Tag: death

Arrows

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Arrogant and stupid, that’s what I was. And being what I was, I
failed to stop the last great war. I hesitated. I waited too long.
One night I was startled awake by drums in the small hours
before dawn. Indians used hollow tree trunks that were remarkably
loud, hitting them with sticks of about the length and diameter of a
forearm. The women started a hellish racket that would have
awakened Lazarus.
I went outside and found the fires blazing and a sizable group of
women walking rhythmically about in single file, each with a hand
on the shoulder of the next in the firelight.
Some men stood while their women painted their bodies with
crushed onoto seeds mixed with ashes and adorned them with
feathers. Others were ready and gathering their weapons. There was
tension in the air. I made my way through the confusion in search of
someone who could explain what was happening.
I went to Guacaipuro’s hut and saw him standing very still at the
entrance, his gaze lost in the distance. Beside him, Baruta, painted
and feathered, waited unobtrusively. Someone tapped me on the
arm. Pariamanaco was breathing fast, a stern expression on his
boyish face.
“What’s happening?” I asked him.
“War.”
“Who? Where?” I asked.
“The city they founded.”
“Santiago de León de Caracas?”
He shrugged, curving the corners of his mouth. Those words
meant nothing to his ears.
“I must talk to your uncle.”
“He ordered to be left alone. He doesn’t want to talk. All caciques
will bring their men. They will meet at Maracapana. It is too late for
talk.”
“Maracapana?”
He shrugged. He didn’t know where that was. He had never been
more than a few miles from the confines of the village.
Gaucaipuro stood while Urquía ceremoniously placed a jaguar’s

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The Unquiet Land

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“For both of us, of course. And for Michael and Mother Ross.”
They had been standing in the main street. Now they began to walk slowly down the hill towards the square. Caitlin felt easier when Padraig could not look into her eyes and read the secrets there.
“Caitlin, I do not believe you can answer for your father anymore,” Padraig said. “A rift has opened between Finn MacLir and me that will be difficult to close. I was once like a son to him. I am a stranger now. And the love we used to share is all on my side.”
“Padraig, please don’t say that. Finn MacLir could never disown you. He’s not a vindictive man.”
“He’s a proud man. With a hatred of religion,” Padraig argued. “I represent religion. I preach the truth of God that Finn despises. As he denies God, he denies me. As he despises the truth of God he despises me.”
“You are taking everything much too personally, Padraig.” Caitlin felt herself becoming angry with the priest. She thought he was being unreasonable. “My father doesn’t despise you. He loves you, Padraig. In many ways he still regards you as the son he never had. You even more than Michael. There was a bond between you and my father that is still as strong as ever. He admires your achievement, Padraig. He gives you full credit for everything you have done. But he is disappointed that you chose to be a priest. You could have been a doctor, a lawyer, an accountant. You could have gone into any of a dozen different professions. But you entered the priesthood and you can’t expect a man like my father to be pleased about that.”
“I did not choose the priesthood, Caitlin,” Padraig said. “God chose me to be a priest. He has work for me to do. And I believe that part of that work is to save the soul of Finn MacLir. God sent Finn to save my life for Him. In return I must save the eternal life of Finn MacLir. God wants him, Caitlin. God is the good shepherd fretting over the loss of one sheep. He has sent me home here to bring that lost sheep to the fold.” Padraig grew excited. “That is my mission, Caitlin. To bring Finn MacLir to accept Christianity. And not Finn alone. I am hoping that you too will reaffirm your faith in God. You must, Caitlin. You cannot continue to live in darkness, in hopelessness.” A fanatic gleam shone in Padraig’s wild, dark eyes. “Could that be what is troubling you?”
They stopped again in the village square.
Caitlin realised that she was standing in Padraig’s shadow. It was a normal shadow, elongated by the lowering sun, but not monstrous, not threatening. Out of the shadow truth had come.

