The Troubles (20 page)

     Three obscenely unique eyes gape at our overt public display of affection. Ena’s lips quiver and I fear the girl will begin a display of hysterics, yet as I turn to see my lovely companion to my left I note that the two women’s eyes are locked and there is an unspoken communication passing from my blushing sweetheart to her pale faced house guest. I surmise that no amount of sorrow can quench Ena’s naturally exotic Spanish blood even as these dark clouded sunless days may try to quell her gleaming, tanned skin. The women burst out in laughter at first shy and nervous like schoolgirls sharing in the merriment of a boy’s clumsy gallantry, but their joy consumes them and delightfully giggles play like Christmas bells as they convulse and seize in delight. Awkwardly, I wonder if Kiera is laughing at me but as she looks up to appease my discomfort, light and love shine from her radiant face.

CHAPTER 34: Sochraichidh am posadh an gaol (Marriage takes                the heat out of love)

     Kiera Flanagan…I have after deep consideration allowed Alastar to lead me up my stairs and away from the knowing prying gazes of a modestly shy Bobby Sands, a jaded yet obvious romantic, Lanary Sloan and with a quick glance and an impish twinkle in her eye, both Ena and I have telepathically assessed one another’s company. I more than willingly takes Alastar’s strong hand in mine. “See the men out will ya Ena?’’       When we are out of sight of the others at the top of my creaking staircase Alastar gallantly bends and begins to kiss every one of my fingers.

      “Are ya sure ‘bout this Kiera?” I bring his hand up and fingers intertwined, kiss his fuzzed knuckles in return.

     ’’Aye Alastar.’’

     ‘’This will change everything ya know.’’ I lead him into my parent’s bedroom as the four-post double bed is the only one of formidable size. Shame begins to fester and a flush gathers upon my cheeks. As though he is acutely aware of my moral dilemma he whispers, ‘’Kiera, I love ya. If you’d have me, I will marry ya tomorrow.’’ I gasp the words too surreal to comprehend and as my eyelashes flutter in disbelief, he kisses me gently and sweetly as though we have all the time in the world to savor and explore each other.

     My parent’s marital bed’s frame heaves and groans over the weight of our two bodies as we tumble upon it. Alastar, in mid embrace, whispers in a guttural tone with his pronounced northern accent becoming unintelligible, his hot breath against my glistening swelling lips, “If yer Da was with us I’d be certain to ask him for his beautiful only daughter’s hand.’’ My eyes swell with teardrops and as they cascade down my cheeks, he kisses away once more, the sadness, yet my bodily fluid is culminating with his intense and passionate embrace. Our clothing falls artfully in a multicolored heap to the floor, as each article is singularly removed and we take the time to regard one another’s naked form. As he takes off my leggings, I lie still on my back watching the disintegrating roofing tiles pursing and leaking in a puddle by the window. I wince painfully; caught in the rush of the moment for I have momentarily forgotten the nasty wound on my otherwise healthy upper thigh. The room is shadowed and dimly lit from the exposed light peering through the perimeter of the closed door. The rain pounds its ever-steady drum on the thin glass as it obscures any outdoor visibility beyond a few feet. My heart is thudding so loudly I am grateful for the ambient reciprocation the weather has created. The company of a naked man’s body in my grasp is so foreign though exciting, that I yearn to touch him further. My dainty, exploratory fingers pull his damp slightly oily hair and I massage the nape of his neck as I brazenly coax his head even closure to mine. Our physical proximity is so intertwined I cannot decipher whose writhing limb is whose. My womanly apex opens as he tears my legs apart with his immense strength. The coupling is a swift passionate one from the ease of my readiness and our burgeoning love. My trust is with Alastar and I allow him to guide my unskilled hands as he brings me to an inaugural crest of pleasure. In our hushed physical expression we affirm our abiding and binding love in feathered kisses with my lips colliding with the salt-sweated peaks and valleys of Alastar’s torso. My hunger is intensifying as his passionate embrace bears down into me, his exploration insistent yet receptive to my acknowledgements and sighs of encouragement and I fall into a deep warm sleep, after a passionate post coital embrace, being satiated and exhausted.

