Sunrise with Sea Monster (18 page)

We drove back through the barren landscape, fields of dead rock on either side. We were both quiet, as there seemed little
to say. The rumble of the car, the occasional squawk of a passing crow served to accentuate the silence. As the road unravelled
towards me I could imagine that silence stretching as far as the eye could see, over the moonscape of the Burren and beyond,
over the quiet ocean to my left, the mackerel skies above us that embraced the whole island. We were in the country of silence,
I realised, and any speech only serves to remind us of it. I looked at Rose beside me and her face seemed older than I'd ever
known it. I looked at him in the rearview mirror, as quiet as a rock, his chin settled on his chest, his eyes still closed.
I could see a car behind him in the mirror, keeping a steady distance of a hundred yards or so, and knew we were being followed.
When I reached Lisdoonvarna and wheeled around the square with its necklace of coloured bulbs the car drew to a halt on the
other side. I parked opposite the Spa Hotel and looked at the wide-brimmed hats of the figures inside it. I saw a cloud of
cigarette smoke obscuring the windscreen and recognised the G-men from the Castle.

Who are they? Rose asked as we moved him towards the hotel doors.

Who are who? I replied.

I saw you looking. The exchange of glances. Tell me.

I said nothing as we moved through the foyer, but inside the rooms she asked again.

We're here for something else, she said. Tell me what it is.

I looked at the square in the fading light outside and saw the car move off.

That business with the letters, I said.

What about it?

So I told her. As she listened she seemed to fall into a silence even deeper than my father's.

So it could never have worked, she said.

Why not?

Because you came down here for quite a different reason.

I could say nothing so she said nothing in reply. The three of us sat there in absolute stillness as the daylight paled and
the coloured bulbs came up in the square outside.

I have to go now, Rose, I said.

Go on, she said. But take him with you.

Why? I asked her.

I can't stand it any more, she said.

So I drove with him to Spanish Point. The sky grew slowly into a magenta pall above us. The fields of stone gave way gradually
to clutches of grass and then the sea came into view, stretching to the horizon under a full moon. The town when I reached
it was as Soames had described it, a one-street promenade above a lengthy beach with a nuns' hostel perched on the north end,
high above the water. I drove slowly down the road above the beach until the town was lost from view. I quietened the engine
and eased him out of his perch in the back seat, bumped him down a series of broken steps onto the hard sand.

Another beach, father, I said, but his eyes had fallen into their old silence, full of fury and surprise. And another sea,
I said. The Atlantic this time. The wheels sank in the soft sand so I moved him out to the water's edge where his chair bumped
over the hard ridges. Can you imagine what our lines would catch here.

His head shuddered with barely perceptible jerks as I walked, as if he was nodding in reply. Maybe tonight, I told him, will
have its moments. Maybe these are the hours towards which all the other hours pointed. Then I saw three figures down at the
sea's edge, half hidden by an escarpment of rock and suddenly wished Rose was with me. Who will care for you, I asked him,
when I'm gone?

They were clustered round a small boat: Oliver, the small one, Festy, the tall one, and the brooding Red.

What's with the old geezer? Red said when I drew near.

My father, I said, he's taking the waters.

What waters?

The waters in the sulphur springs, behind the Spa Hotel.

If there's any bother, he's on his own, he said.

We stood then, watching the fading line of the horizon. I settled him there, facing the sea and saw his eyes were open. The
same cornflower blue, rimmed with reddened lids, they searched the ocean with the intensity of those around us. He shivered
then, and I wondered for a moment was it the cold, or the awakening from the long sleep. Could that boy's magic work? I thought,
then banished the thought as quickly.

Look, someone said.

Where? I asked.

What did you say? said Festy.

You said look, I said.

No I didn't, he spat back.

Then I looked down and saw my father's gaze riveted to a spot on the horizon.

The old geezer said it, Red muttered.

He couldn't. He can't speak.

Shut up and look, said Oliver. Over there.

There was a churning in the water, as if some leviathan was rising.

A dolphin, the same voice said.