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The Circle

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The next morning the sun has risen ten feet above the horizon when Emily opens
her eyes and sees Talal standing on the balcony, listening to the birds in the trees
and shrubs in the grounds below. The sun is very bright, and she has to cover her
eyes for a while until she gets used to the brilliance. The sky is blue and clear; she
gets up and walks to the door and hugs him from behind.
“You are up, sweetie; slept okay?”
“Yes, my love, I slept well. I’m thinking of my family; we are going to visit
them soon. I wonder how they’ll look after seven years. I wonder whether they
will recognize me. I feel so much apprehension and such a strong feeling of
anticipation to see them.”
“Oh, Talal. Of course, they’ll recognize you! What a thing to say.”
He turns and hugs her; they kiss and it seems as if the birds in the shrubs and
trees sound louder than before.
“It’s so bright,” she says, cuddling in his arms like a little chick under the
wings of her mother.
“Welcome to Iraq, my love. This is the brightness we fall in love with until
there comes a time when one wishes some clouds would come and relieve us of
it. When we go to the water I assure you that that is going to be the best
experience you’ll ever have.”
“Scuba diving?”
“I can’t promise you scuba diving.However, I promise you a very pleasant day.”
Emily notices another separate building to the left and asks, “What’s that
building used for, Talal?”
“That is the maids’ quarters and perhaps the guards’.”
The villa sits on a huge portion of land located in the northern part of
Baghdad in an exclusive area, with many villa-style homes for the most affluent
of Iraq. Ibrahim and Mara have been living here for over thirty years; they built it
during the Saddam years.
Their day unfolds slowly and lazily, exactly as they feel after the long trip. All
the beautiful, different images have gradually unfolded since the previous
afternoon when they landed in Bagdhad. Emily absorbs everything deep into her
memory, knowing well these images will stay with her for the rest of her life. Yet,
something inside tells her she will come again to this country and that the next
time it will be for a longer period. And that somehow makes her feel okay; it
doesn’t upset her as it would have at the beginning of her relationship with Talal.
She is, after all, prepared to go to the end of the earth with this man, and even if at
some time they part, and a younger woman steals him from her embrace, he’ll
remain with her forever as a sweet memory, exactly as all these beautiful images
that are unfolding before her.

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Poodie James

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couldn’t discuss a pending case and that there’s no pending case to
discuss. Typical Williams. It might even be true. Later, the chief
went down to the train wreck and talked with the Great Northern
inspector. That doesn’t mean there’s a connection.”
Winifred searched her memory of Angie Karn’s call.
“I told you that George Pearson’s name came up the other day.”
“I gave him a call,” Sonny said. “After it became obvious that I
knew about his meeting with the mayor, he told me that he agreed
to appear at the hearing. When I asked him what he knew about
Poodie James, he said that Poodie taught his daughter to swim and
is fond of him. Cute. I pressed him about whether Torgerson is
taking direct action against Poodie. I don’t think he knows.”
“We have run a story—only an announcement, really—about
the fact that the council will call a hearing, “ Winifred said. “It’s
probably time to have someone do a backgrounder on hobos in the
valley. The problem, of course, is that if we do, it gives credibility
to Torgerson’s strange little crusade.”
“Nonetheless,” Sonny said, “he’s pursuing it, the council is
involved, the story is alive. It’s news, Mother.”
“Oh, I know it. What an irritating man this Torgerson is. Keep
me up to date.”
Chief Darwin Spanger walked slowly between rows of trees in
his father’s orchard, pausing now and then to examine a cluster of
apples, clear a ditch, adjust a prop. At the orchard’s edge he came
into the last of the day’s sunlight pouring through the notch in the
saddle shaped rock formation at the top of the western ridge that
cradled the valley. Chill air sliding down the slopes met the
warmth rising off the orchard, and the leaves whispered their evening
song. The sun bathed Darwin’s face. He closed his eyes. His
mind began to clear itself of Torgerson, Poodie James, the train
wreck, the long, long day. When he looked up, he saw three figures
making their way along the shale fall below the rock, moving in
and out of light and shadow. Dan, the yellow Lab, took a seat
beside him, ears alert to the hikers’ laughter trickling down the
foothill. Darwin scratched the old dog behind the ears, thinking of…

