Parsnips and Paws
Maire was cleaning the last of the parsnips when Thom came in early for the evening meal. She glanced up, surprised to see him. One look and the smile faded from her face. It was time. She wiped her hands on her apron and set a protective hand on Conn's head as he stood by her side in the kitchen.
"So, yer' to be leavin' then, come the rise?
"That's the way of it, Maire," replied Thom evenly. He saw her compulsively scratching Conn's rangy head. That blonde hound had taken root with her. He should not have let him stay in the house so long, but he was such a comfort to her and it had been too hard to ask her to let go. Now it seemed it would be harder still to ask her to let Conn go on the hunt in the morning.
"Will ye be taking Conn with ye?"
"Aye, he's one of the pack, and I've a doubt that young Coll would be much of a hunter without him. I've the notion those two hunt as a pair, odd as it seems."
"I had the mind that Coll and Cait were hide-bound now,"
"I canna' be takin Cait along. She's too far with pup, tho' I canna see how that can be. Still she's heavy and I need her here with you if her time comes. So she will stay and Conn must go." He said this while taking off his jacket and turned from her so he did not have to see the disappointment in her eyes.
"Will ye be gone long?"
"As long as it takes to get a decent amount of meat and fur for trade and larder. We havena' got what we need to see us through, and this is the last trip I think we will be able to make 'fore the season ends. I will be as fast as I can, Maire." He looked at her again and could not take the welling-up of sadness in the small room. "I best check on the others," and he left with no coat to protect him so harsh was his need to escape.
Maire looked from him to the gun that he had leaned against the wall. A shiver ran through her. She could not shake the feeling that she would not be seeing Conn again if he went along on this hunt. She started to say something and stopped, turning back to the parsnips instead. She began to slice them for the stew, methodically cleaving them into thin slivers that would boil into softness and add flavor. Her vision blurred as the unwanted tears welled. She pulled her arm across her eyes to clear them, working to steady herself with a deep breath. She heard the thump as one of the tubers hit the floor and felt the gentle nudge at her waist as Conn offered it back to her. That was her undoing. She dropped the knife to sit on the floor and hug the hound to her. Conn towered over her in this position, his head bowed to her shoulder as she ran her hands along his neck and cried.
The blonde lowered himself to the ground and inched his way into her lap, settling there as her tears abated, and they lay with Maire draped over him like a protective blanket. Which is how Thom found them when he came back in from the pens. He left them as they were and finished the parsnips, adding them to the bubbling pot, not even bothering to wash his hands. Then he sat in Maire's reading chair and waited for her to come to her senses.
Dinner was a quiet and painful affair, with Conn unable to find a comfortable spot between the two of them. Eventually the hound gave up and settled near the fire. It was as if he could sense the discord and, not wanting to choose one or the other of the humans, had stepped out of the equation. Maire did the cleaning up, not giving Thom a chance to support her with even the slightest bit of help as he usually would.
She took up her book and the hound made its way to her chair. Conn stared at her as she read silently for awhile and then placed one giant paw on the book, pressing it down into her lap. Then he leveled himself out with both paws atop the book and stared right into her eyes.
"All right, ye win, ye big blonde beasty,' she smiled. She brushed the hound's paws off her lap and moved the book. Rising she went to Thom. "I'm sorry, I just have this feelin' that I won't be seeing Conn again if he goes with ye, but I know he must go." She settled into Thom's lap then with a sigh. "Tis the way, as ye say."
Thom smiled and held his wife. He had a good life.
In the morn, she packed his bags and prepared the kit for the hounds, a few odds and ends for small injuries and a short book, just in case Conn persuaded Thom to read. She knew it was pure fancy and Thom would certainly chide her for the extra weight, but the hound loved the sound of words. She was truly going to miss both of her "men" as she had come to think of them. As Thom prepared the hounds from the pen, she took Conn aside. She brushed him down with her hands and fed him the remains of their hasty early breakfast. "I just want ye to know that whatever comes, ye have brought a light to my life, my blonde beast. Be safe, Conn, and if ye can, come home to me." Then she opened the door and let him out to join the pack. He turned and gave her a nudge, then ran to Coll.
Thom was having no end of problems getting the young grey's attention. Coll was nose to nose with Cait, who remained in the pen. It did not seem to matter what volume or pitch Thom used to call the pack into order, Coll simply was not listening. It was with great relief that Thom saw Conn join the younger pup and turn him toward the pack, even nipping him in the rear to get him to move.
Finally, as one they set out. As they neared the edge of the forest with the last view of the cottage and its clearing, Thom turned to look back. Maire was there in the pen with Cait giving her a good rub. He smiled. Conn and Coll were watching also, some of the tension between them releasing as Coll saw Maire and Cait together.
Then the vision was lost and the pack was off on the final hunt.
Its Cold Out Here....but Beautiful....
