At Swim, Two Boys Part 55

"That was some chase you put me through."

Jim nodded. His eyes closed as he came down to Doyler's mouth.

"What is it?"

"It's a s.h.i.+p it sounds like."

They clambered round the rock. It was a s.h.i.+p all right, low in the water, a small grey-hulked vessel. The ensign flew, a squat gun poked.

"The Helga. Helga."

"Aye, HMS Helga Helga all right. Submarine patrol. Don't wave." all right. Submarine patrol. Don't wave."

"No."

"I mean they'll think we want rescuing."

Then Jim said, "The flag, quick."

So they hauled out the flag, Jim holding the bottom corner and Doyler, standing a little above him, the top, while he kept an arm about Jim's neck. The breeze took the green and flapped it mildly. A sailor was leaning over the rail. He watched them a while, then another sailor came. Jim thought they might be laughing. Then both sailors came to attention and brought their hands to salute. And so the King's s.h.i.+p pa.s.sed and the green flag flew from the Muglins.

"Well, we have that done."

"We have."

"We'll be heading back now, I suppose."

"We will not," said Jim. "We have the tide to turn first."

There was a dip in the rock out of the wind. There was even a slab they might lie on, with a seaweed growing that a mind unfussy to these things might take for moss. "Didn't I tell you?" crowed Doyler. He sc.r.a.ped off the winkles and spread the green flag over. There they stretched. The air had a hazy look. There was the very slightest sniff of ammonia.

Jim listened to the sea-sounds, wave and gull, till these sounds no longer obtruded on his mind, and an immense sea-quiet settled about him. He looked out to seaward, to the vastness of ocean, blue and deep-blue and green-blue, a little awed by its immediacy, that feeling of infinity, that here it begins. There was no horizon, only a s.h.i.+mmering haze, and this intensified the sense of boundless expanse. And then to landward, and the sh.o.r.e so stunningly close, quite toppling in its rush towards them.

Doyler might have followed his thoughts, for he said, "It looks amazing near, don't it?"

"It does too."

"You wouldn't credit all that trouble of getting here."

A year near enough, thought Jim. Doyler lay on his belly, his face on his folded arms. Jim turned that way too. The sun beat down. He said, "Was it today it was planned for, Doyler?"

"Was what planned?"

"The rising."

"Oh that. I think so."

"You would have told me."

"I didn't know if I would. I'd tell you now of course."

"Yes of course."

"I have parade this afternoon. I can't miss that. But nothing will happen."

"I see. But you would tell me?"

He didn't say anything for a while. Then he said, "You know, I was scared with the rising. Would you believe that?"

"No." Another pause, and Jim asked, "Would you be scared now?"

"There's nothing to be scared of now."

He had turned on his side and Jim had turned too to face him. Doyler kept glancing up, his eyes checking, each move his fingers made, glancing back at Jim's face. "They're like toadstools," he said.

"They are a bit, all right."

"Do you mind what I'm doing?"

"It's nice sure." But there was still this business not absolutely cleared up, and so as there could be no misunderstandings between them, of whatsoever nature or cause, Jim stated plain as he might, "You'd only be making a muddle not telling me."

"Telling you what?"

"The rising of course." Doyler let a laugh. "Don't you see," Jim reasoned, "I'd be running from billy to jack and who's to say would I find you at all?"

"All right, honor bright, cross me heart and hope to die. I'll send it in a telegram, urgent. A night letter, a marconigram, a pigeongram even. I'll send smoke signals out of the Sugarloaf. That do you?"

"I only want to be with you."

"I know you do."

Doyler's hand had removed. He fetched a phlegm and a gobsh.e.l.l splashed in the bladderwrack. He had turned on his belly again. He looked disappointed, and Jim reached a hand to his shoulder. "It's all right, Jim," he said. "We've come this far. I can wait." Another spurt jetted through his teeth. A moment, then he said, "You see the Martello beyond on Dalkey Island? Do you know the story with that? What it was-"

"Is this true now?"

"Go way, would I lie to you? Back I don't know when, after the British gave up them towers, well, that one on the island over, don't ask me why, it got forgot."

"No," said Jim. "That was the Sandycove tower."

"It was not. You know so much, do you know what happened?"

"The sergeant and two swaddies kept at their duties, twenty years they kept at them. Me da told me all about it."

"Your da's a decent skin, and I wouldn't go against him save he's not within the bawl of an a.s.s of it. 'Twas a corporal with two gunners. And never mind their duties, they didn't do spit the week long save blow their bunce in the Dalkey shebeens. Now that corporal's name was Reilly. And it's after him you get it, living the life of Reilly. Now."