     My young limbs feel strange and anew when I awaken. I try to stretch and curl my toes with exulted pleasure, as I lie completely naked on the gently heaving and sparsely haired chest of my sleeping partner. I had fallen asleep rather quickly alongside him, not bothering to check on Ena and the men whom when I last saw them were deposited in my parlor room. I pray that my friend used her wits and sent them home. Guilt and disgust piques for a moment for the embarrassment I may have caused my fragile houseguest. Perhaps it is the recklessness of my young age but this by far, is the most adventurous and amoral I have ever been. Last night, I reveled in it and lived each hauntingly intense moment, but now in the predawn light I am filled with regret. What have I done? In Mother and Father’s bedroom no less! I feel something dried and chapped underneath my bare bottom and finally when I maneuver my body with the white linen covering cold and pert, blush pink nipples, I gasp. The uncomfortable sediment is blood that has dried and stained the consummately hand laundered sheets. It is my own blood.

     Whilst allowing the consumed Alastar to remain sleeping, I sneak a final glance at his fine feathered, black eyelashes that rest upon no longer intimidating sharp cheekbones now in sleep repose. My heart quickens at his refinement and though the room is cool, my half clothed body radiates with desirous heat. Memories flash as the night’s torrent of sensations whirr through me. Reaching down with a creak in the floorboard, I run my hand from his high forehead to his crown, lavishing each silken, raven strand through my fingers as though I truly am touching a luxurious fabric. I stretch forward and kiss the top of his forehead, my lips forming a wet print on his shiny, smooth skin.

     I make my way into the cold morning air of the bathroom and sit myself into the bathtub allowing the steaming hot water to sanitize and purify me from last night. Having grabbed at a singular book of Irish myths and deities from a packed box in my bedroom, I lie back in the bronzed claw footed porcelain tub. As I relax in the water, I leisurely flip the pages serendipitously, settling upon the tale of the Irish Goddess Danu, one of our oldest deities, having been the mother of the gods and the Tuatha de Dannan, the first tribe to inhabit our emerald isle. She is the goddess of fertility and abundance; she is also known to be an earth goddess of wind and wisdom. My stomach intuitively flutters signally to me this is of importance and I drop the well-read book into the steaming five inches water.  This has been my first time. I can’t be!

     I delicately cleanse my no longer virginal body in the water, adding scalding liters every few minutes to maintain the shallow level, steam temperature.  Ena knocks on the door and I am in a compromised position by the time I have allowed her entry as I had rescinded out of the purifying baptismal to put on a knee length black skirt over thick woolen gray stockings and also had avoided the mirror to quell the vanity that Alastar’s compliments had bestowed upon me in my undress.

     Ena’s slightly more alert eyes plead with me for details but she is too polite to outright ask what has transpired in the upstairs of this definitely not soundproof abode. I cast my eyes downward as she silently begins to braid my thick, still moist tendrils.

     ’’Ya got the most beautiful of the Irish hair, Kiera.  Enough of the red for ya to know yer homeland, but not so much ya flare in the dark shadows of the moonlit sky.’’

     ’Thanks Ena.’’ I smile lavishing in the massage of the brush. “Me mom would brush me hair for me.’’

    ‘’Aye, I know she did. So did mine. ‘’Our shared loss is of such great magnitude that the most miniscule of daily routines incites a raw flare-up of retrospection.

CHAPTER 35: Cu do chu ri leigeadh (Hold back your do till the dear falls)

     Lanary Sloan…Is it time Father? My father is Daghda the distinct figure in the mist hovering watching all of his children. He is the good god and while the many of his children are responsible for singular aspects of the earthly realm such as my sister Brighit the goddess of the countryside and my all too powerful brother Lear the god of the sea. I am the greatest of all of Daghda’s offspring for I am the god of everything Lugh; the misty clouds in the sky, the rain soaked grass below, and the swells of saltwater that sway and crash upon craggy rocks. I am the god of life itself, a unified deity.