Friday, July 29, 2011
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Participles and Portents (53)
Bindings and Pawprints
"Ach now, Conn, it's na' time for readin'. Go now and put the book down, ye' silly hound," laughed Maire. She had never before seen a hound with such a taste for being read to. It was such a funny thing how the beasty always curled up at her feet as soon as she sat down with her book. And now he had taken to bringing it to her in the kitchen as soon as she had wiped the last of the breakfast dishes. It didna' seem to matter to the hound that she might have things to be doin'. Ever since that first cup of tea and the opening bit of Swift, he was hard on her heels for the book. She looked down at the shaggy blonde head, not so far away from her chin as one might think, and smiled. He was truly a comfort, that he was indeed. What would it hurt to read just a few pages before she started the wash? She picked up her now cold tea and went off toward her chair knowing Conn would follow, the book carefully nipped in his teeth, lips pulled back as if he was trying to keep his slather off it.
She sat and adjusted her skirts and then took the proffered book from the obviously expectant hound. Conn's blue eyes were sparkling and the tail was wagging to a beat she had never quite seen before, but it was merry indeed. She was surprised to find the binding only the slightest bit damp. She had expected a bit more drool after he had carried it around for so long. Perhaps he really had been working hard to keep the book dry. She pulled the ribbon marker up and opened to the page, slipping comfortably back in the seat and began to read. Conn performed the usual ritual of walking in circles and then settled with his head on his outstretched paws where he could keep his gaze focused on her face. They were just at the place where the little people were scampering about, pinning their giant down, when Thom game blustering through the door. He stopped as if he had hit a brick wall when he saw his wife all cozied up with her book so early in the day.
"Is everythin' alright?" he asked.
"Just fine" she smiled.
"Are ye' certain? Is there anythin' I should be knowin?" he queried cautiously.
"Och, no, I'm just of a mind to read to the pup here for a bit, never ye' mind. What has ye back in the house in such a blither?"
"I can't find me rifle," he mumbled still a bit bemused to see her not up and about.
"I put it out on the porch last night. I wasna' feelin' comfortable with it in the house."
"I keep it in the house regular."
"I know, but I was of a mind last night that it was a dangerous thing. It kept makin' me shudder to see it there so I set it out. A woman's got a right to feel safe in her home Thom." With that last comment she tucked her head back down as if she were reading the book and did not glance back up at him, though he stared at her a long while before turning for the door and his "dangerous" weapon.
Glad that he had not made more of her odd behavior from the night before, she began to read again, but soon the words trailed off. Her mind just could not stay with the story. She kept remembering how much the rifle had bothered her. She had felt such a cold chill when she passed between it and Conn the night before and not just the one time, at least three times o'er the course of the evening, until she couldna' stand it and put the cold metal and its harsh breath outside where it would leave her senses alone. There was something that did not bode well between that gun and the hound and she didna' want it near Conn. Yet she couldna' find a way to explain this to her Thom that she thought he would understand. It was more than likely that he would think it was her time and laugh himself silly at her being a woman again. Men could be outright frustrating when they refused to accept an intuition.
She picked up the book again, thinking to try a few more pages. As she settled in the chair, Conn approached and laid one large shaggy paw on the page before her. A soft gentle touch was all the hound did, not enough to ruffle the paper or make a mark, but enough to call an end to the reading. She looked at him and scrubbed his ears good. "Fine, let's go take care of the morning chores then, ye and I."
They went out then and made their rounds with the large blonde hound trotting out in front of her. She watched the graceful lope in his stride and enjoyed the feeling of pride that they had become somehow connected. At least she felt they had. As she walked forward in his path, she noticed that the prints in front of her were oddly spaced, not offset the way you would expect, but parallel as if both front feet were landing together and the rear doing the same. He was surely not running so fast as that, and really, what kind of animal leaves pawprints so strange? She followed the bizarre prints straight to the pen where she found Conn nearly nose to nose with the grey, Coll. She should have expected that as it seemed Conn always found a way to be near that grey one. Though she couldn't really say the same for Coll. It seemed more like he was busy with Cait, who was clearly with pup now. She had a heavy belly. Maire thought she must be carrying at least three or, if not, then two huge beasties in that small frame. She left Conn at the pen and went about her other chores, getting the wash started and checking the small vegetable patch for weeds and ripe food.
As she wound her way back with an apron full of early tomatoes, she found herself surrounded by hounds. How on earth did they manage to get out of the pen? One look at Conn and Coll was all it took to get that answer. Somehow, and she was certain she would be the last to know how, those two had opened the pen. Well, it did not matter much as that was next on the list. She took the tomatoes in and left them in the sink.
Spying her still unfinished cup of tea, she wandered over to clear the dish, picking up the overturned book on the chair as she did so. It was not a good for the binding to leave the book in that position. As she slipped the ribbon marker over to put it into the page, she noticed the faintest of marks on the paper, the outline of one very large shaggy paw. She thought to dust it off and changed her mind. It seemed natural for Conn to leave his mark on the little fairy world in the book. She put in the marker and closed the book, a faint slip of a smile lighting her face.
