Read Online The Blackwater Lightship by Colm Tóibín - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Colm Tóibín
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it.
'Hellie,' he began one day over lessons in the parlour. 'I want to go home.'
'Ssh,' she said. 'She'll hear you.'
'I don't think they're in Dublin at all. I think they're in England or America.'
'Don't be silly.'
'Why has she never come down here?'
'Because she's visiting him in hospital.'
'Why has she not come even once?'
'Because we're all right here.'
'We're not all right.'
Helen told him nothing about the letter. She tried to talk him out of his new idea, but it became an obsession.
'I saw a programme about it on the television,' he said. 'The father and mother left their children behind.'
'Behind where?'
'In an orphanage.'
'This is not an orphanage.'
'What will happen when she needs the rooms for summer visitors?'
'They'll be back by then.'
'They're in England.'
'Declan, they're not.'
'How do you know?'
It was around the same period she heard the word 'cancer' for the first time. Her grandmother was talking to Mrs Furlong in the hallway and did not know that Helen was listening on the other side of the door.
'When they opened him up, they found that he was riddled with cancer,' she said.
Helen knew that if she asked a question she would get no answer. One day, when her grandmother had gone into Blackwater, she searched for missing letters, but she could not find any.
By now, Declan was consumed by the possibility of escaping.
'You could get a job in Dublin,' he said. 'We'd be much better off.'
'Where?'
'In Dunnes Stores, that's where you can work if you leave school.'
'I'm not even twelve.'
'How would they know?'
In the days that followed she looked at herself carefully when she was in the bathroom. She remembered the opening of the novel Desiree, where the heroine had placed handkerchiefs inside her blouse to look like breasts. Helen was tall for her age, and she wondered, if she claimed to be fourteen, would she be believed?
Something changed in the house as the days grew longer. Their grandmother's softening attitude towards them, the length of Mrs Furlong's visits, a long visit from Father Griffin, the curate in Blackwater, all convinced Helen that it was her father who was riddled with cancer, and this must mean that he was dying, or maybe needed another operation which would take longer. Although she and Declan talked about escaping and going to Dublin and Helen finding a job and a flat and Declan going to school, Helen always treated it like a game, a fantasy. Declan, however, took it seriously. He worked out plans.
'Declan, you've hardly even been in Dublin,' she said.
'I was loads of times. I know Henry Street and Moore Street.'
'But only for a day,' she said.
One evening, he came to her in her bedroom with an old brown leather wallet which was full of twenty-pound notes.
'Where did you get it?' she asked.
'He keeps it in the kitchen press in a hole,' Declan said.
'Leave it back.'
'We can use it when we escape. Now you know where it is.'
'Leave it back.'
• • •
Their father died in Dublin on 11 June. This seemed strange to her and even now, twenty years later, as she lay in bed in this house, wide awake, her grandmother upstairs asleep and Declan in hospital in Dublin, she had no memory of that early summer in Cush, of May passing into June. Some things, however, "were still sharp in her memory: the changed atmosphere in the house, at least two other letters arriving and not being mentioned, the smell of damp and paraffin. Years afterwards, she realised that her childhood ended in those few weeks, even though she did not have her first period until six months later.
She knew something had happened on that morning: early, it must have been around eight o'clock, a man arrived, she saw him passing by the window; he spoke to her grandparents and then he left. And then, not long afterwards, Father Griffin from Blackwater arrived. She decided to stay in bed until he had gone, and told herself it was still possible that something
'Hellie,' he began one day over lessons in the parlour. 'I want to go home.'
'Ssh,' she said. 'She'll hear you.'
'I don't think they're in Dublin at all. I think they're in England or America.'
'Don't be silly.'
'Why has she never come down here?'
'Because she's visiting him in hospital.'
'Why has she not come even once?'
'Because we're all right here.'
'We're not all right.'
Helen told him nothing about the letter. She tried to talk him out of his new idea, but it became an obsession.
'I saw a programme about it on the television,' he said. 'The father and mother left their children behind.'
'Behind where?'
'In an orphanage.'
'This is not an orphanage.'
'What will happen when she needs the rooms for summer visitors?'
'They'll be back by then.'
'They're in England.'
'Declan, they're not.'
'How do you know?'
It was around the same period she heard the word 'cancer' for the first time. Her grandmother was talking to Mrs Furlong in the hallway and did not know that Helen was listening on the other side of the door.
'When they opened him up, they found that he was riddled with cancer,' she said.
Helen knew that if she asked a question she would get no answer. One day, when her grandmother had gone into Blackwater, she searched for missing letters, but she could not find any.
By now, Declan was consumed by the possibility of escaping.
'You could get a job in Dublin,' he said. 'We'd be much better off.'
'Where?'
'In Dunnes Stores, that's where you can work if you leave school.'
'I'm not even twelve.'
'How would they know?'
In the days that followed she looked at herself carefully when she was in the bathroom. She remembered the opening of the novel Desiree, where the heroine had placed handkerchiefs inside her blouse to look like breasts. Helen was tall for her age, and she wondered, if she claimed to be fourteen, would she be believed?
Something changed in the house as the days grew longer. Their grandmother's softening attitude towards them, the length of Mrs Furlong's visits, a long visit from Father Griffin, the curate in Blackwater, all convinced Helen that it was her father who was riddled with cancer, and this must mean that he was dying, or maybe needed another operation which would take longer. Although she and Declan talked about escaping and going to Dublin and Helen finding a job and a flat and Declan going to school, Helen always treated it like a game, a fantasy. Declan, however, took it seriously. He worked out plans.
'Declan, you've hardly even been in Dublin,' she said.
'I was loads of times. I know Henry Street and Moore Street.'
'But only for a day,' she said.
One evening, he came to her in her bedroom with an old brown leather wallet which was full of twenty-pound notes.
'Where did you get it?' she asked.
'He keeps it in the kitchen press in a hole,' Declan said.
'Leave it back.'
'We can use it when we escape. Now you know where it is.'
'Leave it back.'
• • •
Their father died in Dublin on 11 June. This seemed strange to her and even now, twenty years later, as she lay in bed in this house, wide awake, her grandmother upstairs asleep and Declan in hospital in Dublin, she had no memory of that early summer in Cush, of May passing into June. Some things, however, "were still sharp in her memory: the changed atmosphere in the house, at least two other letters arriving and not being mentioned, the smell of damp and paraffin. Years afterwards, she realised that her childhood ended in those few weeks, even though she did not have her first period until six months later.
She knew something had happened on that morning: early, it must have been around eight o'clock, a man arrived, she saw him passing by the window; he spoke to her grandparents and then he left. And then, not long afterwards, Father Griffin from Blackwater arrived. She decided to stay in bed until he had gone, and told herself it was still possible that something
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