That's no fiickin' dolphin, Festy shouted. It's your man—I stared at father's face. The eyes riveted to the spot, the same
utter rigour.

Who said dolphin? I asked.

Would you shut up about your dolphins, Festy muttered.

Look at that creature—

I could see the waters foaming, as if under great pressure from below. The turret came up first, then the sleek black hull,
the waters falling away from it like skin off a bone.

I looked from him to the emerging monster and back again. His lips quivered, as if on the threshold of speech.

It's a submarine, father, I said. Say it. A submarine.

The lips trembled, but no sound came out.

I am imagining things, I thought, making the dumb speak. I turned back to the sea and watched the monster make its full entrance.
It rose slowly to the surface, the only turbulence in an otherwise quiet sea. I saw the turret open and a blond-haired figure
emerge. I recognised Hans. He waved, over an acre of ocean. I waved back. You poor fucker, I thought. I have made you pay.
He was shouting something. Irish, he said, Irish—and I couldn't distinguish the rest.

That's him? asked Red.

Yes, I said.

That's Rhett? You're sure?

Hans. I said. His name's Hans.

Come on, he said, pushing the boat towards the water.

I can't leave him here.

He'll be fine. And you'll do what you came here to do—As the two brothers rowed I watched his diminishing figure in the wheelchair,
immobile by the water's edge, eyes staring at me almost pleading, as if I was leaving him for ever. What if the tide comes
in? I shouted, in a sudden panic.

It's on the turn, said Red and whipped me round. Now look at him, make sure it's him.

The conning tower loomed above us, like a cliff wall. I could see him up there waving, a sailor's holdall in his hand. Then
he jumped. He hit the water about fifteen feet away and the brothers rowed towards him, as the vessel above us began to diminish,
sink beneath the waves once more, throwing the waters into a fury. He grabbed the side of the boat then and pulled himself
in, his blond hair plastered to his skull. Get out of here, Irish, he said, quick, it leaves a whirlpool. The brothers rowed
again, furiously, back the way we had come. The wash the vessel left bobbed the boat around like a cork, and then it was gone
and there was something like calm once more. Your country, he said. Yes, I told him. Your waters, he said. Yes, I said again.
And your countrymen, he said, turning to the others.

Then I heard the outboard motors. First one from the east, another from the west, two more from somewhere near the shore.

What the fuck—said Red, and I turned and grabbed the German, flung us both overboard.

You fucking quisling, Red bellowed and pulled a gun and began to fire into the water. I pulled Hans beneath, dragged him underwater
towards the back of the boat.

Down there it was all peace. The white tail of the boat curved above us, the water dotted with puffs where the bullets struck.
His face screamed at me silently and he struggled in my arms. I drew back and struck out at him but not hard enough for he
wrenched himself free. I grabbed his legs as he swam upwards but couldn't hold him and we both gasped to the surface once
more.

What is this, he screamed, spitting out water.

I could now see the military caps on the other boats in the moonlight, the barrels of the .22s held by the soldiers.

I'm delivering you, I said, into safer hands.

You have betrayed me—

Yes, I said, you could put it that way. I saw Red, towering above us with the gun, and suddenly the ocean was ablaze with
light, blinding him, wrapping him in white like an angel. He dropped the gun, raised his arms tentatively. There was a klieg
light on each vessel, bearing towards us, and one low fast boat came by and threw us a lifebuoy on a rope.

Why? spluttered Hans, clinging to it, the wash of the boats cresting over him.

Because, I said, there was no alternative. There's a camp in the Curragh, they'll take you there.

You broke your word, he said.

We're a neutral country, I said. I could never have helped you. I slipped from the buoy and came up again, coughing water.
Your war's obscene—

I have my honour, he yelled.

Thank God one of us has, I said.

The boats were all around us, the noise of the engines deafening. Someone called in a thick country accent from a loudhailer.
I looked up, saw Red with his arms raised and saw the smaller brother bring his oar down towards me. I tried to duck, but
he caught me on the forehead and the world went thankfully dark.

