Everything in This Country Must

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Contents

Title Page

Copyright Notice

Dedication

Epigraph

Everything in This Country Must

Wood

Hunger Strike

Also by Colum McCann

Acclaim for
Everything in This Country Must

Copyright

FOR

Isabella and John Michael

Horses buried for years

Under the foundations

Give their earthen floors

The ease of trampolines.

PAUL MULDOON

Dancers at the Moy

EVERYTHING IN THIS COUNTRY MUST

A
SUMMER FLOOD CAME
and our draft horse got caught in the river. The river smashed against stones and the sound of it to me was like the turning of locks. It was silage time and the water smelled of grass. The draft horse, Father’s favorite, had stepped in the river for a sniff maybe and she was caught, couldn’t move, her foreleg trapped between rocks. Father found her and called
Katie!
above the wailing of the rain. I was in the barn waiting for drips on my tongue from the ceiling hole. I ran out past the farmhouse into the field. At the river the horse stared wild through the rain maybe she remembered me. Father moved slow and scared like someone traveling deep in snow except there was no snow, just flood, and Father was frightened of water, always frightened. Father told me
Out on the rock there, girl.
He gave me the length of rope with the harness clip and I knew what to do. I am taller than Father since my last birthday, fifteen. I stretched wide like love and put one foot on the rock in the river middle and one hand on the tree branch above it and swung out over the river flood.

Behind me Father said
Careful now, hai.
The water ran warm and fast and I held the tree branch, still able to lean down from the rock and put the rope to the halter of the lovely draft horse.

The trees bent down to the river in a whispering and they hung their long shadows over the water and the horse jerked quick and sudden and I felt there would be a dying, but I pulled the rope up to keep her neck above water, only just.

Father was shouting
Hold the rope, girl!
and I could see his teeth clenched and his eyes wide and all the big veins in his neck, the same as when he walks the ditches of our farm, many cows, hedgerows, fences. Father is always full of fright for the losing of Mammy and Fiachra and now his horse, his favorite, a big Belgian mare that cut soil in the fields long ago.

The river split at the rock and jumped fast into sprays coming up above my feet into my dress. But I held tight to the rope, held it like Father sometimes holds his last Sweet Afton at mealtime before prayers. Father was shouting
Keep it there, girl, good!
He was looking at the water as if Mammy was there, as if Fiachra was there, and he gulped air and he went down in the water to free the draft horse’s hoof, and he was gone so long he made me wail to the sky for being alone. He kept a strong hold of one tree root but all the rest of his body went away under the quick brown water.

The night had started stars. They were up through the branches. The river was spraying in them.

Father came up spluttering for air with his eyes all horsewild and his cap lost down the river. The rope was jumping in my hands and burning like oven rings, and he was shouting
Hold it girl hold it, hai, for the love of God hold it please!

Father went down in the water again but came up early, no longer enough in his lungs to keep down. He stayed in the river holding the root and the water was hitting his shoulders and he was sad watching the draft horse drown, so I pulled hard on the halter rope and the horse gave a big scream and her head rose up again.

One more try,
Father said in a sad voice like his voice over Mammy’s and Fiachra’s coffins long ago.

*   *   *

FATHER DIPPED UNDER
and he stayed down as long as yesterday’s yesterday, and then some headlights came sweeping up the town road. The lights made a painting of the rain way up high and they put shadows on the hedgerows and ditches. Father’s head popped out of the water and he was breathing heavy, so he didn’t see the lights. His chest was wide and jumping. He looked at the draft horse and then at me. I pointed up the road and he turned in the flood and stared. Father smiled, maybe thinking it was Mack Devlin with his milk truck or Molly coming home from the sweet shop or someone come to help save his favorite horse. He dragged on the tree root and struggled out from the river and stood on the bank and his arms went up in the air like he was waving, shouting
Over here over here, hai!

Father’s shirt was wet under his overalls and it was very white when the headlights hit it. The lights got closer and in the brightening we heard shouts and then the voices came clear. They sounded like they had swallowed things I never swallowed.

I looked at Father and he looked at me all of a sudden with the strangest of faces, like he was lost, like he was punched, like he was the river cap floating, like he was a big tree all alone and desperate for forest. They shouted out
Hey mate what’s goin’ on?
in their strange way and Father said
Nothing
and his head dropped way low to his chest and he looked across the river at me and I think what he was telling me was
Drop the rope girl,
but I didn’t. I kept it tight, holding the draft horse’s neck above the water, and all the time Father was saying but not saying
Drop it please Katie, drop it, let her drown.

*   *   *

THEY CAME RIGHT QUICK
through the hedge with no regard for their uniforms and I could hear the thorns ripping back against their jackets. One took off his helmet while he was running and his hair was the color of winter ice. One had a mustache that looked like long grasses and one had a scar on his cheek like the bottom end of Father’s hayknife.

Hayknife was first to the edge of the river and his rifle banged against his hip when he jumped out to the rock where I was halter holding.
Okay, luv, you’re all right now,
he said to me, and his hand was rain-wet at my back. He took the halter and shouted things to the other soldiers, what to do, where to stand. He kept ahold of the halter and passed me back to Longgrasses, who caught my hand and brought me safely to the riverbank. There were six of them now, all guns and helmets. Father didn’t move. His eyes were steady looking at the river, maybe seeing Mammy and Fiachra staring back at him.

