Somewhere I Belong (26 page)

By four thirty, the men had finished the hole. It was time to start
the tunnel. Patrick climbed down the ladder, grabbed the pickaxe,
and chipped away at the dirt at a two-and-a-half-foot height. Michael waited on the ladder for the pail. When the tunnel was about a foot and a half deep, it was time to shore up the roof. Michael handed down the timbers one at a time. Percy explained the process from above.

“Take that there pickaxe and try to square off your crown, Patrick. You're going to need to bang a plank into it for the roof, and one on
either side to hold it in place. Put them in careful—they got to be
straight or they'll weaken and take the whole works down.”

Patrick placed a timber at the crown and knocked it in with a sledge
hammer. Then he placed a timber on either side of it and banged
those in too. When he was two feet in and certain the timbers were secure, he stopped. Sweat ran off him in a steady stream, his face was
streaked with dirt, and his sleeveless, white linder, now covered in
red Island mud, stuck to his back. He heaved himself up the ladder, brushed dirt from his hair, and handed his shovel to Larry. His hands were so blistered they bled. Nora passed him a tumbler of ice tea and
a sandwich. He nodded a thanks to his sister, then he looked at me
and pointed to the pail down the hole. “Three'd get it done a whole lot quicker: someone could dig; another fella could sit on the bottom rung and fill up the pail; someone could come midway down, grab it, and hand down an empty.” Then he ambled toward the barn, found a spot in the shade, and sank to the ground. It was six thirty, we had half a tunnel to dig yet, and some rocks to move. And Maggie had been down that cold well since noon.

While Patrick took his break by the barn, Father Mullaly turned to Helen and Mrs. MacIntyre. “Go on into the house for a bit. Get something to eat. I'll be right here until you get back.”

“No thank you, Father.” Mrs. MacIntyre sounded polite but firm.
“She's my daughter; I'm staying right here.”

“I'm not leaving either,” Helen said. Under normal circumstances, Ma would have crowned her for disobeying a priest.

Even though the tunnel was short, it was a painstaking operation.
Every shovel full of dirt, every pail loaded and lugged up that ladder, and every plank hammered into place, had to count for steady progress—no slanted timbers, no cave-ins that called for a restart. Larry and I worked steadily in tandem, he hacking the tunnel into shape and pushing dirt to the opening, me shovelling it into the pail and passing it to Percy or William or Uncle Ed, then grabbing a plank and returning with it and the empty pail. My hand went numb under the handle of that heavy pail. My fingers were stiff and sore.

Larry held the planks in place and banged them in with the sledgehammer. Then he kept digging. Gen MacCormack sent down a damp, cool cloth. He reached for it, thanked her, and tied it over his nose and mouth. Then he crawled, head first, into the partially dug tunnel, his long legs sticking out. It was slow going. The further Larry crawled into the tunnel, the less room he had to manoeuvre. Red dirt coated his face and stuck to his hair. By its narrow opening, and the way it closed in around him, I couldn't see how he had room to dig. All we thought about was opening that tunnel, moving that dirt, and reaching the rocks that would mark the tunnel's end. About getting Maggie out of there and into the house and warm. I pictured her down that dark, damp shaft, huddled on the plank, shivering in the thin cotton dress that had got soaked from the fall. She'd no doubt be exhausted by now. And scared.

Except for Helen, Father Mullaly, and Mrs. MacIntyre, everyone circled
around the dig, their tired, weary faces staring down. Uncle Jim moved to the head of the well and called down to Maggie, “I reckon they're almost there. How 'bout you give a bang onto one of them rocks so Larry can get an idea of how much farther to go.”

She did. Larry wiggled a bit, edged himself out, and ripped off the cloth. “I heard her—we're almost there. But it's too tight; I can't get a grip on the shovel.” Then he passed the damp cloth to where I waited on the ladder. “You try it, P.J.”

The opening of the tunnel measured two and a half feet in diameter. It was dark and I knew it narrowed as it progressed. I tested a plank that shored up the roof and looked up at Larry. He sucked in a lip and nodded in encouragement. Ma edged toward the open hole and shook her head.

“I don't know,” she said. “It doesn't look safe.”

Mrs. MacIntyre got up from her seat and stood next to Ma. “Someone needs to get my daughter out of there.” I could see the look of desperation on her face.

Someone said, “She'll likely die down there.” I think it was William Giddings.

Shovel in hand, I pulled the cotton cloth over my face. Then I went down on hands and knees and disappeared inside. I inched along on my elbows, dragging the shovel. Four feet in, I reached the spot where Larry had stopped digging. My face brushed the dirt. I could taste it
and smell it, even through the damp cotton cloth. And it didn't feel
safe. When I reached the end of the support timbers, I started digging. I picked away at an awkward angle at the ceiling and the walls. It was tough going. Loose dirt fell around me; it coated my face and clogged my eyes. When I managed to chip away a few inches of soil, I dragged it with my forearm to the opening. It took three, sometimes four, assaults on each side to get the right width and height. Then I grabbed a timber and slammed it into place with a hand.

By seven thirty, pine planks lined three sides of a five-foot-long
tunnel. Maggie had been down there seven-and-a-half hours. I kept hacking with my shovel and scraping with my hands, thinking I was close to the stone wall at the well. But all I found was dirt. My arms ached. Sweat and damp earth soaked my clothes. Exhausted, discouraged, I heaved my shovel one last time and finally made a hit.

“Found it,” I shouted.

I scrambled to the mouth of the tunnel, tore off the cotton cloth,
and announced it again. Percy appeared at the top of the ladder and called out the final orders.