"Ach now, Conn, it's na' time for readin'. Go now and put the book down, ye' silly hound," laughed Maire. She had never before seen a hound with such a taste for being read to. It was such a funny thing how the beasty always curled up at her feet as soon as she sat down with her book. And now he had taken to bringing it to her in the kitchen as soon as she had wiped the last of the breakfast dishes. It didna' seem to matter to the hound that she might have things to be doin'. Ever since that first cup of tea and the opening bit of Swift, he was hard on her heels for the book. She looked down at the shaggy blonde head, not so far away from her chin as one might think, and smiled. He was truly a comfort, that he was indeed. What would it hurt to read just a few pages before she started the wash? She picked up her now cold tea and went off toward her chair knowing Conn would follow, the book carefully nipped in his teeth, lips pulled back as if he was trying to keep his slather off it.
She sat and adjusted her skirts and then took the proffered book from the obviously expectant hound. Conn's blue eyes were sparkling and the tail was wagging to a beat she had never quite seen before, but it was merry indeed. She was surprised to find the binding only the slightest bit damp. She had expected a bit more drool after he had carried it around for so long. Perhaps he really had been working hard to keep the book dry. She pulled the ribbon marker up and opened to the page, slipping comfortably back in the seat and began to read. Conn performed the usual ritual of walking in circles and then settled with his head on his outstretched paws where he could keep his gaze focused on her face. They were just at the place where the little people were scampering about, pinning their giant down, when Thom game blustering through the door. He stopped as if he had hit a brick wall when he saw his wife all cozied up with her book so early in the day.
"Is everythin' alright?" he asked.
"Just fine" she smiled.
"Are ye' certain? Is there anythin' I should be knowin?" he queried cautiously.
"Och, no, I'm just of a mind to read to the pup here for a bit, never ye' mind. What has ye back in the house in such a blither?"
"I can't find me rifle," he mumbled still a bit bemused to see her not up and about.
"I put it out on the porch last night. I wasna' feelin' comfortable with it in the house."
"I keep it in the house regular."
"I know, but I was of a mind last night that it was a dangerous thing. It kept makin' me shudder to see it there so I set it out. A woman's got a right to feel safe in her home Thom." With that last comment she tucked her head back down as if she were reading the book and did not glance back up at him, though he stared at her a long while before turning for the door and his "dangerous" weapon.
Glad that he had not made more of her odd behavior from the night before, she began to read again, but soon the words trailed off. Her mind just could not stay with the story. She kept remembering how much the rifle had bothered her. She had felt such a cold chill when she passed between it and Conn the night before and not just the one time, at least three times o'er the course of the evening, until she couldna' stand it and put the cold metal and its harsh breath outside where it would leave her senses alone. There was something that did not bode well between that gun and the hound and she didna' want it near Conn. Yet she couldna' find a way to explain this to her Thom that she thought he would understand. It was more than likely that he would think it was her time and laugh himself silly at her being a woman again. Men could be outright frustrating when they refused to accept an intuition.
She picked up the book again, thinking to try a few more pages. As she settled in the chair, Conn approached and laid one large shaggy paw on the page before her. A soft gentle touch was all the hound did, not enough to ruffle the paper or make a mark, but enough to call an end to the reading. She looked at him and scrubbed his ears good. "Fine, let's go take care of the morning chores then, ye and I."
They went out then and made their rounds with the large blonde hound trotting out in front of her. She watched the graceful lope in his stride and enjoyed the feeling of pride that they had become somehow connected. At least she felt they had. As she walked forward in his path, she noticed that the prints in front of her were oddly spaced, not offset the way you would expect, but parallel as if both front feet were landing together and the rear doing the same. He was surely not running so fast as that, and really, what kind of animal leaves pawprints so strange? She followed the bizarre prints straight to the pen where she found Conn nearly nose to nose with the grey, Coll. She should have expected that as it seemed Conn always found a way to be near that grey one. Though she couldn't really say the same for Coll. It seemed more like he was busy with Cait, who was clearly with pup now. She had a heavy belly. Maire thought she must be carrying at least three or, if not, then two huge beasties in that small frame. She left Conn at the pen and went about her other chores, getting the wash started and checking the small vegetable patch for weeds and ripe food.
As she wound her way back with an apron full of early tomatoes, she found herself surrounded by hounds. How on earth did they manage to get out of the pen? One look at Conn and Coll was all it took to get that answer. Somehow, and she was certain she would be the last to know how, those two had opened the pen. Well, it did not matter much as that was next on the list. She took the tomatoes in and left them in the sink.
