how. The tech, a big, sweaty kid with reddish hair and beard, told them there was nothing to mount because it was a big, inflatable screen that would be anchored to the ground to keep it from blowing away. That took the four old-timers by surprise. “Inflatable? Like one of those bouncy houses for the kids’ parties?” “Yeah,” the kid told them, “with one side painted a reflective white for the projector.”

  “Go figure . . .” Donovan said.

  I used the opportunity to tell the tech that I was the one who’d be playing that night. I figured the piano would be arriving soon, too. “We’ll set it up in front of the screen and slide it out of the way when you’re done,” he explained. “But make sure they get it here early so we can do a sound check.”

  I bid farewell to the amateur engineers and headed to the fish market, a huge warehouse of concrete and rusted metal, which had become the logistical nerve center for the event. A dozen women were dusting off chairs, and setting up food and drinks that would be served that night: Cadbury hot chocolate for the kids, gallons of hot water and Barry’s tea bags, a barrel of beer. The owners of Andy’s were going to set up a snack bar and a popcorn machine. I spotted Judie and Laura O’Rourke working at a table in the back, folding blankets the church had donated in case it got cold that night.

  “Where are the kids?” Judie asked when she saw me.

  “They made some new friends and ditched me.”

  When we got to town that morning, the O’Rourke twins were waiting for Beatrice by the entrance to Mrs. Houllihan’s. “We planned it through WhatsApp,” Beatrice said, explaining how she’d managed to make arrangements without a phone. They brought along a couple of English girls (“Oh, yes, Becky and Martha,” Laura O’Rourke had said. “Such wonderful girls.”) who spent the summers here, as well, on a beach about five miles from ours. And there was another boy who was a little older, who turned out to be Mr. Douglas’ youngest
son. The boy, Seamus, invited them to take a spin on his small motorboat, and Beatrice and Jip came to ask me for permission to go. One of the O’Rourke boys was with them, as if to help them convince me. “We’ll stay in the lagoon, I promise. We’ve got life jackets for everyone, even Jip. And we’ll be back before dark, in time for the movie.”

  It wouldn’t hurt to give them a little freedom and, honestly, I could use the time that afternoon to get the piano set up and tested before my mini concert that night. And after a short trip with their dad and his girlfriend, the kids could use a day off to enjoy some time with their new friends. I gave Beatrice money so she could buy something to eat at Andy’s, but I left her with specific instructions: “Beatrice, don’t lose sight of Jip. And make sure he wears his life jacket every second, okay?” “Yes, Dad.” “And you, Jip, pay attention to your sister and don’t straggle away from her, okay? And don’t take off your sweater. You still have a little bit of a cold. Got it?” “Yes, Dad.” “And don’t do anything crazy just because you might see another kid do something crazy, okay?” This time, a chorus of “yes, Dads.”

  I found Judie.

  “So, how’s everything going? Need a hand with anything?” I asked.

  “Everything’s under control down here,” she said. “What about the piano?”

  “They should be delivering it soon, no?”

  Judie stopped what she was doing and looked up at me, surprised.

  “You mean, you didn’t get my message?”

  “Message? What message?” I asked as I stuffed my hand in the coat pocket where I kept my phone. I pulled it out and saw the unread message icon.

  I clicked and read it: “Mrs. Douglas couldn’t bring down the piano herself. Could you go to her house to pick it up? It’s 13 Elijah Road. It’s just past Andy’s on the right.”