The Beginning.
by Peter Clarke
William didn’t see the blow coming. It caught him on the side of the head and knocked him to the floor. Don’t hit him back, he told himself. He’s your da.
“Damn ye,” yelled his da. “Why do ye no listen?”
They stared at each other for a few moments. It was now a battle of wills, but it was a one-sided battle and short-lived. His da was muddled by whiskey. Anger showed clearly on his face, his mouth moved to form words, but nothing more was said.
His da slumped on a stool by the fire, his back against the wall, staring absently at the embers. The fire glowed on his da’s face, smoothing the wrinkles. The anger was gone. It was clear there was no fight left in him. They lived in a one-roomed cottage, typical of those of peasants in rural Ireland. It was night, so the one window was of no use to light the room. All the light came from the fire that had been used to prepare their evening meal and would be left going to heat the room.
William’s siblings and mother were still seated at the table that was mostly used for eating, but also provided somewhere to be when they were not in bed. There was no sound or movement from any of them. The light from the fire glowed around them, and they looked like a painting in the corner.
His da stirred and looked at William. There was no contrition in the look, only confusion. “I don’t mean to hurt ye. Ye should listen.”
William already knew his da meant him no harm, but still resented the blow. Life was not easy for his da, life wasn’t easy for any of them. There was no laughter in the cottage. He always wondered why his da and ma were so remote from each other. They seemed only to talk through the children. “Ask your ma,” or, “Ask your da,” was the usual line of communication.
His da closed his eyes again. The rest of the family were still motionless as though afraid to reignite the conflict. Even though William sat up cautiously, he knew from experience his da was unlikely to hit him again, certainly not now that it looked like he’d gone to sleep. The blow really hurt, and he wanted no more of it. He wondered if it was time to move on. Some of the boys in the town had already left their families.
William’s ma quietly shushed and shooed the little ones to bed. They had no distance to go. Only one or two steps from the table to the bed which was laid out on the polished earthen floor, in front of the fire. They all slept together on straw, mostly naked, under an assortment of coverings. Bits and pieces of rags and cloth stitched together that had been acquired, or so worn as to be no longer useful as clothing.
“Are you coming to bed, too?” whispered his ma.
William shook his head and took one of the stools vacated at the table. He sat, folded his arms on the table and laid his head on them.
His ma got up from settling the little ones who glanced fearfully at their da and put her hand on her son’s arm. “Take your time, William. He means you no harm. You know it’s all about your Mary. He’ll be sorry the-morrow.”
William watched his mother get into bed with the little ones, and his thoughts turned to Mary. He loved thinking about her. It seemed of late, he was always thinking about her. Perhaps he could just take Mary and leave.
Mary had lived nearby for most of his life and until recently, neither had been interested in the other, even though they had sometimes met in children’s games. Not that William or anyone he knew had much time for games. Most children went to school, and they were busy enough before and after it. There was always something to be fetched or disposed of for the purposes of daily living. A mouth to feed, an errand to run, a little one to be cared for, or a belting to be had.
Most games were played after dark and in one’s own place when supper was finished, and beds or the hearth not yet occupied. There were never any games at William’s cottage.
Then, not so long ago, William was seated beside Mary at Old Patrick’s wake. He noticed things about her he had never seen before. He liked the tilt of her chin, her sparkling eyes, and her sense of humour. Why hadn’t he noticed these things before?
“It’s so sad Old Patrick has died,” she said. “My da said he was a very good worker, and it will be hard to find someone else who’ll work as hard for the touch of a farthing.” She looked at him and smiled. William had no idea what to say, so he remained silent. “Of course, I’m pulling your leg. My da wouldn’t know hard work if he fell over it. But I’m glad for Patrick. He’s with God now, and I’m sure He’ll be glad of a good worker.” She smiled again.
William had no idea where this colleen drew the line between being serious and being funny. He loved it. He thought he’d try his hand at this game. “I can’t remember the last wake, even though there have been plenty that have died. My ma says we do dying better than anyone.” He paused, then said, “I suppose not everyone can afford a wake.”
“And that’s a good thing. Why, if everyone had a wake, there would be a wake almost every day, and no work would be done. I’m glad they’re having this one, though.”
Once again, William was delighted to see the same wonderful smile. He looked at the people in the room. Some of the men were already drunk, and many were well on their way. The wives looked on. Most of the children played games.
The little ones played Hide and Seek, Corners, Jump-a-Rope, or such games as could be played in the house. He didn’t doubt there would be more play in the yard. They jumped, skipped and shouted wherever space was available. Some of the adults chastised them, ‘Have some respect for the dead.’ But the games went on, and the adults were mostly ignored.
