Departures (20 page)

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Authors: Jennifer Cornell

BOOK: Departures

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Did it not go well, then.

Not very.

Why, what happened?

He tilted her palm for a further reading but she put her other hand on his shoulder, and he stopped and frowned and looked at her arm.

Tell me, she said.

What's there to tell? I'm thirty-eight years old; I've not worked in six years. How good could it go?

But you got an interview.

Yes, he said. There is that.

There'll be other jobs, she said, and though I could not see her face with the hall light behind her I imagined the
way it had summoned its power the first morning she'd discovered they'd painted our wall.

.Â Â Â .Â Â Â .

We went to Portrush on the day of the wedding. My father asked John-O to come along with us, but he'd promised to take his nephew and niece to the zoo. There was a polar bear there that they wanted to see, which took two steps backwards for every twelve it walked front, and an elephant seal that spent most of its time under the water and only pretended to enjoy human company. Why does he do that? I'd asked my father. We'd been lucky; we were far from the Plexiglas when we saw the beast spew, the small group who'd gathered to laugh or admire stumbling backwards in confusion, holding their soaked shirts and blouses away from their skin. He's proud, my father explained, and he values his privacy. This is his way of pointing back.

It was strange not to transfer when we got to Coleraine. On good days the cast-iron bridge that vaulted the tracks was warm to the touch as I held onto the rail, the pigeons so bold on the ledge just beneath us that they barely noticed when we passed, their heads subsiding between their shoulders, the dreary stains and splotches of their city colours made as beautiful in the sunlight as the faint iridescence around their necks. But this time we stayed seated and watched other passengers collect their belongings and empty out of the small wooden doors which let the breeze in. A few people came on but walked through to Smoking, then the doors were snapped shut along the length of the carriage, I heard someone whistle, and the train pulled away.

The forecast had been hopeful, so we'd brought food
for a picnic. In a concrete shelter which faced the sea my mother announced the contents of the sandwiches she'd made and distributed them to us with a packet of crisps and carton of orange, and for a while there was only the sound of crunch and swallow, and the spluttering sighs of liquid reversing through straws.

A gull stalked the wall that bordered the walkway, harassing a dog in the shade underneath. We threw scraps and the gull descended, riding the air with wings outstretched as if it were lowered by invisible strings, and soon more arrived, each one as possessive of the air space in front of us as if it had the right of being there first. In the interest of fairness I threw a crust to the dog. It raised its chin to watch the bread land but apart from that it didn't move. No, my father agreed when I showed him, they aren't very intelligent. The Sixth Day of Creation was a busy one for God; the dogs had to wait for several hours while He was fashioning the other beasts, and by that time all the best attributes had been given out. Loyalty and patience and an affectionate nature seemed more attractive to them than intelligence at the time. Not such a poor choice, my mother said. No, my father responded. I don't think they regret it.

Here, Da, Ricky said, wait'll you see. He called the dog by some generic name, and the animal rose from its haunches and came over, smiling and nodding and wagging its tail.

Sit, Ricky said, and the dog sat down indifferently like a man whose thoughts are somewhere else. Give us your paw, he said, and the animal did so with bored amusement, as if it were humouring a tiresome friend. Hand me a hammer, Ricky said with the same inflection, and the dog withdrew its right arm and lifted its left. See? Ricky
said. You can tell'm anything. It's all got to do with your tone of voice. What do you want me to make him do?

Have him roll over, my mother said.

Fly round, Ricky said, addressing the dog, go on, fly round. The dog stretched lazily, its rump raised and waving till its chest touched the ground. That's it; nowâthrow bowlers! Ricky commanded, but the dog looked at him skeptically, its eyebrows raised. Throw bowlers, he said again, like an invitation, and the dog lay its ear on the tarmac and rolled onto its back. For some time preoccupied with its own hips and shoulders, it finally rose and shook itself violently, spattering us with flecks of saliva, fragments of glass, sand, and lawn clippings and other footpath garbage. When it had finished it calmly accepted the crisps Ricky fed it and offered its ears to my father's caress.

The dog followed briefly when we headed for Water-world, but soon was distracted by the sight of something at the far end of the beach. Let him go, son, my mother said when Ricky called after him, then slipped her arm through his as if she found walking difficult and she needed his help. They don't allow dogs where we're going, anyway.

The complex featured a selection of swimming pools and three water slides, twisting tunnels of bright coloured plastic which plunged thirty feet into the water, jiggling like innards each time they were used, and a hidden machine which produced six-foot waves. The smell of chlorine was sharp close to the pools, and even the foyer was warm and damp. In the changing rooms at the back of the building wet swimsuits and towels slapped to the ground beside the benches and outside the stalls with the finality of things attracted by magnets, and steam rose from the
threshold of water through which all new arrivals were required to pass. For a while I just stood by the railing and watched others pop from the slides with all the surprise of people whose chairs have been pulled out from under them. A siren erupted every half hour, and those on the lip of the pool with their feet in the water twisted round on their palms and slipped over the side. Then the machine was switched on and the contents of the pool sloshed over its edges, slapping the steps at the opposite end where the concrete floor hurried up at an anxious angle, and the water was so shallow it was still almost white. Because Ricky dared me I climbed the scaffolding which led to the slides. Someone behind me gave me a push, and I was carried down on a thin sheet of water, my hips riding furiously up the sides of the tube. All I could see was the white mouth of the exit swinging far in front, at the centre of a world which was otherwise yellow, backlit and uniform and almost translucent, and I thought of small, pallid insects and what they might see traversing the contours of delicate blossoms, following the easy confluence of grooves.

When we got home my mother of course was the first to spot it, and she saw it as soon as we stepped from the bus. At the bottom men and women with various weapons stood with bowed heads against the ruins of battle while others fired a volley into the folds of a banner strung up with barbed wire and printed all over with shields and crests. Above all this a golden youth towered, her gaze flung backwards over her shoulder, her right arm raised and beckoning to the dark silhouettes of the marchers who followed herâOpportunity! Culture! their placards promised, Houses! Jobs! Education for All!