Spying her still unfinished cup of tea, she wandered over to clear the dish, picking up the overturned book on the chair as she did so. It was not a good for the binding to leave the book in that position. As she slipped the ribbon marker over to put it into the page, she noticed the faintest of marks on the paper, the outline of one very large shaggy paw. She thought to dust it off and changed her mind. It seemed natural for Conn to leave his mark on the little fairy world in the book. She put in the marker and closed the book, a faint slip of a smile lighting her face.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Participles and Portents (52)
Sheep and Velvet
The morning brought a day that filtered the light through the clouds like bright fingers pointing, splayed from heavenly palms to direct the eye toward the mountains and their slopes of green. The rain from the day before had left its scent in the air. This combined with the view was enough to make a person feel as if they had walked into a painting. It was rather surreal, especially given all that the trio who faced the day outside the small bed and breakfast had on their minds.
They had eaten their breakfasts with some relish, knowing that they would not be stopping for a hot lunch that day. Their plan was to drive into Glendalough and to work their way along St. Kevin's Way. According to the lady of the house, Teague O'Bryne's land adjoined the public lands and often he could be found rounding his sheep and moving them back onto his own property. They had wanted to simply drive to visit him directly, but she had insisted that Teague was not known for staying indoors. If they were to find him, especially this time o'year, it would be out and about and the view from the Way was more open than that from Teague's home. It sounded very much like a wild goose chase to all of the travelers, but they had come to speak to Teague as he was mentioned directly in Ian's journal as a "person of interest", so hiking the path was the plan. At least Fiona was pleased as they would be staying in Dun Laoghire that evening, which boasted connections to Samuel Beckett among other famous writers and she could add a bit to her travelogue. They procured sack lunches from the lady of the house and Roary paid for the wine of the prior evening, then they climbed into the car. As they drove away Lin found herself searching the treeline for birch stands. She did not see any, but perhaps they were just a bit farther back in the wood or she had simply missed them as they sped from the drive.
As the day progressed the clouds began to part and a brilliant blue sky replaced the heavenly spears of light. She was beginning to look forward to the hike they had planned, perhaps they might even find the mysterious Teague. Roary found his way to the parking area with ease and they put their packs together. Fiona clucked a bit, making sure everyone had water and the other necessities, like fully charged cell phones, suitably packed. As soon as everyone was prepared, they set off up the "Way."
It was truly a very beautiful passage. The heather was in bloom and the contrast against the green of the rolling hillocks made the scenery easy on the eye. They walked in silence, each to their own thoughts, except for Fiona, who had slipped Ian's I-pod into her pocket and was apparently enjoying one of his mellower play-lists.
Roary cast a glance at Lin, curious to see if she had regained any balance after the turmoil of the day before. She seemed to be enjoying the hike, perhaps a bit distracted, but not distraught. He wondered what really went on behind those dark eyes of hers. He supposed he would never know. That was the way of things. People could guess at what another was thinking or feeling, but they would never really know. Even when the words were shared there was still too much translation that occurred. He shook his head free of his ruminations and continued on, breathing in the fresh scent of the day and trying to lose himself in the beauty of St. Kevin's Way.
As the climb grew steeper the trio's pace slowed a bit. They stopped for some water and a bit of a rest. Fiona turned the music off long enough to note that they had been following the path for almost a full hour. Surprised that they had been hiking that long, Roary looked more fully at the surrounding area. There should be some sign soon of bordering pasture land. They began the pace again, this time with a bit more attention to the potential signs of wayward sheep. It was not too long before they spotted a small white cloud clumped low to the ground off in the distant heather. A single sheep, or so it appeared, had strayed from the fold. Checking to make sure there was no one to intercept them, made their way off the designated path and out into the field beyond. The going here was definitely rougher and the terrain grew ever steeper as they made their way toward the tiny cloud-like form.
It was rough going, with the heather tangling around their legs and other scrub catching at their heels. Lin was the first to take a tumble coming up much the worse for wear, but proving that indeed many a sheep had wandered in the area. "Och, but ye seem to have found the muck," laughed Roary. Fiona couldn't help herself and soon she was laughing as Lin tried to use the small handwipes from her pack to clean herself up a bit. Keeping a straight face, Lin took the lead and scrambled on. "Sheep-shit, wonderful," she grumbled, "Teague had best have something to say for himself." As they came up over a particularly high and rather blind hillock, Roary came face to butt-end with a stray ewe. He was so startled that he lost his footing. In an effort to catch himself he pitched forward and practically landed on the poor animal, landing himself in a far fresher pile than Lin had found. He stood, caught between laughing and grimacing, catching the twinkle in Fiona's eyes he found himself leaning toward the former and that is when all three broke out in a whale of laughter that had to have scared that poor ewe more than its near crushing did.
Lin's wipes were no help at all with the mush on his jacket and shirt, but he gave it an effort which only succeeded in getting his hands and pants legs tainted as well. He settled for an extra wipe to cleanse his hands. If two of them smelled awful, then perhaps Fiona could do the talking for them. He suggested this and it seemed to be the plan. They walked a bit more carefully after that, given that they only had one clean speaker left among them. It was about another 30 minutes before they came within site of what appeared to be a dwelling of some sort, more of a shanty or lean-to, but it had the remains of a morning fire in the ring outside. Roary felt his blood pump just a bit faster. Perhaps all the muck was going to be worth it. Hell it was already mostly worth it, just to hear Lin and Fiona laughing like that.