William knew there were two rooms in the house, one upstairs and one downstairs, even though he’d never been there. Many houses were like this one. Everyone was in the downstairs room which was bigger than the same room at William’s. It allowed for beds against the chimney on both sides, behind the fireplace. The house belonged to Mrs Murphy, not long a widow, who lived there with her two children. They didn’t use the upstairs room, as the children were small and shared one bed downstairs, and Mrs Murphy used the other one. William overheard her say she didn’t like to sleep alone. He couldn’t see what the beds were like, as the curtains, that allowed some privacy when they went to sleep, were drawn.
The men had put in a little money to cover the cost of whiskey. Those who didn’t had brought some of their own, and men tasted it and declared it was as good as the bought stuff. All the women had brought some food. It was by no means a lavish affair. It was more about getting together. Old Patrick was just the excuse.
Some of the men had already drunk too much and looked angry, causing some sidelong glances. William saw Mary’s father was one of those and resolved to avoid him.
The boys, who were not little and not adults, seemed to be much more interested in the girls and vice versa. A game of Kiss in the Ring had just started in a corner, providing a legitimate excuse for a kiss for those involved. William thought he and Mary too old to join, but if that was all that was on offer, he decided he would have to take it. “Would you like to join that game?” he asked, instantly red in the face and very embarrassed when Mary smiled, as though onto his motivation.
“Let’s go outside. It’s too noisy in here, anyway,” she said.
William’s heart skipped a beat. The very thought that he could be outside, away from prying eyes and find some privacy was more than he could have expected. He knew that carts, stables, even a turf stack, would provide some privacy. Any privacy thatcould be had, while others of all ages were engaged in their own pursuits, would be enough.
When they went outside the sun was near to setting, and there was little warmth in its rays. It cast long shadows off the haystacks, turf stacks and outbuildings. Apart from the occasional call from a lamb or a calf, separated from its mother, all the noise came from the wake. The ground was moist underfoot, and Mary walked carefully in what William thought must be her best shoes.
William was dressed like any village lad. Woollen shirt and pants, no shoes and the pants held up by a piece of rope. Mary wore a simple calico smock with a coloured ribbon around her waist and a floral bonnet that held the curls off her face. He wanted to ask about her shoes, but lacked the courage. She might think him forward, but it was unusual to see a girl of her age with shoes.
Mary broke into his thoughts and asked, “Do you know why they called Patrick old?” Taking his silence as ignorance, she went on, “My ma says he was so kind, he must have been related to St Patrick. My da said that he was so old, he might have been St Patrick. I think that when we started to call him old, everyone did. Do you believe that story?” She stopped, looked at him and said, “No? I wouldn’t either.” She laughed again, and he delighted in the sound as they walked on.
Mary continued, “Ma used to give me food for him in the famine. I’d bring it to him, and he was always so grateful. He used to say that God would prepare a special place for us in heaven for our kindness. I asked him once if he’d been married. He answered that he was once, but his wife was killed in the fighting. I asked him about his eye, and he said he lost that in the fighting, too. Then he said he missed his wife every day, but he never missed his eye. He said he could see all of the world he wanted or needed through the one eye he still had. I asked him, ‘What fighting?’ He said it didn’t matter because people always found something to fight about.”
They walked in silence for a few moments, before she went on, “Here’s one for you, William. He asked me once, ‘What has eyes, but can’t see?’ Do you know?”
William thought about the puzzle as they tried to find somewhere to sit together. Everywhere was taken, but it did feel good to walk with Mary and share the fun of finding every place taken. For a while, anyway. He had become so absorbed by the idea of being alone with her that finding nowhere suitable became frustrating.
Without waiting for an answer to the puzzle, Mary said, “I don’t see you in school, William. Where do you go to school?”
He was embarrassed, hesitated and said, “I don’t go to school.”
“You sound like you go to school. I think you speak very nicely. Much better than some of the boys in my class.”
“My ma has always made sure I speak like her. I don’t know why.” However, he thought, if it made him better in Mary’s eyes, then whatever the reason, he would always be grateful to his ma.
“How old are you?”
The flush of embarrassment again. He had no idea how old he was. He couldn’t read, write or count. He had some idea of small numbers where his fingers were of reliable assistance, but a thing like age? Who knew?
“Did you ever go to school?”
“Yes, I did before the famine. Then I stopped.”
“Why? It seems like a waste. A smart boy like you should go to school.”