"Is that true?"

"True as I'm lying here holding your lad in me hand, it is." Jim felt a laughter burst from him. Then Doyler said, "Can I kiss you now?"

"You know better than to ask."

"Why wouldn't I ask?"

"You know you can kiss me."

"I'll kiss you all over."

But it was Jim who kissed first. He lay atop Doyler, pinning his shoulders, and kissed his forehead and his cheeks, his chin, his throat, kissing the apple in his throat. He kissed the bruise on his shoulder and the seven hairs, counting them, on his chest where the half a medal lay. He watched Doyler's face through the strands of his hair while he snuck down, still watching, and kissed the very tip of his horn which bounced up against Jim's nose and his chin making him blink, till he kissed it again on the hop. He felt his face like a red velvet. He was charged with the wonder of desire and delay. He pulled up again and made a hold of Doyler's arm.

"I'm not shy, you know," he said.

"You don't be acting very shy."

"But you understand we had to come?"

"I know I wouldn't miss it."

Jim nodded. He said, "I suppose it's soft wanting to cuddle always."

"It is not. I'd hate you and you didn't."

"Gordie used bring his arm round me in bed sometimes. I used love it then. I'd wake in the night and his arm would be there. One time then, he was lying awake and I think he twigged that I was awake too. He gave the h.e.l.l of a shove and kicked me down the bottom of the bed. We were sleeping head and toe after that."

"Is it hard with him gone?"

"I dream of him."

"You would too."

"I don't know if you ever dreamt of anyone was close to you and he's dead. It's terrible strange. He's always walking, I don't know, some hill or other. He's not walking fast or anything, save it's hard catching up with him, hard to keep up even. He won't turn to look at you, just keeps walking on. And you're saying, What're you doing here? After they told us you was dead? You're shocked like and all annoyed. You can't get any talk out of him. And you're crying really and saying, Why're you doing this? Won't you come home now? He's not looking at you, he's just walking on and on. I try to hold his arm, I try to turn him round. Don't you know we miss you? Don't you know you can come home out of this and we'll forget all about it? There's everything so weary with him. And he just says, Oh well you know. And he keeps on walking.

"I hate it when I dream like that. I wake up and I'm so angry. I'm really angry with him."

"I'm sorry, Jim."

Jim felt Doyler bring his head round, he felt him kiss his eyes, his eyes feeling wet after. He said, "Oh well."

Doyler said nothing.

Then Jim said, "I don't know what's it called. Will you do it with me? If I lie down, will you lie on top of me?"

"I'd like to. It'll maybe hurt a bit."

Jim hunched his shoulders, making him feel skinny of a sudden. He felt his bottom lip caught in his teeth. It did that if he smiled feeling awkward.

For a moment or two, he was aware of the hardness of the stone beneath him. He heard them come back again, the seaside sounds of waves and birds. Behind his eyelids the sun had its red glare. There was a sweat on his back which the air traced. He felt it far away, the intimate search of foreign fingers. Then Doyler pushed against him. His eyes squeezed and all sensation shook.

It was a moment when he scarcely existed but to suffer pain. Then Doyler's weight came down on top of him. His hair fell on Jim's cheek, reawaking the sense of his face.

"You all right?"

He rubbed his cheek against Doyler's. He opened his lips and felt with his tongue along Doyler's teeth, searching out the chip off the middle one. He tasted a salt of the sea where the lips creased at the side. Doyler was upon him and inside him, on his breath even, all about him. His body strained the more to meet the body above. He did not think of anything, but his thoughts were there in the back of his mind or in the sea that circled his mind. They had this together now. They had their island. Whenever a thought crossed or a look met, if a hair but brushed a finger, this was where they would be. No one could take it from them, chance what might, nor he couldn't nor Doyler. He had to bring Doyler here because Doyler didn't know to come of his own. This was the light the Muglins had shone all those years. It was here was their home, it was in the sea, an island.

Doyler whispered in his ear, "It's my turn next." It had Jim smiling to think of that. He felt lazy and free. "There's all the time," he said.

"Throw a line over, sor?"

"Do, by all means. And let me know when the tide turns."

MacMurrough took off his coat and folded it behind his head, pulled down his hat over his eyes; closed his eyes, tired after the glaring water, to drowse the while. And drowsing he saw but waves and beacon and rock. But in the dip of that rock he knew there formed a primal unity, which was not, as Aristophanes had thought, an egg-shaped being, rather a twin-backed flapping seal; that unity the jealous G.o.ds had thought to sunder, not reckoning the human heart.

It was the boatman who woke him, plucking his trousers. "Only they looks to be harrished, sor," he was saying.

