Kerry Literary Awards 2015 for short stories – Women’s International Café Prize

Emer Fallon reading 

her story after receiving her prize

Saltwater

by Emer Fallon

Seagulls sun sand sandy tiny bits of grit and dirt and dogshit and flies and hopping things and water and waves and clouds and sky and sand and people and people and warmth and water and waves

‘No dog! Get away. Feck off with yourself . . . stinking bag of fur and bones.’

That’s right. Go on away now and leave me alone. Just leave me sit here in peace for a while.

Skittering all over the place like a bloody pup. Still as playful as the day Big Jim brought you to me and not an ounce of anger in you ever, god bless your stupid soul. Eight years old and you still haven’t copped you don’t stand a chance in hell of catching one of those things. Seagulls have wings, you eejit. Dogs don’t.

Would you look at the size of the little titch over there with her bucket and spade, and the small lad next to her, all arms and legs.

Jesus that little one’s small. So new – so easy to hurt or break. Hurts my head to see them there, the pair of them, without a thought for all the things in the world that could do damage.

Damaged. Done damage. The damage is done. The damage is done.

‘Did I not say leave me alone! Get away from me now you filthy hound and stop

slobbering all over me! That’s right. Go on away with yourself. Go catch a seagull. Feck off.’

Jesus what a day. Days like this we used have some fun on the site. All us Irish out there together under the sky and Big Jim always with some story or ballhop going on, and our hands black with grime and our bodies wiry from work and the laughter just waiting for something to start it, and then out it comes loud as someone hammering on a locked door.

A chipped green wooden door, rows of beds behind.

‘Get away from me dog! Get away, I say!’

That’s right. Go sit over there.

Stop staring at me like that – like you’re sorry for me. Like you know me.

You don’t know me you bloody fool. You don’t know what I done. None of them lads

back then knew what I done to get me sent to that place.

Not even Jim.

He always had some ballhop going on, Jim did.

One time we put blue marking ink in the new lad’s hard hat. D’ya hear me dog?

‘Stick that on ya,’ Jim says. ‘See how it fits.’ Too big – o’course it was – so yerman takes it off and there he is, standing there with these big blue ears and all the lads are trying not to break their hearts laughing and I’m in the middle of all those lads, right there in the middle of them all, and once we start I swear I laughed so much I near cried, laughing like a fool I was, tears running down my face and shaking all over, can’t stop, and then Jim says what the hell’s up with you, and I tell him I can’t stop and he says what d’ya mean you can’t stop and I tell him I don’t know, just lately I can’t stop thinking about when we were young lads, living in that place, sleeping in that place, day in day out, and out here on the site everything feels so big and Jim says he knows what I mean, and I tell him I haven’t been sleeping so well and my head is all messed up and he says why don’t we drop into Mikey Sullivan’s uncle’s place in Kilburn on the way home? Why don’t we just do that, drop into Doctor Sullivan’s place?

You weren’t with me back then, fool dog. The good doctor sent me to St Luke’s over in Camden that time. All green and grey and cool in there, it was, not like the other place had been, just voices, soft voices talking amongst themselves. Damaged damage done no relatives to send him to no family in England just this James Dunleavy says he’ll look after him met in an institution when they were children.

Just children. Jim and me me and Jim.

It was him gave you to me, dog. Right after he went and got me that job with Clarke’s Construction. Always been good to me, he has, big Jim. And them days with Clarkes weren’t the worst by any means. Hard work, that’s what it was, dog, pure and simple. Blessed hard work. Enough to make a person tired right to the bones, then the few pints afterwards and back to that cupboard of a place in Kilburn – no time to think. Just work and sleep. Work and work and sleep and a few drinks every now and again and money piling up in that oul’ suitcase under the bed, no-one to give it to, no-one to spend it on.

Look at you, you drooling fool – You’d swear you were listening to every bloody word.

Jesus Christ – is anyone watching that child there at all? Just look at her up there! And her drowsy tramp of a mother burning herself to a crisp with her little one about to be swept out to sea! Does she not know the things that can happen to a child? Does she not know –

‘WOULD YOU LOOK AT HER!’

That’s right little man – go on over there and fetch your sister. Good lad. Great little lad. You’re doing a better job than yer mam, that’s for sure.

Leave them be now. Leave them be. Can’t you see the girl’s alright? And isn’t the boy keeping an eye on her anyway? That’s right. Close your eyes.