One soldier was talking to him all loud and fast, but Father was like a Derry windowshop dummy, and the soldier threw up his arms and turned away through the rain and spat a big spit into the wind.

Hayknife was all balance on the rock with the halter, and he didn’t even hold the branch above his head. Icehair was taking off his boots and gun and shirt and he looked not like boys from town who come to the barn for love, he looked not like Father when Father cuts hay without his shirt, no, he looked not like anybody; he was very skinny and strong with ribs like sometimes a horse has after a long day in the field. He didn’t dive like I think now I would have liked him to, he just stepped into the water very slow and not show-offy and began making his way across, arms high in the air, getting lower. But the river got too deep and Hayknife was shouting from the rock, saying
Stay high, Stevie, stay high side, mate.

And Stevie gave a thumb-up to Hayknife and then he was down under the water and the last thing was the kick of the feet.

Longgrasses was standing beside me and he put Stevie’s jacket on my shoulders to warm me, but then Father came over and he pushed Longgrasses away. Father pushed hard. He was smaller than Longgrasses but Longgrasses bashed into the trunk of the tree and hit against it. Longgrasses took a big breath and stared hard at him. Father said
Leave her alone, can’t you see she’s just a child?
I covered my face for shame like in school when they put me in class at a special desk bigger than the rest, not the wooden ones with lifting lids, except I don’t go to school anymore since what happened with Mammy and Fiachra. I felt shame like the shame of that day in school and I covered my face and peeped instead through my fingers.

Father was giving a bad look to Longgrasses. Long-grasses stared at Father for a long time too and then shook his head and walked away to the riverbank where Stevie was still down in the water.

Father’s hands were on my shoulders keeping me warm and he said
It’ll be all right now, love,
but I was only thinking about Stevie and how long he was under water. Hayknife was shouting at the top of his voice and staring down into the water, and I looked up and saw the big army truck coming through the hedgerow fence and the hedge was broken open with a big hole and Father screamed
No!

The extra lights of the truck were on and they were lighting up all the river. Father screamed again
No!
but stopped when one of the soldiers stared at him.
Your horse or your bloody hedge, mate.

Father sat down on the riverbank and said
Sit down Katie,
and I could hear in Father’s voice more sadness than when he was over Mammy’s and Fiachra’s coffins, more sadness than the day after they were hit by the army truck down near the Glen, more sadness than the day when the judge said
Nobody is guilty, it’s just a tragedy,
more sadness than even that day and all the other days that follow.

Bastards,
said Father in a whisper,
bastards,
and he put his arm around me and sat watching until Stevie came up from the water, swimming against the current to stay in one place. He shouted up at Hayknife
Her leg’s trapped,
and then
I’m gonna try and get the hoof out.
Stevie took four big gulps of air and Hayknife was pulling on the halter rope and the draft horse was screaming like I never heard a horse before or after. Father was quiet and I wanted to be back in the barn alone waiting for drips on my tongue. I was wearing Stevie’s jacket but I was shivering and wet and cold and scared because Stevie and the draft horse were going to die since everything in this country must.

*   *   *

FATHER LIKES HIS TEA
without bags like Mammy used to make and so there is a special way for me to make it: Put cold cold water in the kettle and only cold, then boil it, then put a small boiling water in the teapot and swish it around until the bottom of the teapot is warm. Then put in tea leaves, not bags, and then the boiling water and stir it all very slowly and put on the tea cozy and let it stew on the stove for five minutes making sure the flame is not too high so the tea cozy doesn’t catch flame and burn. Then pour milk into the cups and then the tea, followed at last by the sugar all spooned around into a careful mix.

My tea fuss made the soldiers smile, even Stevie, who had a head full of blood pouring down from where the draft horse kicked him above his eye. Father’s face went white when Stevie smiled but Stevie was very polite. He took a towel from me because he said he didn’t want to get blood on the chair. He smiled at me two times when I put my head around the kitchen door and he held up one finger meaning
One sugar please
and a big O from fingers for
No milk please.
Some blood was drying in his hair and his eyes were bright like the sky should be, and I could feel my belly sink way down until it was there like love in the barn, and he smiled at me number three.

Everyone felt good for saving a life, even a horse life, maybe even Father, but Father was silent in the corner. He was angry at me for asking the soldiers to tea and his chin was long to his chest and there was a puddle at his feet. Everybody was towel drying except Father because there was not enough towels.

Longgrasses sat in the armchair and said
Good thing ya had heat lamps, guvnor.

Father just nodded.

How was it under the water, Stevie?
said Longgrasses.

Wet,
said Stevie and everybody laughed but not Father. He stared at Stevie, then looked away.

The living room is always dark with Father grim, but it was brighter now. I liked the green of the uniforms and even the red of Stevie’s blood. But Stevie’s head from the horse kick must have been very sore. The other soldiers were talking about how maybe the army truck should take Stevie straight off to hospital and not get dry, just get stitches, and not get tea, just come back later to see about the draft horse if she survives under the heat lamps. But Stevie said
I’m okay, guys, it’s just a scrape, I’d kill for a cuppa.