Part 35 (1/2)

'Infernal things!' growled Father Wally. 'There's been a spate of them recently. They've reopened the old army range over on Bear Island. Now we're a Gaelic tiger we're getting airs about power. Won't we ever learn? Ireland, and power. Fine by themselves, but bring them together and it all goes wrong, like, like...'

'Kiwi fruit and yoghurt,' said Liam. 'Bitter.'

'We'll be wanting our own satellites next, and nuclear bombs.'

'Ireland pays into the European s.p.a.ce Agency already, doesn't it Ma?'

'There you go,' said Father Wally. 'We're one of the last corners of Europe, and Clear Island is the last corner of Ireland, but it's catching up with us, even here.'

Electrons in my brain are moving forwards and backwards in time, changing atoms, changing electrical charge, changing molecules, changing chemicals, carrying impulses, changing thoughts, deciding to have a baby, changing ideas, deciding to leave Light Box, changing theory, changing technology, changing computer circuitry, changing artificial intelligence, changing the projections of missiles whole segments of the globe away, and collapsing buildings onto people who have never heard of Ireland.

Electrons, electrons, electrons. What laws are you following?

John came down the road from Lios O'Moine with Planck.

'Ahoy there Da!' said Liam.

'Liam? Caught lunch yet?'

'Not yet.'

'Eighteen years of devoted parenting, and all I get is ”not yet”? Is your ma here?'

'Present. And Father Wally.'

'Just the man we need. Any chance of turning no fish and no bread into lunch?'

'I confess, I stopped off at Ancient's for contingency sandwich supplies...'

'Aha! My kind of Papist!'

'It's only eleven-thirty,' said Liam a little huffily, rethreading his fis.h.i.+ng rod.

'You've got until noon, son,' said John.

John held my arm as we walked. He didn't need to, his feet knew every inch of Clear Island: that's why he moved back here permanently when his blindness closed in. He held my arm because he believed it made me feel like a teenager again, and he was right. We turned left hand at the only crossroads. Only the sounds of wind, gulls, sheep and waves floated on the silence.

'Any clouds?'

'Yes. Over Hare Island there's a galleon one. c.u.mulonimbus Calvus.'

'They the cauliflowers?'

'Lungs.'

'Camphor trees. What colours can you see?'

'The fields are mossy green. The trees are bare, apart from a few hangers-on. The sky is map-sea blue. Pearly, mauve clouds. The sea is dark bottle blue. Ah, I'm an Atlantic woman, John. Leave the Pacific to the Pacificians. I rot if I'm left anywhere Pacific.'

'One of the stupidest things that people say about being blind, is that it's sadder to have been sighted once and to have lost it. I know colour! Are there any boats out today?'

'The Oilean na 'nEan Oilean na 'nEan. And a beautiful yacht anch.o.r.ed off Middle Calf Island.'

'I miss sailing.'

'You'd only have to ask.'

'I get seasick. Imagine being on a rollercoaster, blindfolded.'

'Aye, fair enough.' We walked on for a bit. 'Where are you taking me?'

'Father Wally had St Ciaran's woodwork renovated. Everyone says it's quite something.'

The last warm wind before winter. Way, way, away a skylark sang.

'Mo, I was worried sick about you.'

'I'm so sorry, my love. But as long as n.o.body could reach me, n.o.body could threaten me. And as long as n.o.body could threaten me, you and Liam were safe.'

'I'm still worried sick.'

'I know. And I'm still sorry.'

'I just wanted you to know.'

'Thanks.' Even from John, tenderness made me tearful.

'You were like a one-woman electron in Heisenberg's uncertainty principle.'

'How do you mean?'

'I either knew your position but not your direction, or I knew your direction but not your position. What's that noise? A ten-foot sheep?'

'Cows lumbering over to see if we're going to milk them.'

'Jerseys or Friesians?'

'Brown ones.'

'Noakes's Jerseys.'

'What wouldn't I give to stay here like my mother and plant beans.'

'How long until you started itching for your ninth-generation computers again?'

'Well, maybe I'd write the odd paper while I was waiting for my beans to grow.'

Red Kildare's mighty motorbike pulled up, spitting stones and smoke. Maisie was in the sidecar. 'John! Mo!' she had to yell over the engine. 'Mo! Here's a piece of bacon for your wart!'

Maisie put a thumb-sized thing wrapped into aluminium foil into my hand. 'Rub it on your wart before nightfall and bury it, but don't let anyone see or it won't work. Red's milked Feynman. See you at The Green Man later.'