No. Those days with Clarkes weren’t the worst by any means, dog. Maybe I’d still be there if it wasn’t for that little tramp. . . . . Ah Jesus. What am I saying? There’s no need for that kind of talk. Just a girl – that’s all she was. What made me bring her back anyway? Only had to get her under the light and I knew. Bold as brass, cigarette hanging out of her mouth and her chest all squeezed up to make her look like she had tits.

What age are you I says to her. What age are you at all?

Fifteen she says. Fifteen? Ah Jesus – To think a child would do that to herself – make herself out to be something she wasn’t. Christ that makes me mad. Stone mad, so it does.

Stop licking me dog. Stop it – dya hear?

That’s right – she found out what the back of my hand felt like too. Hurts, doesn’t it? Now stop hawing all over me and feck off.

And you over there with your pipe-cleaner arms and legs, watch your sister and don’t be looking at me like I have two heads. Jesus Christ – can a man not even be allowed to sit and think in peace without some wretched bloody dog and some skinny kid sticking their bloody noses into his business? Can he not?

Sure what would a fifty-nine year old eejit like me be wanting with a girl like that? Then she starts whining about the police. No. No sirree. No more locked doors for me. So I pack up my bags and get outta that place. I know what I’ll do, I says, I’ll come back home for myself. That’s it. Get a little place by the sea, go fishing off the pier.

And here we are dog. And I’m no more at home here than I was back in Kilburn.

Ah for god’s sakes – what’s the little one up to now? If she’s not up on the rocks she’s running into the water.

Are you watching her at all? Look at her, would you, for god’s sakes!

‘Watch your child!’

That’s right. Go on. Sit up. Now go and get her out of there!

Honest to god – does she not know the things that can happen to a child? Does she not know about the dangers all around?

I need to have a word with that little lad.

I need to show him what I have – make him understand.

But he’s so small. I don’t know. I don’t know that he’ll understand.

Let go of my sleeve you stupid brute. What are you playing at you fool? Let go of me for christ’s sake. Let me talk to the boy.

‘You there! Come over here to me. That’s right – no need to look so scared. Tell me now – does your Mam look after you? Feeds you proper, does she? And keeps you clean? Good – that’s good. I seen you helping your sister there. Strong little man, aren’t you? I’ll tell you something, we could have done with the likes of you on the sites. Hefting blocks and bags of cement in all weather – what do you think you would’ve made of that, huh? Listen to me now, I have a job that needs doing, and I’m thinking you might be the man for it. It’s a big job, mind. An important job. It involves a life.’

‘So now . . . What do you have to say about that?’

‘Answer me boy, for christ’s sake, and stop gawking at me like a halfwit. Did you hear what I said? I’m talking about a life.’

‘You hit the dog.’

‘What’s that? Speak up. I can’t hear you.’

‘You hit the dog.’

‘Hit the dog, did you say? That’s right. I did. Come here fella – come over here now and say hello. Like him, do ya? Well it’s him I want to talk to you about. I want you to take him home and feed him and give him somewhere warm and dry to sleep. And I want you to walk him and talk to him and throw him a ball every now and again. But you’re never to raise a hand to him – d’you hear? Never a hand.’

‘Here’s his lead. It’s a bit worn, mind, but it does the job. You’ll need that to take him off the beach when you’re going home. And don’t forget he likes to be walked – at least once a day, sometimes twice if he’s fidgety. ‘

‘Now then – Take a look at what I’ve got for you in here. Go on boy, will you! Take a look at what’s inside.’

‘That’s right son. Money. Lots of the stuff – enough to buy yourself and your sister a dozen buckets and spades – and yer Mam a new dress or a pair of shoes or whatever she fancies. But you need to keep some over to buy food and a bed for the dog. Understand?’

‘Yes mister.’

‘There now. I’ll just close it up for you. Think you can manage it? That’s it. Didn’t I say you would have been a great little man to have on the sites? Slip it over there behind those rocks. You can show it to yer Mam once I’m gone. That’s it. Good lad. And keep an eye on your sister, won’t you? That’s right. Go on back over there now and play.’

‘No. Leave me alone dog. Stay with the boy, do ya hear me? Do you want to feel the back of my hand again? Is that it?’

That’s right. Feck off.

Back to the kids. Just leave me walk now, walk in peace a while.

Sand on my feet in my toes on my skin sand hoppers sand hoppers that is their name

sand on my feet voices growing faint and fainter and faint

sand on my feet wet sand on the strand wind on my face

water lap lapping at my feet on my skin water wet water

and pain in my chest in my mouth in my eyes

and water in my eyes. Saltwater.