Relishing the compliment, he replied, “I didn’t like it. Besides, during the famine, I could help my ma and da, and I could earn some money.”
“When were you born?”
Was there no end to this? he thought.
He’d have to ask his ma and get some answers to these questions.
They stopped and he looked at her, held up one hand and spread his fingers. “I think it was this many years before the famine,” he said, once again crimson with embarrassment.
Mary put her hand on his arm. He couldn’t remember when he’d last washed his arm, but he knew he’d never wash it again. He was amazed Mary couldn’t see or hear his heart beating. His blood roared in his ears, his eyes couldn’t focus. All he wanted was the hand and his arm to remain locked forever. This colleen, this creature – so beautiful, so interesting, so wonderful.
She leant close and whispered, her breath light upon his cheek,
“I think it makes you about fourteen, and you were born around 1840. Do you believe in God, William? Do you think He has a plan for us all? Do you think He has a plan for you and me?”
Just then, Mary’s da stumbled out of the wake and called for her. He sounded angry, muttering about Protestants.
“I must go now,” said Mary. “It’s never a good idea to keep my da waiting.”
He watched her walk to her da who was talking to himself and didn’t notice Mary turn back to William and say, “I like you, William. I hope you like me, too.”
The fire glowed, his da stirred, muttered something unintelligible under his breath and returned to his snoring.
William looked at his ma and da, both asleep and welcomed the moments alone to think. Perhaps he had always liked Mary, but he hadn’t thought much about it. The difference now was, not only had she told William she liked him, she wondered if God had a plan for them. He’d never understood how someone else’s interest changed a person and was surprised at how good it was to be liked by someone. No, it was more than that, this someone was a girl. And she wasn’t really a stranger. Why, she’d been his neighbour all his life. Again, he asked himself why he hadn’t noticed her before.
Was he now grown up? Was he now, like his da, on the next step of his life where he would take a wife and have little ones? What would Mary be like as a wife? Thinking on it, he really didn’t know what a wife did. He really only knew what his own ma did, and he was not too sure how she rated.
He smiled to himself. He liked to look at Mary’s breasts when he thought she wasn’t watching. There was a lot to think about. It was the first time he knew he’d have to give better attention to the difference between boys and girls. He’d seen his own sisters and mother naked often enough to know they were different. He just didn’t know why they were different. Sure, he’d seen farm animals mating, but there was no way people would do that.
He’d asked his da once why boys and girls were different. His da mumbled, “If someone hasn’t told you yet, they will one day.” His da seemed really uncomfortable, so William didn’t pursue it again. He did sometimes wonder if he should ask his ma, but always thought better of it. He didn’t have any friends he could ask, so it all remained a mystery, but he might have to solve that one soon. His head hurt less when he thought about Mary. He liked the freckles on her nose. “Kisses from God,” she called them. He didn’t know if that was right, but he was pleased God liked Mary. Her eyes sparkled, too. It seemed she was always just about to say something really interesting. It seemed to him everything about her was interesting. He thought he should give her a present, but he didn’t own anything. Even the clothes he wore had once belonged to someone else. He remembered he had found an interesting stone a year or so ago, that he had kept. He hoped he would be able to find it in the morning, and if he could, he would give it to her. He didn’t know how or when, but he was so excited about the prospect, he couldn’t wait for the morning.
The loud snoring that he really hadn’t noticed much, after it started, stopped abruptly. His da stirred and crawled into bed. William took off his own clothes and got into the bed too, and it wasn’t long before he was sound asleep.
William woke and knew from the sounds in the room, he was the only one awake. There was little sound from its occupants, except from his da, who was snoring again. That wasn’t unusual and was a good sign that he wouldn’t wake until morning. All the family were jumbled together in one bed. He had to be careful of little Jimmy, his brother and the youngest. William was always worried he would roll over and crush him. He loved his sisters, but Jimmy was his favourite. Jimmy was the only person who called him Willie. He was William to everyone else.
It was still dark outside, but he could no longer keep his excitement under control. He crept out from under the covers, put his clothes on and began to search for the stone. Then he spotted it by the light of the remaining fire, on a shelf of sorts, in the corner. He didn’t remember putting it there, so he knew his ma must have done it. He felt an irresistible surge of affection for her.
The room was so small, it wasn’t hard to lean over from collecting the stone and place a gentle kiss on his ma’s cheek. Her eyes opened briefly, a smile appeared, and she settled back into sleep, as though to put off the inevitable chores of the day. It all happened so quickly, he wondered if he had imagined it.