Page 40 of Heart of the Wren
I returned to the wall to wait. A number of cars trundled past, belching out fumes. A bus carried teenage schoolchildren to the secondary school down the road. They disembarked, screaming and shouting and jostling amongst themselves. Some ran around for no discernible reason.
I would have been a good father, I think. I have a lot to teach, a lot of knowledge about the land, about plants, about how to live on the move. I’d never have any children, of course. Fatherhood wasn’t in my tea leaves. And I’d made my peace with it a long time ago. And as the shrieking from the school grew louder, I have to admit I was fine with it.
The lady in the cardigan opened the door to the library. Not wanting to scare her by rushing in, I forced myself to wait another few minutes. When I did finally saunter inside, I found it less stocked than I’d hoped. The librarian sat at her tiny reception desk, stamping books. She didn’t acknowledge me. At that time of the morning, I suspected I’d be the only visitor.
I located the section for Mythology, and after passing over the Greek and Norse shelves, I found the ones marked Irish. I gathered an armful and took them to the tables. The chairs were low and uncomfortable but I managed to squeeze into one. Over the next couple of hours, I poured through book after book, desperate to scratch the itch in the back of my brain. Something about the happenings at Lorcan’s farm were familiar to me, but for the life of me, I couldn’t place it.
I skimmed passages on the magicalTuatha dé Dannan, on the giantFirbolgs, on immortal fairies, and on headless phantoms. I paused at theFar Darrig— the red man — a crimson trickster spirit known to play practical jokes, sometimes gruesome ones. But no. It didn’tfeelright. I sighed heavily enough for the librarian to glance over at me.
It didn’t help that I was finding it hard to focus. I kept thinking of Lorcan, of the time we’d spent together at Ross Castle, of how much more I wanted. And of the “vociferous disagreement” we’d had. I like to think I’m even-tempered and I don’t usually fly off the handle. On the bus journey into Tralee, I’d meditated on my actions and, of course, the reason became abundantly clear. Lorcan incited a passion within me and I was unprepared for it. I didn’t just fancy him, we didn’t just have great sex — being around him made me happier than I’d been in a long, long time. I hung on his every word, I wanted to know all there was to know about him. I cared for him. He was starting to feel like… home.
And it scared me. Terrified me, even. Which was no excuse for how I had reacted, of course. And I vowed to never let it happen again for my remaining time at the farm. And I knew however long it turned out to be, itwouldn’t be long enough. Lorcan was clearly lonely but it wasn’t in my nature to stay in one place for too long. Still, there was no reason the two of us couldn’t enjoy each other’s company for a while, was there? I’d have to sit down with Lorcan and talk things out with him, make sure we both knew where we stood. The last thing I wanted to do was cause him any more pain. I shouldn’t have shouted at him.
Being so entrenched in magic I was wont to forget how, for the average person, this was all nonsense. Or, at the very most, nothing more than a few habitual superstitions. I wished I could show him the world through my eyes, wished he could see the magic, the energy, the connections, the beauty of it all. But I had long ago accepted the path I walked was a lonely one. Such was my life. Such was my fate.
My search was getting me nowhere. I went back to the Mythology section, calmed my breathing, centred myself, and closed my eyes. In my mind’s eye, I rooted myself to the earth, let the energy from deep underground move its way up through my feet, my legs, my stomach, my head, and out through my hands. I lay one finger on a book spine at the start of the shelf and slowly walked forward. My finger slid across book after book, until I stopped. One spine was warmer than the rest. Hot, even. I opened my eyes and slid the book from the shelf. The cover featured a complicated Celtic knot design with an 18th century etching of a banshee flying around a castle.
I took the book to the table and started to read. I flipped page after page, tracing my finger down each one, half reading and half listening to the voice inside my head. I flicked a page and leapt from my chair. Gathering thebook in my arms, I made a beeline for the door.
The woman behind the desk stopped, mid-stamp. “Wait, I need to see your library card!” She sprang from her chair and pointed. “Excuse me?”
I quickly tapped my thumb and fingertips together and whispered: “Halt, halt, halt.”
She caught her cardigan on the drawer of her desk, stopping her in her tracks.
I used my shoulder to push open the door. “I’ll get it back to you after Christmas, I promise!” With that, I ran out of the library and headed for the bus stop.
