The Heather Blazing (17 page)

She told him to catch the mare and steady her. She threw the saddle across the mare's back, ordering him all the while to hold her steady. Then she tied the saddle down.

“Watch her now,” she said. “She'll kick.” He did not know whether she was serious or not.

She put the blinkers on and forced the bit into the horse's mouth.

The saddle seemed much higher than he had imagined. “How do I get up?” he asked.

“Simple,” she said. “I'll hold her and you put your hands on the saddle and lift yourself up. Fast now, fast.”

He tried it a few times, but he fell back each time before he could get a chance to sit on the saddle. She grew impatient.

“Hold on to the reins here,” she said, “and I'll show you.” When she did it she made it seem easy. He handed her the reins once more when she got down.

“You're used to it,” he said, and tried again, but still could not jump into the saddle without unsteadying the horse.

“I'll pull you up, the mare's strong enough for both of us,” she said, and once more without any apparent effort she got up into the saddle. He held on to the saddle again with one hand and held her arm with the other.

“Don't pull me down,” she shouted. “One, two, three, jump.”

This time he made it, and the horse remained steady; it took him some time to scramble around and sit on the back part of the saddle where she had made room for him. She patted the horse and held the reins.

“Hold on to me now,” she said. She gave the horse a kick with both her legs and the animal started to canter forward. After a while she made the mare slow down, keeping to the edge of the field, going round and round.

“The secret,” she turned to him and said, “is in your legs. You have to hold it with your legs.”

His penis was hard, and he tried to move back in the saddle so she would not feel it pressed against her, but each time the horse moved forward his body was thrown against hers. He was unsure what to do. He knew that she could feel it
against her but she gave no sign. He wanted to put his hands on her breasts, but he felt a need also to get down off the horse without her noticing his reaction. He moved in closer to her, closing his eyes and forgetting his embarrassment. He was pressed tight against her, as the horse moved slowly around the field. She seemed oblivious to him. He held her tight around the waist. He could feel the comforting heat of her body as he pressed harder against her, he could feel his heart pounding and he caught his breath when he began to ejaculate. He felt a sudden sadness then, an urge to be away from her, an uneasy guilt which he had not known before.

He was glad to play solo again that evening, happy to be in the house with his cousins. He had changed his underpants and left the old ones behind a bush in the orchard to which no one ever went since the trees had all started to die. But as they played that evening he felt distant from the game, his mind kept wandering back to the scene earlier in the day.

In the morning when the others had gone to school he approached his aunt in the kitchen.

“Are you busy?” he asked her.

“Why, Eamon? What's wrong with you?”

“I want to go home,” he said. “I want to be in my own house.”

“There's no one to mind you at home.”

“But when am I going home?”

“I'll be going up to Dublin next week and I'll see your Daddy and we'll settle it all.”

“I'll write him a letter that you can take with you.”

“Of course I'll take it up with me, but be careful not to worry him too much. It wouldn't be good for him at all. And, listen, I was writing to all your aunts in America and telling them all about you, and they want you to write as well.”

“I wrote to them at Christmas,” he said.

“You should write to them more often. They love hearing news.”

*  *  *

He went back to Jimmy Walsh's the following week. Once more, Jimmy was away at a mart and Anne was there alone.

“Your hair is different,” he said as they sat in the kitchen. “What did you do?”

“I knew you were coming,” she said.

“And is that why you did it?” he laughed.

“I don't know what you're laughing at.”

He had been worried about facing her again, afraid that she would mention what had happened between them. But she said nothing and he was relaxed now at the table in the kitchen.

“How's your father?” she asked.

He did not know how to reply, but told her about his conversation with his aunt.

“Has he not written to you?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, unsure what she meant.

“I don't think you're cut out for the saddle,” she said. “Maybe we'll just take the horse for a walk.” She went to the shed and got the reins which she brought out to the field. They walked through a few fields with the horse in tow, moving slowly, the mare resisting the pull of the rein, until they reached a rutted lane with high ditches on either side. Eventually they came into an open field which sloped down towards a stream. Anne walked ahead of him, talking to the mare, coaxing her forward. The sky was low with clouds, but the rain kept off.

There were stones in the stream to make crossing easy. Anne let the mare drink and then led her across the stream and tied the reins to a tree, leaving enough rein for the mare to move around. They walked through a cluster of trees, until they came to a bank which was covered in undergrowth. Flies buzzed around them and there was a smell of damp earth.

“The ground is too wet to sit down on,” she said. “We should have brought a blanket.”

They both stood there; he kept his distance from her, still not sure why she had taken him here, not wanting to presume too much. She said nothing, but moved over towards a tree and rested her head against the bark. He moved towards her casually, pretending to be preoccupied. She smiled at him, and held out her hand. He had been thinking about her body, her breasts, her waist, her hair, but he had not noticed her lips before until he began to kiss her and taste her warm breath. She put her arms around him and opened her mouth wide so he could roll his tongue in against hers.

*  *  *

At home, he discovered that he could make his penis hard by concentrating on her mouth and her nipples which she had let him touch. He learned to masturbate. He brought half a sheet of newspaper upstairs, and while his cousins were asleep he worked at himself while he thought about her lips and her tongue, the lightness of her breasts and the warmth between her legs which she would not let him touch.

“You're getting very fond of Jimmy Walsh's,” his aunt said one day as they were all sitting around the table having tea.

“Maybe it's the niece he's fond of,” his uncle said. “She's the one that's getting the farm. Jimmy's mad about her. She'd be a great catch, Eamon.” He laughed.

“Will you leave the child alone?” his aunt said. “He'll have time enough for that.”