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The Unquiet Land

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“What’s wrong down there, Tom?”
“Ach it’s yourself, Caitlin.” Tom turned to look at her and Nora with eyes scrunched up against the sun. “Oh they just fished a body out of the harbour.”
Michael, Caitlin thought immediately, and her face paled with fright. “Who… who was it?” she asked in a faltering voice.
“It was your Michael that pulled him out,” Tom declared, as if anxious to be the first to tell her.
“Pulled who out?” Caitlin asked.
“Carney’s youngest boy. Joe-Joe.”
“Is he dead?” Nora asked fearfully.
“I don’t know.” Tom spat tobacco on to the wharf. “Dr Starkey’s down there now.”
“What happened?” Caitlin and Nora, looking down on the boat, could see Michael now. He was bent over in the middle of the group with his hands on his knees.
“Well, I didn’t see it myself,” said Tom. “Seamus Slattery just a while ago came up from the boat saying there was nothing he could do, so he was going to the bar for a drink. As far as he could tell, it seems that young Joe-Joe was fishing over the side of Carney’s boat—your father’s boat—when he fell overboard into the water. Carney was in the galley doing woodwork and he didn’t hear the little fellow calling for help. It was God’s doing that sent Michael Carrick to the boat to ask Carney to do something for your father. He fished Joe-Joe out. I think he jumped in and lifted the boy into one of the rowing boats and then called Carney to bring a rope.”
“Joe-Joe can’t swim then?”
“Oh I dare say he can splash about a bit. But he’s only what? Four? Five? Six? Damned if I can keep track of the youngsters anymore.” Tom spat again. He pushed a gnarled, arthritic hand under his cap and scratched his white head. “I dare say he panicked.”
On the boat Michael straightened up. He saw Caitlin and Nora and waved but he did not smile.
One by one the other men unfolded like ferns and almost hid the slight figure of Dr Starkey. Caitlin saw only the round, bald patch on the back of the doctor’s head. Then someone lifted a bundle wrapped in blankets and carried it over his shoulder from the outer boat across the middle one to the inner boat by the wharf-side. Others reached out hands to help steady the man—Joe Carney himself—as he clambered over the sides of the boats…

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The Circle

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Rassan points as they pass an inspiring, colossal structure, “There is our new
parliament building; it’s only four years old.”
“It looks like quite a bit has been accomplished in the years I have been
away,” Talal comments.
“Yes, it has; the only place that still lags behind is the eastern part of the city.
That area will take the longest; that is where the poorest people live. It’s always
the same, Talal; they’re the ones who wait the longest. The rest of the city is not
too bad. One can say life is getting back to normal; after all, the war ended some
years ago.”
Emily listens, eager to hear as much about this fascinating place as she can.
They arrive at Ibrahim’s at 5:15 p.m. a servant opens the doors of the car after
Rassan drives through the big iron gates. They get out, and Talal signals to Emily
not to worry about her things, as the servants look after those. They enter the
foyer and Emily is left with her mouth half open at the size and grandeur of the
mansion.
Ibrahim with his wife Mara come to greet them.
“Welcome! Welcome to Baghdad,” Ibrahim says, after he kisses Emily’s
hand. “This is Mara, my wife. Mara, this is Emily Roberts from Los Angeles; her
daughter Jennifer is our son’s sweetheart.”
The two women hug and exchange pleasant words.
“Welcome to our humble home,” Mara says to Emily, who is in awe at the
magnificence surrounding her.
Ibrahim hugs Talal and they exchange kisses, as is customary.
“Welcome, my dear Talal; howwas your trip?How is my Hakim?”
“He’s fine, dear uncle. He sends you and Mara his greetings, hugs and lots of
kisses; he’s doing very well. He’s excited about the company he’s taking control
of.” Talal gives a brief summary.
Emily, who’s hearing for the first time about the control of Hakim’s company,
turns to Talal with questioning eyes; he signals her to let it be for now.
Mara wants to take them to their room to freshen up and rest for a while
before dinner; her servant has already taken their bags upstairs. Rassan says
goodbye for now and leaves. Talal stays with Ibrahim as he knows the old man
will want to ask more questions, things about Los Angeles and Hakim.
They go to the study and Talal relays the message from Bevan and all the
other news Hakim wants his uncle to hear. Talal asks, “How are you doing with
your health, my dear uncle?”
“I’m doing very well, my dear boy. The medication seems to work well, and I
haven’t sufferred from any adverse side-effects. Only time will tell how effective the
medication is. It’s in the hands of Allah; his wish will take care of me.”