Chapter 24
LORCAN
I STOOD naked in my bedroom bending my leg, squatting and stretching, tenderly turning this way and that. All without so much as a twinge of discomfort. I paused in front of my full length mirror but found no sign of any scars or bruising. I cupped my dick and balls in my hand and squeezed them. The room was chilly and I wasn’t looking my best, so I wanted to be ready in case Dara came in. I hadn’t seen him since our row on Saturday. He’d gotten so red-faced and upset, and I didn’t know why. It can’t have been over the fairy ring, can it? I understood how all the stuff about bad luckand fairies was more real to him than to most people but to get so worked up he couldn’t face me for a day and a half? My heart sank. Maybe he wasn’t the man I thought he was.
He’d made me feel like a silly child for digging up the fairy ring. And the truth was I honestly didn’t realise what I’d done until I’d gotten more than halfway through. And even then, I’d convinced myself they were just some flowers in a vague, meaningless shape.
Once I’d found the gold brooch, I probably should have realised that the spot I’d been digging in was special. But then I’d never been a deep thinker. Whenever I tried to think too much, whenever I took the time to ruminate on my life, on my situation, it depressed me so much I immediately regretted it. My life consisted of waking up, working on the farm, drinking in the pub, and going to bed. And sometimes, to be wild and exciting, I skipped going to the pub and read one of my history books instead. And okay, fine, once in a blue moon I’d ride Pat Walsh but even that wasn’t as exciting as it used to be. Maybe that’s why we hadn’t done in it in a good long while.
Dara talked about ghosts following patterns and I wondered about what would happen when I die. I pictured my ghost pottering around the house and the farm forever.
There I was, thinking about Dara, thinking about why he’d gotten so upset, and there I was getting depressed about it. Proving my point. No good came from thinking. My usual tactic was to distract myself with work, with the pub, with my plants, with sport… Anything to occupy my mind.
I didn’t know what I was going to do. Dara wouldn’t be around much longer. Once he’d sorted out this bad luck, or evil spirit, or whatever itturned out to be, he’d be gone. Back in his van and back on the road. For good. My mickey stiffened at the thought of him. I really hoped we could make up before he left.
I dressed in warm clothes and went downstairs to the kitchen. The blue tarpaulin, which hung where the window used to, rippled lightly. Despite our best efforts at sealing it tight, a draught still blew through the kitchen and out into the hall. I could swear the beer mat-sized patch of mould in the corner of the kitchen ceiling had gotten darker overnight. I needed to check the sheep again and decide whether or not to call the vet. More expense, there. And what if the gold brooch wasn’t to blame for everything going wrong? Christ knows I’d had a hard time of it for the past few years. A farm like this wasn’t meant to be run by one man. It was meant to be a family affair. Which was how my parents had done it. And my grandparents. They’d worked their whole lives to build it, to pass it down the generations. And I was struggling to keep it going. I stopped and closed my eyes. I was doing it again.Thinking. Always a mistake.
The phone rang its trill, unpleasant bell. In the hall, I lifted the heavy black receiver. “Hello?” No one responded. A slight crackle of static made me concentrate harder. “Hello?”
Someone murmured on the other end of the line. The voice was young, mumbling at first, then whispering, fading in and out. “…up with…tles and… fall, and brought… ere… ow you all.”
“Who is this?” I asked.
The line went dead. I slammed down the receiver. “Feckin’ kids.”
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I had to lug a stepladder in from the shed and carry it upstairs. Twice it knocked into the wall, almost dislodging a photo of Mam, Dad, and Mairead at a sheep auction. With the ladder in place on the landing, I could reach the attic door in the ceiling. I gave it a shove and it slid into the darkness. With a torch held in my mouth, I hooshed myself up through the opening. I flicked the torch around until I spotted a rumpled cardboard box. Not wanting to walk on the joists, I stretched over and grabbed it when something scuttled past and flicked my ear. In my surprise, I dropped the torch from my mouth. It tumbled down onto my legs, then out of the attic door and smashed on the floor. Not wanting to know what had touched me, I grabbed the box, stuffed it under my arm, and climbed out. The ladder wobbled beneath me, as though someone were shaking it. I had to use my feet to steady it and once I was stable, I was able to check the landing but found it empty. I put the box on the floor, closed the attic hatch, and quickly collapsed the stepladder. Given everything, I was lucky I didn’t end up at the bottom of the stairs in a heap. I hope Dara appreciated the effort I was going through.
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