They approached cautiously, not trying to be perfectly quiet as that might seem sinister, but also not beating the band. They got right up next to the fire-ring and found no other evidence of human habitation at all. Feeling a bit deflated they stood for a moment contemplating the long hike back through the sheep-shit filled hillocks.
"Do ye' be needin' somethin', or are ye' just collecting muck?" came a dry old voice from behind them.
They responded in unison as if a gun had gone off at their backs, so surprised were they by the sudden intrusion into their silence. Turning they saw a wizened old man with wild wisps of red hair and a wiry red beard holding a shot gun beaded directly toward Roary's chest. It was not exactly the welcome they had hoped for.
"We were hoping to find a Teague O'Bryne. Folk have it that he's got the history of the land all stored in his head, and we have a need for a lesson or two," eased Roary with a bare brush of voice.
"Ye surely did not get yerself covered in dung just to be talking with the likes o' him."
"We have a vera' good reason to seek him out, if he would be interested in hearin' our tale,"
The man seemed to take an eternity to respond, keeping the gun leveled and his finger on the trigger. They stood there afraid to move, to breathe lest the crazy old coot take a shot at close range. Yet his eyes did appear to soften and as they did, the barrel began to drop and he slid the safety into place.
"I guess, I could listen to ye a bit at that. I would offer ye some water to clean with, but all I have is for the table so ye'll have to reekin' til ye' get back to town. Not that I mind, I live with em'." He made his way into the shanty and came out with some fold out stools. "Best have a seat, I've a feelin' this won't be short."
Fiona sat closest to Teague, though truth be told he didn't smell any better than Lin or Roary. Yet the plan had been for her to take the lead, so that was what she would do. She started by introducing the group and then wove the tale that had brought them to his shanty. It did not seem to her that the telling had taken over long, yet when she was through Teague stood to stretch as if he had been seated far too long. He strolled into the shanty and came back with a bottle and some glasses that had definitely seen cleaner days.
"That's quite the yarn. I've not a clue why you've come to me though. All I know is the history of the rebellions, the men who have come and gone from these parts, the falling of the port and such."
"My grandson had your name in his journal," Fiona interrupted, "We hoped that you might have some idea about a link with these events. Anything, really, would be helpful."
Teague offered the glasses round and when no one accepted he did not seem the least put out. He un-stopped the bottle and drank straight from it. The long swallow made a full round shape in his throat as it slid down, taking its time to find its way to his vitals, much as he took his time in answering Fiona. Lin and Roary had moved to the edge of their stools, nearly tipping them as they urged a response.
"Unless there is some connection to the wayward efforts of the men who fought those old battles, I've naught to tell ye. I have no place in me life for the fair-folk and their ways. Just keeping track of the old families, their losses and their gains, not that there were many of those mind, is enough to fill me head. I think perhaps yer young Ian was looking for somethin' else when he put me name in his book. I'm sorry fer yer troubles, but I havena' a thing to add to yer tale." He put the stopper back in the bottle and stood, folding up his stool and returning both to the shanty.
The interview was clearly over, and definitely disappointing.
"If ye don't mind a bit more challengin' a path, ye can cut about half the time off yer trek by cutting through past that stand of pine just past the pen o'er there," he motioned as he took up the shot-gun and began to walk in the opposite direction.
They stood and folded they stools. Uncertain what to do with them, they leaned them against the shanty and then followed the direction he had given them. Not a word passed between them as they began the trek back. They were about 10 minutes into the walk when it became clear that the descent was much, much more rugged than the climb they had made up to Teague's shanty. They found themselves in a narrow ravine with a very steep pitch, the walls of which began to get quite close together as they traveled onward. At one point they came upon rocks which cluttered the path, requiring them to scuttle over them like crabs or small children. When the pitch was too steep, Fiona gave up and simply sat down and began to make her way by sliding along with her hands, feet and rump firmly attached to the ground. It was better that than going head over heels like Jack or Jill was all she said. Lin and Roary soon followed her lead. By the time they managed to reach the bottom of Teague's short cut they were covered from head to toe in bits of gorse and heather, and slick with mud and what they sorely suspected was more sheep-dung.
Safely on level ground and within sight of the car-park they found themselves picking bits of their hike off each other and laughing at the sight they had become. Fiona compared them to a bunch of monkeys cleaning each other and then offered Roary a rather bruised banana from her pack. The other visitors of the Way were definitely staring at them as the trio clutched their stomachs and laughed tossing the poor banana back and forth, imitating monkeys all the way to the car. They were having such a good time that no one even thought about what condition they were in before they had climbed in and started off. It was actually the enclosed environment that reminded them.
"Eww, we smell horrible," snorted Lin. Which only served to send them off into another round of laughter. The poor banana did raise a serious concern. They were all starving. Roary drove over to the bed and breakfast and as they went they agreed that they would try to find some carry-out and eat as quickly as possible. They went in without their bags and let the mistress know they were there. Fiona asked if there might be a suitable place for them to get something to eat and got directions to a nearby establishment.