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Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

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the ship’s rail while Brother Berach bathed his fevered face. Hrafen climbed aboard
in a fury of curses. First, he picked up the bucket of water Berach had been using and
dumped the contents on the two monks. Then he grabbed the protesting Berach by
the back of his tunic, swung him around, and flung him against the rail. The old man
lay unmoving on the deck.
Brother Keallach had taken a few moments from the hot job of caulking to
come on deck to relieve himself over the side. On seeing what was happening between
Hrafen and the two elderly Brothers, he bounded to the prow to face the
bully. Though he shook with anger at such an unwarranted attack, he held himself
in check while the Norseman continued his tirade. When Hrafen bellowed that the
two old thralls must have been responsible for the ram’s escape in the first place,
Keallach, who had seen how the animal bolted the moment it was released from
its pen on board ship, could neither speak nor understand the Norse tongue. As it
was, the two men stood glaring at one another. The Norseman picked up the empty
bucket and flung it with all his might toward the open sea. Then he stomped off to
the far end of the knarr.
Finten, Rordan, Ailan and Lorcan came on deck, along with Atall their guard, to
see what was going on. But Kyrri was sufficiently deaf that he had not been disturbed
by the ruckus on deck. He just carried on caulking and did not come up until he
noticed his helpers were gone.
Father Finten knelt in a slowly forming puddle of blood to hold the old man, now
limp in his arms. Brother Berach’s neck hung at an odd angle, blood trickling from
his open mouth. Rordan and Ailan crossed themselves and dropped to their knees
in silent shock, tears streaming from their eyes. Keallach stood glaring at the bully,
holding his own anger.
Brother Lorcan did not kneel. He looked at Keallach, turned to follow his gaze toward
the killer and slowly, deliberately walked toward him. By the time they thought
to hold him back, it was too late. Hrafen picked him up with both hands around his
throat, shook him violently and heaved him over the side.

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The Unquiet Land

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and, unlike Padraig, who did his best with what physical strength he had, Michael was a farmer to his finger-tips: strong and tireless, with an instinctive knowledge of the land and its needs, bred into him through countless generations of farming ancestry. For these very different characteristics Caitlin loved them both.
Michael was late today and that was unlike him. He knew how much Caitlin hated unpunctuality and he never showed up late for anything without good cause. Something had delayed him. Caitlin stood up from the rock on which she had been sitting and started along the footpath to the harbour, hoping she would meet Michael on the way. A strong breeze from the sea flicked her 1ong, black hair and flappered her skirt like a flag on a pole as she strolled along the path. Tussocks of grass bent over in the breeze like peasants in potato fields. Seagulls sliced the wind with bladed wings. Shags skimmed over the waves, and gannets plunged for fish like suicides. The air smelt of sea-wrack and salty pools.
Then Caitlin thought she heard her name being called. She stopped and turned and saw Nora hurrying towards her. She waited till Nora arrived beside her, breathless and smiling, almost laughing.
“You seem to be in good form today, Nora,” Caitlin said.
Nora linked her arm through Caitlin’s, and they dandered on towards the harbour. “Oh Caitlin, Flynn’s back. He’s back for good. We’re not going to live in Dublin after all.”
“Well, no wonder you’re in good form,” Caitlin said. “I’m glad you’re not leaving. I’d have been lost without you.”
The girls sauntered along in silence, arm in arm, almost mirror images of each other, save that Caitlin wore an old blue cardigan and Nora a brown, woollen coat. An unbiased observer might have said that Nora was the prettier of the two. There was a hardness to the line of Caitlin’s mouth and a certain insensitivity in her eyes, both of which were absent from the gentler, softer features of her sister. Otherwise they bore the physical characteristics of twin girls. As they approached Purdy’s Point they stopped to watch the waves break on the black dike and the wrack-covered rocks. Nora kept her arm entwined in Caitlin’s but she said nothing.
“What’s on your mind, Nora?” Caitlin asked at last.
Nora hesitated, her eyes still fixed on the choppy sea. Then she turned to Caitlin and said, “I was wondering about you and Michael.”
“What about me and Michael?” Caitlin asked, though she knew well what was coming.