"What is it?"

"Shwimmers, sor. Only they's in trouble, could be."

"Where?" He pointed. "Row," MacMurrough said; then bellowed, "Row, man, d.a.m.n you!"

He shoved the man, near upsetting the boat. He could make out one head in the water. There was a slick on the surface, a spill of something-never oil? The glare was bewildering. He had to throw water in his eyes. One head, yes. Down it ducked. Not oil: that wretched flag. He shouted to the men, "Row, row," as he pulled at his clothes. The head came up. It was Jim. A breath, then down again. The flag was sinking, had sunk. But Jim was safe. He registered no relief. A kind of training took over, that his mind and dreaming body these months had rehea.r.s.ed. Training judged the boat's speed, their distance, his balance on the gunwale; it dived him to the water. The cold hit, near gasping his breath. He skimmed to the surface; air gulped in his throat. He pulled on the waves, tugging on them, willing a purchase, laddering them almost. Jim was ducking again and he charged into him, grabbed his hair, savagely wrenched him away. "Boat," he yelled, then plunged below. He kicked with the current. His eyes still smarted, but the water was clear. He saw the cloth, a dark jelly-fish below. Beneath it, the boy had stopped struggling. In silence, dreamily, MacMurrough unwound the cords that had wrapped themselves round, propelled the imponderable weight to the surface. Jim was still there and he roared at him, "Boat!" He dragged the boy to the stern and Jim, inside now, helped pull the body over.

"MacEmm," Jim was saying, "MacEmm."

"Tongue. Check his tongue." He turned the boy on his front, straddled his back. Push, one thousand. All cramped in the well of the boat, water swilling about. Push, two thousand, his hands on the small of the boy's back. Up, three thousand. He saw Jim open the mouth, search his fingers inside. "Pulse," he shouted. Wait, four thousand. The boy's face was turned on his elbow: his face livid, so very nearly lifelike. Wait, five thousand. Jim's fingers fiddled with his wrist. Push, one thousand. "I think so," he heard. Up, three thousand. "Pulse, yes!" Wait, five thousand. He felt a shudder under his hands. "Tongue," he called again. Push, two thousand. Water trickled out of the mouth. Up, three thousand. "He's not breathing." Wait, four thousand. "MacEmm, he's not breathing." Wait, five thousand. "Please, MacEmm." He glimpsed the red faces of the men rowing. Push, one thousand. The horizon pitched and sended. Wait, five thousand. Jim s.h.i.+vering watching. "My s.h.i.+rt on," he told him. The s.h.i.+rt absurdly wrapping round his own shoulders. Still push one thousand and up three thousand and wait five thousand and push. A freak wave buffeted the boat as MacMurrough came down, one thousand, to push. The boy choked and he made to turn his face to cough or to vomit. "Tongue," shouted MacMurrough. "Breathing!" shouted Jim. "He's breathing, MacEmm!" Still MacMurrough pushed and upped and waited till there could be no doubting. The boy moaned, and to moan he must breathe.

He wrapped his coat over the boy's back, then turned him round. "Put my s.h.i.+rt on," he snapped at Jim. He held his hand on the chest, gauging the strength of the breathing. "My watch," he said. Jim had it ready. He timed the breaths. He felt for the boy's pulse: thready, but undeniable. He lifted the boy's legs into his trousers. Jim was on the stern bench dripping, juddering. He clambered over and slapped him hard on the cheek. "I warned you about that flag." Biting his lip, disbelief in his eyes: a little color returned. "Where are we?" MacMurrough called to the men.

"Bullock rocks, sor."

"Don't let up." To Jim again. "You know the doctor's house?" Nod. "You must run. If the doctor is away, you must find from his people where there's another. Give my name and have them use the telephone."

"He'll be all right now?"

"He's breathing well. But you must fetch a doctor. Don't panic now, Jim. I need you with your wits."

MacMurrough attended to the boy, b.u.t.toning his coat on him and checking his pulse and his breathing. He opened an eyelid where the eye was dull. But it flinched against the light and the eyelid blinked. The body convulsed with s.h.i.+vers.

He glanced over his shoulder. Jim's face would repent a judge. "Come here, Jim." The boy crept over. "Take his hand now. He's fine. A little shock, that's all. Try keep him warm."

"MacEmm, I wasn't panicking."

"All right."

"But you did right to hit me if you thought I was."

MacMurrough turned his head. "Keep him warm now."

At last she heard him, his brisk boots on the tiled floor, Shorty stepping through the hospital ward. With a tenderly soldierliness he took up his station behind her. "Mum," said he, turning about the bath-chair, "the motor-car awaits."