They left quickly, not wanting to leave the aroma in the house for the other guests, it would be bad enough when they came back to clean up later in the shared baths. They walked over to the building the woman had given instructions to. They were a bit surprised at the edifice, it was a large greystone, with front pillars. Entering, they could not see anything that looked like an eatery, but Fiona did see a sign near the elevator that had the name of the place she had been given. Too tired to put much effort into thinking about it and certain the woman had understood their needs, they waited for the elevator. Entering they pressed the button for the floor that had been noted, rather surprised it was on the very top. They were the only people in the elevator and that seemed a blessing, at least no one else would have to deal with their state of attire and scent.
It was not until the doors of the elevator opened that they realized what a colossal mistake they had made. There they stood, three people covered from head to toe in sheep-shit, staring out at a red-velvet restaurant with doubled vaulted ceilings, crown-moldings with gold-leaf trim, elegant and starched waiters. They were completely and utterly horrified. The maitre d' on the other hand was totally nonchalant. It was as if he dealt with people who rolled in foul-smelling things every day. He greeted them as if they were related to the Queen herself and rather than seating them in as far a corner as he could find, he sat them in the very center of the restaurant. They could not believe it. There they were, the three of them, in a room torn out of 'World's Most Sumptuous Restaurants', seated dead center, with weeds in their hair, mud on their noses and chins and reeking like something you would never let your cat drag in. Yet somehow the staff were so gracious and the food so incredibly divine that by the time they had finished the soup and the salad they too had forgotten they were not dressed to the nines.
Lin felt a little like Cinderella in the bold red velvet and ivory room. Somehow she had been transformed as soon as she sat in the magical chair, she and her companions were all prepared for the ball. And what a ball! They had such a wonderful time. The days adventure turned into the most fun she could remember having without the boys in years. The strange old man with the gun trained on Roary became Elmer Fudd with a wee bit of red hair and a wiry red beard. It was with reluctance that they finished their coffees and paid the very handsome bill as no one really wanted to leave the magical space.
Yet somehow the magic stayed with them as they left. Bouyed by the graciousness of Leslie's, a restaurant they would not soon forget, they managed the walk home as if still in silks and stockings. It was only when they parted ways to actually clean up that the magic circle was broken, twinkling down around them like precious shards of crystal. A Waterford masterpiece crushed, never to be put together again, except in the memory of those who once held it. And for some reason, that was good enough.
The morning brought a day that filtered the light through the clouds like bright fingers pointing, splayed from heavenly palms to direct the eye toward the mountains and their slopes of green. The rain from the day before had left its scent in the air. This combined with the view was enough to make a person feel as if they had walked into a painting. It was rather surreal, especially given all that the trio who faced the day outside the small bed and breakfast had on their minds.
They had eaten their breakfasts with some relish, knowing that they would not be stopping for a hot lunch that day. Their plan was to drive into Glendalough and to work their way along St. Kevin's Way. According to the lady of the house, Teague O'Bryne's land adjoined the public lands and often he could be found rounding his sheep and moving them back onto his own property. They had wanted to simply drive to visit him directly, but she had insisted that Teague was not known for staying indoors. If they were to find him, especially this time o'year, it would be out and about and the view from the Way was more open than that from Teague's home. It sounded very much like a wild goose chase to all of the travelers, but they had come to speak to Teague as he was mentioned directly in Ian's journal as a "person of interest", so hiking the path was the plan. At least Fiona was pleased as they would be staying in Dun Laoghire that evening, which boasted connections to Samuel Beckett among other famous writers and she could add a bit to her travelogue. They procured sack lunches from the lady of the house and Roary paid for the wine of the prior evening, then they climbed into the car. As they drove away Lin found herself searching the treeline for birch stands. She did not see any, but perhaps they were just a bit farther back in the wood or she had simply missed them as they sped from the drive.
As the day progressed the clouds began to part and a brilliant blue sky replaced the heavenly spears of light. She was beginning to look forward to the hike they had planned, perhaps they might even find the mysterious Teague. Roary found his way to the parking area with ease and they put their packs together. Fiona clucked a bit, making sure everyone had water and the other necessities, like fully charged cell phones, suitably packed. As soon as everyone was prepared, they set off up the "Way."
It was truly a very beautiful passage. The heather was in bloom and the contrast against the green of the rolling hillocks made the scenery easy on the eye. They walked in silence, each to their own thoughts, except for Fiona, who had slipped Ian's I-pod into her pocket and was apparently enjoying one of his mellower play-lists.
Roary cast a glance at Lin, curious to see if she had regained any balance after the turmoil of the day before. She seemed to be enjoying the hike, perhaps a bit distracted, but not distraught. He wondered what really went on behind those dark eyes of hers. He supposed he would never know. That was the way of things. People could guess at what another was thinking or feeling, but they would never really know. Even when the words were shared there was still too much translation that occurred. He shook his head free of his ruminations and continued on, breathing in the fresh scent of the day and trying to lose himself in the beauty of St. Kevin's Way.