As the weather grew better he went to the Walshes' as often as he could. Sometimes Anne was busy and he had to wait for her; often, they took the mare out and she taught him how to canter and gallop, but he did not learn easily. She asked him questions no one else had ever asked him, talked to him naturally as though he were an adult, and always, on each visit, he knew that she wanted to disappear into one of the outbuildings or to the thicket across the stream, just as much as he did.

She began to let him put his hand into her pants and
explore between her legs. She gasped when he put his finger in, but he knew that he was not hurting her. He loved the soft wetness down there, and then the tight entry and he loved making her wince with pleasure. He was nervous the first time when she unbuttoned his trousers. He kissed her on the lips hoping that she would not want to look at him, but she persisted, put her hand into his underpants and held his penis.

He knew that what they did was a sin. As he walked home he knew that if he died, or if he had an accident, or his heart stopped, he would spend all eternity in hell. He would have to go to confession as soon as he could. The local curate, Father Moriarity, often came to his aunt and uncle's house. He was a big, jovial man with a high-pitched laugh. He loved talking to the children. Eamon could not imagine trying to explain to him, even in the darkness of the confessional, what he and Anne had done together. He knew that Father Moriarity would have to keep what he was told a secret and he could not tell his aunt or Jimmy Walsh, but it would still be impossible to tell him. Until now, the state of mortal sin seemed unimaginable; now he was surprised at how easy it was to study, or read, or eat meals without being disturbed by it. Only at night did the real impact of what he had done hit home.

On Sundays he went to communion with the rest of the family, and one Saturday, with his cousins, he went to the parish church for confession with Father Moriarity. Eamon told him that he had forgotten to say his night prayers, and Father Moriarity told him that God would forgive him if he said his penance. Before he said the Latin prayers Father Moriarity asked him if he was praying that his Daddy would be better and he said that he was. He was surprised that Father Moriarity was prepared to let him know that he recognized him. None of the priests in Enniscorthy had ever done that. He was even more certain now that he could not tell Father
Moriarity about his sin. He would have to wait until he went home to Enniscorthy.

When the school holidays came, his cousins' presence around the house made his reading impossible. He had to go and work with them on the farm. He became homesick again, as much for his daily routine as for Enniscorthy and his own house and his father. One of his cousins came to Walsh's with him one day to try the mare. Eamon and Anne tried to hide in a shed, but they had only begun to kiss when they heard his cousin shouting their names outside in the yard and they knew it would be impossible and they would have to wait for another day.

One evening after tea, when they were getting ready to go out again and pick potatoes, his aunt told him that his father was at home, but he was still not well, and Eamon could go down soon to see him, but he would have to be very good.

“Can I go tomorrow?” he asked.

“I'll see if your uncle is going into Tullow. If not, maybe someone else will be going in,” she said.

He packed his clothes and his books. He went downstairs and asked his uncle if he was going to Tullow, but his uncle said that he did not know. He asked his aunt again.

“I shouldn't have told you until the morning,” she said.

Only when they had begun to play cards could he settle down and forget his lift to Tullow. That evening his aunt let them play until much later than usual. She said that his cousins could go and see him soon in Enniscorthy and they could play more solo there.

He woke early in the morning. It was daylight outside, but his cousins were still asleep. He felt his penis hard and he thought about putting his hand on Anne's breast, about the silky skin of her stomach and the strong sweet smell which came from the soft wet rose between her legs. He tried not to wake his cousins as he masturbated, his eyes shut tight as he concentrated on her.

When he went downstairs his uncle was sitting at the table drinking tea; his aunt was still in her dressing-gown.

“I don't think there's anyone going in today,” she said.

“Can I try and hitch a lift?” he asked.

“You're anxious to go, aren't you?” his aunt asked. “Look at you,” she said. “You'll be shaving soon. And you've shot up. They won't know you in Enniscorthy you've gone so tall. It must be the country air. Don't look so worried. We'll get you into Tullow some way.”

“I've left all the books back upstairs,” he said.

“You can take any of them with you that you like,” she said.

His cousins stood in the yard to say goodbye to him. He knew that he was going home for good. His aunt had put on her best costume. She sat in the front seat while his uncle drove.

*  *  *

He caught the bus in Tullow. He could see out of the window this time, his journey just a few months before seemed remote in time, something which belonged to the distant past. He thought about Anne again. He should have said goodbye to her. He began to worry now about the mortal sins on his soul. He would have to go to confession as soon as he could in Enniscorthy.

His Uncle Tom met him when the bus stopped at the bottom of Slaney Street.

“Your father's down in our house,” he said. “He's waiting for you there.”

It was a warm summer evening and the gulls were squabbling high in the air over the railway bridge as he carried his suitcase towards the Island Road. His mortal sins now seemed more important than they did when he was away, more real and urgent.

His father was sitting in a chair in the back room of the house when Eamon and his uncle came in. He had grown
much balder and his hair had become grey at the sides. Eamon stood back and looked at him. His father's eyes seemed swollen and strange.

His father said something, but his voice was distorted. Eamon noticed that part of his face was paralyzed. He stood there watching him while his father tried to speak again. He tried to listen carefully to see if he could make out what his father was saying. He made another attempt and this time Eamon could see for sure that only half his face could move. His father was still eagerly smiling at him and saying something. Eamon nodded when he had finished as though he understood.

“I'll walk up a bit of the way with you,” his uncle said. “You can leave one of your bags here and come back for it later.”

There was nobody else in the house. He watched his father standing up and limping across the room. He saw no pain in his face, just effort and concentration. He went over and held his arm and led him out towards the hall.

“I'm all right now. I'm all right now,” his father said impatiently and started slowly to walk without help. Eamon and his Uncle Tom accompanied him down the pathway to the road. When they reached Irish Street they walked on either side of him. It was hard to walk so slowly. People came to the doors and watched them, greeting them and eyeing his father with curiosity.