     I heard them like children embarking upon a new adventure, whispering, exploring, and yearning as I respectfully left the Flanagan threshold. I am so quiet I believe myself to be invisible. There are no more questions to be asked of me. Let them disregard me for the old man who has cloaked his skin to me, Lugh. As I am life itself, I am permitted to give it and to take it. A new life has been given to Kiera and Alastar and now the bronze scale must be balanced.

CHAPTER 36: An neach nach cinn na chadal cha chinn e na dhuisg

(He who will not prosper in his sleep, will not prosper when awake)

     Alastar Taggart…There is a face before me and as much as I try, I cannot make out the features of a lilting profile because the muddled chalk lines morph and list as though they are a boat on a troubled sea. This nauseates me with seasickness but I am drawn to the hominid entity out of eye’s reach. I focus with all my flawed capacity as my brother’s boyish image appears and disappears like a sunburst breaking through clouds.

     “Quinn where have ya been?” There is no answer to my question, just another mutation, but this time worn antlers and an animalistic definition transform what is left of his handsome, youthful image. I do not fear the man with bearded jaw and antlers breaking through his long maned scalp clawing in either direction and as he moves closer and closer the antlers commence to eerily scratch the unseen surface between us. The thorny sound multiplies in pitch till my eardrums plead for a reprisal but awful; coarse laughter joins in the noise as though a man is roaring through a mouth of heavy dirt.

     I awake with sweat having drenched Kiera’s sheets, which I have entangled like a noose around my neck and Bobby Sands is standing half way through an open wooden door, his hand still grasping the brass nob. “Mate, I thought I heard a scream! Ya all right?’’ I look at him lost in a dreamland in need of a search party. My mouth is dry and my words fumble clumsily and spill hastily as I regain my composure.

     ‘’Aye yer a fine man. Did Lanary and ya leave last night?’’ I feign an insincere grin. “Have ya seen me girl?”

     Bobby’s wide set eyes, the color of lightly brewed tea, crinkle in amusement. ‘’Aye we did…just came back this morn. That’s all it took to run Kiera away, aye?’’

      I sit up swinging my branch like legs to the icy cold floor and the beds creaks again, perhaps wistful it’s bedmates are abandoning it. I look down at my glistening muscles bonded tight to dense bones and pick up my jeans.

    “Bobby how ‘bout a cup o tea?’’

      His congenial demeanor is both naïve but loyally kind. ’’Aye see ya downstairs.’’

     ’’Find me Kiera!’’ My request drifts down the stairs Bobby has descended.  Faint footsteps are heard and I hear a giggle the sound of chimes being kissed by the wind with a faint male grunt of recognition. At once wide set almond eyes are perched in the doorframe as the mid-morning light pours in from the lone window framing her face angelically. I steal a glimpse at the delicate frame of her body. It was just the night before when I had consumed her virtue and organically without a single further thought. My morning’s passion ignites swiftly and with mechanical precision. I grin as a blush of awareness pools on the crest of her cheek. “Thought I ran ya off,’’ I snidely bemuse, striding across the worn floor boards in a few long legged strides.

     ’’Ya forgot Mr. Taggart. T’is me home and ya are me guest.” Kiera is dressed in a somewhat formal black skirt over gray darned stocking, topped by a white, crisp dress shirt. The skirt obscures the rise and curve of her bottom and the stockings are thick and look to be in need of further repair or replacement. The white shirt is tucked into her skirt emphasizing her delicate waist so painstakingly cylindrical my arms itch to clasp and encompass her with my protracted embrace. The top button of the shirt appears to have been forgotten and her clavicle glistens like a smooth nectarine bare of fuzz, silken and supple to the touch. Her fingers dance a shy ballet in the sunburst of dust floating through the empty space before her. Her eyes dart everywhere in the room but to me and I awkwardly assess the situation.

     “Would ya like for me to leave?’’

      A hot chafed mumble spills from her dry lips, which she is anxiously licking to moisten. ‘’Perhaps.’’

      Alarm springs to the fine hairs at the base of my neck and profusely, goose bumps begin their warning cascade down the surface of my skin. I look down at my naked forearm mimicking her sheepish doubt; my flesh looks like a plucked chicken as I rub absently attempting to bring circulation.

     “What I mean is, just today, I just need some time to think.” Kiera stutters and spits the words out all in one breath.