As the climb grew steeper the trio's pace slowed a bit. They stopped for some water and a bit of a rest. Fiona turned the music off long enough to note that they had been following the path for almost a full hour. Surprised that they had been hiking that long, Roary looked more fully at the surrounding area. There should be some sign soon of bordering pasture land. They began the pace again, this time with a bit more attention to the potential signs of wayward sheep. It was not too long before they spotted a small white cloud clumped low to the ground off in the distant heather. A single sheep, or so it appeared, had strayed from the fold. Checking to make sure there was no one to intercept them, made their way off the designated path and out into the field beyond. The going here was definitely rougher and the terrain grew ever steeper as they made their way toward the tiny cloud-like form.
It was rough going, with the heather tangling around their legs and other scrub catching at their heels. Lin was the first to take a tumble coming up much the worse for wear, but proving that indeed many a sheep had wandered in the area. "Och, but ye seem to have found the muck," laughed Roary. Fiona couldn't help herself and soon she was laughing as Lin tried to use the small handwipes from her pack to clean herself up a bit. Keeping a straight face, Lin took the lead and scrambled on. "Sheep-shit, wonderful," she grumbled, "Teague had best have something to say for himself." As they came up over a particularly high and rather blind hillock, Roary came face to butt-end with a stray ewe. He was so startled that he lost his footing. In an effort to catch himself he pitched forward and practically landed on the poor animal, landing himself in a far fresher pile than Lin had found. He stood, caught between laughing and grimacing, catching the twinkle in Fiona's eyes he found himself leaning toward the former and that is when all three broke out in a whale of laughter that had to have scared that poor ewe more than its near crushing did.
Lin's wipes were no help at all with the mush on his jacket and shirt, but he gave it an effort which only succeeded in getting his hands and pants legs tainted as well. He settled for an extra wipe to cleanse his hands. If two of them smelled awful, then perhaps Fiona could do the talking for them. He suggested this and it seemed to be the plan. They walked a bit more carefully after that, given that they only had one clean speaker left among them. It was about another 30 minutes before they came within site of what appeared to be a dwelling of some sort, more of a shanty or lean-to, but it had the remains of a morning fire in the ring outside. Roary felt his blood pump just a bit faster. Perhaps all the muck was going to be worth it. Hell it was already mostly worth it, just to hear Lin and Fiona laughing like that.
They approached cautiously, not trying to be perfectly quiet as that might seem sinister, but also not beating the band. They got right up next to the fire-ring and found no other evidence of human habitation at all. Feeling a bit deflated they stood for a moment contemplating the long hike back through the sheep-shit filled hillocks.
"Do ye' be needin' somethin', or are ye' just collecting muck?" came a dry old voice from behind them.
They responded in unison as if a gun had gone off at their backs, so surprised were they by the sudden intrusion into their silence. Turning they saw a wizened old man with wild wisps of red hair and a wiry red beard holding a shot gun beaded directly toward Roary's chest. It was not exactly the welcome they had hoped for.
"We were hoping to find a Teague O'Bryne. Folk have it that he's got the history of the land all stored in his head, and we have a need for a lesson or two," eased Roary with a bare brush of voice.
"Ye surely did not get yerself covered in dung just to be talking with the likes o' him."
"We have a vera' good reason to seek him out, if he would be interested in hearin' our tale,"
The man seemed to take an eternity to respond, keeping the gun leveled and his finger on the trigger. They stood there afraid to move, to breathe lest the crazy old coot take a shot at close range. Yet his eyes did appear to soften and as they did, the barrel began to drop and he slid the safety into place.
"I guess, I could listen to ye a bit at that. I would offer ye some water to clean with, but all I have is for the table so ye'll have to reekin' til ye' get back to town. Not that I mind, I live with em'." He made his way into the shanty and came out with some fold out stools. "Best have a seat, I've a feelin' this won't be short."
Fiona sat closest to Teague, though truth be told he didn't smell any better than Lin or Roary. Yet the plan had been for her to take the lead, so that was what she would do. She started by introducing the group and then wove the tale that had brought them to his shanty. It did not seem to her that the telling had taken over long, yet when she was through Teague stood to stretch as if he had been seated far too long. He strolled into the shanty and came back with a bottle and some glasses that had definitely seen cleaner days.
"That's quite the yarn. I've not a clue why you've come to me though. All I know is the history of the rebellions, the men who have come and gone from these parts, the falling of the port and such."
"My grandson had your name in his journal," Fiona interrupted, "We hoped that you might have some idea about a link with these events. Anything, really, would be helpful."
Teague offered the glasses round and when no one accepted he did not seem the least put out. He un-stopped the bottle and drank straight from it. The long swallow made a full round shape in his throat as it slid down, taking its time to find its way to his vitals, much as he took his time in answering Fiona. Lin and Roary had moved to the edge of their stools, nearly tipping them as they urged a response.