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Arrows

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When he had finished with my face, he gave me an appreciative
look and nodded his satisfaction. Then, he extended the gourd to me
and told me to do the same over the rest of my body. I was reluctant
at first, but after a spell he left, and I began to feel the itching ease.
Good enough for me, I thought, and proceeded to do as I was told.
I was squeezing the last of the sap and applying it to my groin
when Guacaipuro appeared, still wearing his perpetual scowl.
“Mareoka,” he said.
Apparently he was resuming our conversation. He extended his
hand, palm upward. I looked at it stupidly and then at his
countenance, failing to grasp his meaning.
“Mareoka,” he repeated. He thrust his hand toward me again. I
felt as though there was a tiny monk running amok inside my head,
looking in every corner for something related to this one magic word
that was the gateway to his witchcraft.
“Ah! Mareoka!” I slapped my forehead, as if I suddenly
understood.
For the first time, Guacaipuro smiled, as if he had finally won me
over. From the pocket of my habit I extracted my copy of the New
Testament that he had previously rejected by tossing it onto the
ground. I offered it to him again. “Mareoka,” I said, solemnly.
If I was agreeing that Mareoka was superior, it was only to allow
me the freedom to prove to him otherwise. I hoped God would
forgive me.
“Tamanoa,” I said, pointing to my friend.
Guacaipuro was more interested in the strangeness of the book. I
seized the opportunity to take advantage of my newfound
respectability by untying the ropes. Guacaipuro did not appear to
object. I moved slowly, deliberately, until Tamanoa was able to
stand beside me, free.
Guacaipuro shook his head, dissatisfied. He took the rope and
tied Tamanoa’s wrist to my wrist. This was his compromise
solution. I must not allow my servant to run away. As soon as I
gleaned his intent, I yanked hard on the rope, jerking Tamanoa
beside me.

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The Unquiet Land

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“He’s given them up. He doesn’t like Dublin very much anymore. He wants to stay in the village and work in the quarry again. He says that’s the only life for him.”
“Oh Nora, that’s wonderful news.” Mother Ross was almost weeping. “I didn’t want you to go to Dublin. It’s so far away. I think that was worrying your father too. He was beginning to think you’d leave and he’d never see you or Dermot again.”
“He’s silly, Mammy.”
“He’s old, Nora. You said so yourself.”
The two fell silent, each distracted by separate thoughts of Finn MacLir.
Then Mother Ross sighed, sipped her tea, and stirred in another spoonful of sugar. “There’s shortbread in the biscuit tin by your elbow.”
“No thank you. The tea’s fine on its own.”
“Push the tin over here then,” Mother Ross said. “I’ll have some.”
Nora did as her stepmother requested. “I think you’re eating too much, Mammy.”
“Oh, don’t you start, Nora. I get enough of that from Dr Starkey.” Mother Ross took a bite from her wedge of shortbread, ate it with obvious relish and then said, “So Flynn’s decided to stay in the village. The big city’s not for him after all.”
“No. He keeps thinking he ought to be in Dublin. His Uncle Finnegan there is very fond of him. But every time he goes to Dublin he gets homesick for the mountains. He’s up at the quarry now to see about keeping his job there. He’s been in Dublin since the general election in December, over two months now. But they’ll take him back. He’s a good worker. He’s a Drumard stone-man, Mammy. He’ll always be a Drumard stone-man.”
Or stone dead. The thought rushed unbidden into Mother Ross’s head, but unlike the voluble palm reader her tongue refused to give it utterance. Nevertheless she felt impelled to say something, if only to warn Nora. Perhaps she should talk to her husband and remind him that his responsibilities to her and their son were greater than his commitment to Republican idealism.
“I’d be a lot happier,” she said, “if Flynn Casey wasn’t also Rebel Casey.” Mother Ross clasped her stepdaughter’s hand to emphasise the seriousness of her words. “Nora, I’m very fond of Flynn. I know that a lot of people don’t like him, and perhaps some of them have good cause not to. But, Nora, there’s a mood in the country. An ugly mood. If there’s going to be trouble, Flynn’s going to be mixed up in it, and I’m afraid for both of you. And for little Dermot.”

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