The Whitest Flower. Brendan Graham

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ my lighted stick up in the air, and it went up above the smoke, and then I saw it hit this black thing in the sky, and I heard a sound like a screech. I did! I did! I’m telling you!’ Katie stamped her foot in exasperation.

      ‘I believe you, Katie.’ Mary’s quiet voice penetrated the commotion.

      ‘See!’ said Katie, throwing her arms around her sister.

      ‘Twins know these things because they’re special. They just know!’

      The big bonfire died down, its timbers, weakened by the flames, crumbling and sliding into the pit of glowing ash-whitened wood. Eddies of wind swept in, picking up the ash and floating it into the hills and the valleys in busy flurries of fire-snow. The demons that lurked in the flames continued hissing and spitting, inviting the onlooker in even after their long, ever-beckoning fingers of flame had departed, quenched for another year.

      Around the valley, the fires which had roared into the night were now just a row of red, angry eyes dotted along the hillsides. Eyes which by morning would be closed.

      The O’Malleys returned to their cabin. Michael took his knife and scooped out a turnip that Roberteen had got somewhere, then carved eyes, a nose and a mouth to make a púca. Finally, he took a small piece of lighted turf from the fire and placed it inside the turnip. Patrick, who had been clamouring to be allowed to help, positioned the turnip in the window opening. The Halloween púca sent out an eerie yellow glow. Its gashed face smiled evilly, the burning innards sending out a sickly wet smell.

      The next night – the eve of All Souls – the O’Malleys’ cabin was filled with a strange mixture of fear and excitement. The prayers took longer than usual as the family recited the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary, offering up a decade each for the Máistir, Cáit, Michael’s mother and father, and all dead relatives. The dead of the village and all the souls in purgatory, waiting to be released through the prayers of the faithful on earth, were also included.

      The Rosary finished without any of the usual ‘trimmings’, except for the prayer to Mary: ‘… to thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve, to thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping’ – or ‘morning and evening’ as Katie put it, referring to all the praying that took place at this time of year.

      Next came the Litany of the Blessed Virgin, which Ellen gave out in a toneless chant, and the others answered:

      ‘Pray for us!’

      ‘Have mercy on us!’

      ‘Pray for us!’

      ‘Have mercy on us!’

      The continuous chanted responses induced a trance-like state in the younger members of the group, providing much-needed release from the pain of kneeling at prolonged prayer.

      Afterwards, as the children settled down to sleep, Ellen laid out five settings for food, although they themselves had already eaten. Katie and Mary watched with great interest, but Patrick, showing his disdain for pisreoga – superstitions – had turned his face away and gone to sleep. As she set each place, Ellen whispered an explanation to the twins: ‘This place is for the Máistir.’ They nodded their assent, agog with the mystery of it all. ‘And this one is for my mother, Cáit. And this for your other grandfather, Stephen, and beside him Sarah.’

      Before Ellen could explain further, Mary, in hushed tones, half-afraid the spirits of the dead would not come if they heard the noise of children, asked: ‘And who is the last place for, a Mhamaí?’

      ‘Well, a stóirín,’ Ellen whispered back, ‘that place is for any poor wandering soul who has no home to go to, and who would be left beyond on the mountainside, wailing bitterly in the wind and the cold.’

      This captured the imagination of the twins, and for a moment there was silence. Then it was Mary again who spoke: ‘A Mhamaí, I’m glad we’ve set the extra place. It’s a kind thing to do for a poor, lonely soul who has no one to welcome it in.’

      Now that the place-setting had finished, the twins switched their attention to Michael. Having gathered up some of the almost burnt-out wood from last night’s bonfire, he was building a fine welcoming fire in the hearth. Their little minds were alive with hordes of wandering souls filling the night sky over the valley, picking out the welcoming cabins below. Cabins like their own, with glowing fires, doors left unlatched and tables set for the midnight feast.

      Finally, Katie and Mary fell into sleep, comforted by the image of the unknown soul slipping in quietly to take its place among their grandparents; having a family, for this night at least.

      Ellen lay on her back watching the flames of the fire shadow-dance along the walls and up towards the ceiling. They darted in and out of the loft, burnishing the gold-coloured straw which held their food supply for the year to come. Now and again, the shadow of a flame would seem to pick out the lumpers stored there, casting up grotesque images of stunted men, no arms and legs, only small squat heads set on larger squat bodies.

      Ellen wondered whether their little loft would be groaning under the weight of lumpers in the Samhain of the following year. She couldn’t quite harness all the feelings of impending catastrophe which seemed to be pressing on her recently – her baby and Sheela-na-Sheeoga; the potato disease; Pakenham singling her out at the céilí; Halloween and her thoughts on the stars of the dead. Something was happening. Some force was putting her at the centre of things. But why her?

      When, eventually, she did succumb to sleep, her dreams were filled with dark and troubling visitations.

      She was hurrying down a long, winding road. On every side were people weeping and wailing – calling out to her. She had the children with her – all three of them – and she was carrying a baby.

      Way off in the distance, at the end of the road, was a … ship. That’s where she was running to. She had to reach that ship. She had to get there fast, before the evil following behind caught up with her.

      Mary could not keep up. Ellen ran back and grabbed her. She was losing time – the ship, the tall ship, it would leave without them. She didn’t seem to be making any ground at all. The road twisted on, and on, and on, lined with poor, piteous souls calling out to her. She couldn’t stop. Their skeleton-like fingers clawed the air, trying to hold her back, to smother her and the children.

      Now she couldn’t see the ship. Had it sailed already? She hadn’t seen it leave. Ahead was a gaping darkness, waiting to swallow them. The thing that had pursued them was now in front of them, blocking their escape. The blackness seemed to be moving towards them. If they did not move, it would crush them. But the child in her arms was crying; it was heavy, too heavy for her to be carrying.

      ‘Mary, keep up, for God’s sake!’ She yanked the child’s arm, pulling her along.

      Then the whole countryside shook as a tremendous booming noise resounded from the road ahead. The vibrations travelled from the ground into her feet, and then up through her whole body, until the sound rang inside her head: boom! boom! boom! The faster she ran the louder it grew. Terrified, she realized she was running towards the booming.

      And still no ship to be seen, only a black, black void. The noise was coming from immediately in front of her, advancing on her. She could hardly keep her feet, it shook the ground so.

      ‘Patrick, Katie, not too far ahead now! Wait for us!’ she screamed, but the children seemed not to hear her, seemed not to hear the noise of the anvil of hell, СКАЧАТЬ