"Unless there is some connection to the wayward efforts of the men who fought those old battles, I've naught to tell ye. I have no place in me life for the fair-folk and their ways. Just keeping track of the old families, their losses and their gains, not that there were many of those mind, is enough to fill me head. I think perhaps yer young Ian was looking for somethin' else when he put me name in his book. I'm sorry fer yer troubles, but I havena' a thing to add to yer tale." He put the stopper back in the bottle and stood, folding up his stool and returning both to the shanty.
The interview was clearly over, and definitely disappointing.
"If ye don't mind a bit more challengin' a path, ye can cut about half the time off yer trek by cutting through past that stand of pine just past the pen o'er there," he motioned as he took up the shot-gun and began to walk in the opposite direction.
They stood and folded they stools. Uncertain what to do with them, they leaned them against the shanty and then followed the direction he had given them. Not a word passed between them as they began the trek back. They were about 10 minutes into the walk when it became clear that the descent was much, much more rugged than the climb they had made up to Teague's shanty. They found themselves in a narrow ravine with a very steep pitch, the walls of which began to get quite close together as they traveled onward. At one point they came upon rocks which cluttered the path, requiring them to scuttle over them like crabs or small children. When the pitch was too steep, Fiona gave up and simply sat down and began to make her way by sliding along with her hands, feet and rump firmly attached to the ground. It was better that than going head over heels like Jack or Jill was all she said. Lin and Roary soon followed her lead. By the time they managed to reach the bottom of Teague's short cut they were covered from head to toe in bits of gorse and heather, and slick with mud and what they sorely suspected was more sheep-dung.
Safely on level ground and within sight of the car-park they found themselves picking bits of their hike off each other and laughing at the sight they had become. Fiona compared them to a bunch of monkeys cleaning each other and then offered Roary a rather bruised banana from her pack. The other visitors of the Way were definitely staring at them as the trio clutched their stomachs and laughed tossing the poor banana back and forth, imitating monkeys all the way to the car. They were having such a good time that no one even thought about what condition they were in before they had climbed in and started off. It was actually the enclosed environment that reminded them.
"Eww, we smell horrible," snorted Lin. Which only served to send them off into another round of laughter. The poor banana did raise a serious concern. They were all starving. Roary drove over to the bed and breakfast and as they went they agreed that they would try to find some carry-out and eat as quickly as possible. They went in without their bags and let the mistress know they were there. Fiona asked if there might be a suitable place for them to get something to eat and got directions to a nearby establishment.
They left quickly, not wanting to leave the aroma in the house for the other guests, it would be bad enough when they came back to clean up later in the shared baths. They walked over to the building the woman had given instructions to. They were a bit surprised at the edifice, it was a large greystone, with front pillars. Entering, they could not see anything that looked like an eatery, but Fiona did see a sign near the elevator that had the name of the place she had been given. Too tired to put much effort into thinking about it and certain the woman had understood their needs, they waited for the elevator. Entering they pressed the button for the floor that had been noted, rather surprised it was on the very top. They were the only people in the elevator and that seemed a blessing, at least no one else would have to deal with their state of attire and scent.
It was not until the doors of the elevator opened that they realized what a colossal mistake they had made. There they stood, three people covered from head to toe in sheep-shit, staring out at a red-velvet restaurant with doubled vaulted ceilings, crown-moldings with gold-leaf trim, elegant and starched waiters. They were completely and utterly horrified. The maitre d' on the other hand was totally nonchalant. It was as if he dealt with people who rolled in foul-smelling things every day. He greeted them as if they were related to the Queen herself and rather than seating them in as far a corner as he could find, he sat them in the very center of the restaurant. They could not believe it. There they were, the three of them, in a room torn out of 'World's Most Sumptuous Restaurants', seated dead center, with weeds in their hair, mud on their noses and chins and reeking like something you would never let your cat drag in. Yet somehow the staff were so gracious and the food so incredibly divine that by the time they had finished the soup and the salad they too had forgotten they were not dressed to the nines.
Lin felt a little like Cinderella in the bold red velvet and ivory room. Somehow she had been transformed as soon as she sat in the magical chair, she and her companions were all prepared for the ball. And what a ball! They had such a wonderful time. The days adventure turned into the most fun she could remember having without the boys in years. The strange old man with the gun trained on Roary became Elmer Fudd with a wee bit of red hair and a wiry red beard. It was with reluctance that they finished their coffees and paid the very handsome bill as no one really wanted to leave the magical space.
Yet somehow the magic stayed with them as they left. Bouyed by the graciousness of Leslie's, a restaurant they would not soon forget, they managed the walk home as if still in silks and stockings. It was only when they parted ways to actually clean up that the magic circle was broken, twinkling down around them like precious shards of crystal. A Waterford masterpiece crushed, never to be put together again, except in the memory of those who once held it. And for some reason, that was good enough.
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