I came to consciousness on the hard wet sand of the beach some time later. A youth in an LDF uniform was bending over me,
bringing a bowl of hot soup to my lips. What happened? I asked him.

They caught them, he said, fished them out of the water like drowned rats. There's an ambulance coming for you.

I don't need it, I said, rising.

There were soldiers up and down the strand, distant shouts to the klieg-lit boats out on the ocean. I staggered through the
darkness, the moon had gone, the beach was one long shadow. Father, I called, trying to find my way to where I had left him.
One soldier grabbed me by the arm. We're closing off the beach, he said.

I've to find my father, I said, in a wheelchair, by the promenade end.

Yes, he said, we found a wheelchair.

Not the wheelchair, I said, the man inside it. I felt ice in my stomach suddenly. Where, I asked him, where did you find it?
He led me then, by torchlight to the spot where I'd left him and I saw the chair, sitting wheel-deep in the water, quite empty.
The tide had come in.

Where is he? I asked the soldier.

Where is who? he asked me back.

My father, I said, I left him sitting there.

That's all we found, sir, he said.

We searched all night—the beach, the dunes, the town above it—but found nothing. When the dawn came we turned the search to
the sea itself but the tides there were such they would have drawn any object in it out to sea. By noon they told me that
to continue would be pointless.

I drove back then to Lisdoonvarna and found Rose pacing the square, filled now with camouflaged lorries and boys in ill-fitting
military uniforms. Her face had the grey pallor that told me she already knew.

Is it true? she asked me, and I told her it was.

He must have walked, I said, through the water, out to sea.

You know he couldn't, she said.

I told her then about the voice that seemed to come from nowhere, could only have come from him. Maybe the boy did what he
was paid for.

It makes no sense, she said. If he could walk, why walk into the sea?

Because he knew, I thought. So I said yes, it makes no sense, he couldn't have walked.

We stayed three more weeks. Thinking a corpse might be washed up at the foot of the Cliffs of Moher, any point on the coastline
from Gal way to the Shannon. We took boats out daily, more for the comfort of doing something than in the hope that we would
find him. A silence settled between us that we knew was permanent. At night I dreamt of him, traversing the waves of the Clare
coastline like a merman, in an element that perhaps would have suited him more than most. Rose slept beside me, frozen in
her loss, her body stiff and unattainable. Now that he was gone he was all she could desire, and I was the cause of the absence
that gnawed at her, as she was of the absence that gnawed at me.

We ate silent breakfasts, surrounded by small farmers and their intended sweethearts, who came there for honeymoons, matches
and cures for arthritis. We went as far as Aran one afternoon, and there, on a grey slab of island in the Atlantic, we admitted
it was finished. The search for him, and for each other. The Clare coastline was a dull blur, a mist sheeted down from the
West, she said little but that's it then. And it was, I agreed.

She took a train up to Sligo, to the mythical household she had filled me with years before. I had the urge to ask her could
I see it, just once, but on the dull grey platform, waiting for the train, I knew it was useless. Goodbye Donal, she said,
and she kissed me. I'll be in touch about the house. And the train bore her off, through the scented hedgerows of the single-gauge
line of the West Clare railway.

I drove home with only the wheelchair for company. I watched it in the rearview mirror, the country roads unwinding behind
it. It was silent, and perfect, in a way, a memento of him, with the same quiet dignity I had found in him since I had come
back. When I reached Bray, I found the boy had maintained the boats in perfect order.

We spent the rest of the Emergency fishing, which seemed as good a way as any of passing the conflagration. I sent Rose money
when I could, played the piano at nights and tried to think of as little as possible. Some days, under the sheets of rain,
dragging herring out by the Kish I would look at the catch, see the dark shape of a porbeagle or dolphin among the slapping
silver and imagine for a moment that I had caught him, his body having made the long journey home, the way salmon do. Some
nights I would wake, look at the wheelchair gleaming in the moonlight by its spot at the window and think for a moment he
had returned, was sitting there, silent, patient, inscrutable.