“It's a delicate operation when you get near the end, Pius James.” His eyes were bloodshot. Fatigue dragged down his face. “Them stones got to be taken out one by one, startin' from the top. You don't want no cave-in and you don't want to jam up your hand. And you definitely don't want nothin' fallin' on your trapped man…er…girl. Go slow—one stone at a time.”

Ma moved up behind him. “It doesn't look safe. I'm not sure I want Pius James in there moving those rocks around.”

“Ma—it's fine.”

Ma put her hands to her face. “I don't know.”

“It's good and solid, Ma, honest.”

Mrs. MacIntyre moved closer to Ma. “Please, Martha.” She looked terrified. “Pius James is the only one who can do it.”

“She's right, Martha,” Percy said. “Pius James is the right size; he's the only man who can get through. I can tell him what to do when he
gets there. I can talk him through it from the opening. But he's the
one to do it. It's too tight for the rest of us; you need room to pry out them rocks.”

The sun slipped behind the barn. Shadows cast across the yard,
marking the interlude between day and night, when the light was dim and a lantern of little use. The only consolation was the slight breeze
that offered a reprieve from the day's unbearable heat. Ma looked
down at the tunnel's dark entrance, buttressed by a single plank at the crown and two flimsy supports. The shadow and the dull evening light made it impossible for her to see how expertly dug and painstakingly engineered it really was.

I stood up by the entrance to the tunnel, my fingers raw from scraping, my hands blistered from the handles of the pickaxe and the shovel. But looking around me, I figured Percy was right: I was the only one who could get to the end of the tunnel and still find room to manoeuvre. I threw back my aching shoulders and stared straight up at my mother. “I'm going in to get her, Ma.”

Ma drew in a breath. Silence set in as everyone stared at her. She
glanced down at me again, then at the tunnel opening. When Mrs.
MacIntyre edged beside her, Ma said, “Be careful, Pius James.”

I nodded up to my mother and disappeared into the darkness. Percy called out a final warning.

“Careful not to touch them planks. They're in good, but you don't want to chance it. The whole works could come right down on you.”

I heard my mother gasp. I could almost see her running another
disaster through her mind, chanting out a frantic prayer to St. Joseph.

I inched along the black tunnel. My hands sank into the damp earth. Mud clung to my trousers. The air was heavy. Panic set in as everything seemed to close in around me. I focused on my breathing and counted my way along, trying to calm myself. The cotton cloth clung to my face, making it hard to breath. I tore it off and sucked in the smell of damp, still air and red clay. My first instinct was to back out of there, to get into the open and breathe in the fresh air. Instead, I pushed back the fear and urged myself forward. Then I heard Maggie's muffled cries through the last layer of mud and rock and smelled the familiar smell of still water and wet stone. Uncle Jim called down to her.

“Where'd you go? I can't see you.” Even at the worst of times, my uncle could be funny. In the fading light, the well shaft no doubt resembled a black hole.

I took a deep breath. You've got to do this, P.J. You can't let her
down. I hit up against the last layer of mud and rock that separated the tunnel from the old well. “I'm here.” I hoped she could hear me. But all I heard was Percy.

“Start at the top.” His voice was muffled by the length of the tunnel and the mud. “You want the dirt to fall on your side.”

In the dark, I felt around for the top stone, found it, and dug and brushed away dirt. I grasped around and tried to move it, but it was jammed in tight. I tried the stone next to it, but it, too, held fast. I tried a third stone. This one moved easily. The only problem was that it was leaning toward the well, and Maggie was on the other side.

“It's P.J.,” I called out to her.

“I can hear you. I'm okay.”

“I need you to help. I can't move these rocks from this side.”

“What should I do?”

“Can you move over this way?”

“Which way?” she asked. “I don't know.” She sounded tired and
scared.

“I just need you to help me one time. I just need you to pull on one of these rocks— pull it to your side. Do you think you can do it?”

“Uh…okay.”

I heard shuffling, then panicky breathing as she shifted on the narrow plank. “What do I do now?”

“Can you see this rock?” I shoved it with my hand. “Can you see it move?”

“It's too dark….”

“Run your hand over the wall. I'll push on it; see if you can find it.”

I pushed, then heard scraping and Maggie mumbling to herself.

“Is this it?” She pushed the rock back slightly.

“Good! You got it. If I push it in, do you think you can help get it out?”

“Uh-huh.”

Palm to the rock, I leaned on it. It came loose, then disappeared
and splashed.

I heard a gasp, then her say, “Do you want to do another one?” She sounded braver now, more certain.

I put my hand through the hole and waved it around. “Where are you?”

She clasped it. “Right here!” Her hand felt frail and cold. But she
held on tight.

“Hang on,” I said, surprised at my newfound confidence. I held onto her and talked to her. “You're safe now—I'm getting you out.”

The hole in the wall gave me room to work. I put a hand in it, palm up, and grabbed a stone. It loosened and soon gave way. Maggie grabbed it from the other side and let it fall to the water. We worked in tandem, me grabbing the stones and working them loose, her feeling around for them and dropping them into the well. Uncle Jim placed a kerosene lantern at the mouth of the tunnel. Soon I could see the gap in the wall and Maggie on the other side. Her thin legs were goose-bumped and shivering, her teeth chattering behind a brave smile. In half an hour, we had created an opening two feet high. I figured one more foot would allow a safe escape. I pulled on the stones above it, but they wouldn't budge. The ones below were supporting the plank.

“You got to move,” I said. “We got to get those stones out from under that plank.”

“Where to?”

“Maybe find the ones you were standing on before.”

“I can't,” she whimpered. “I can't see.” I got a feeling that she was so cold she could barely move.

Uncle Jim called down from the wellhead. “Now, Maggie, P.J.'s there to get you out. You gotta move now, just for a minute or two.”