The Law of Dreams (28 page)

“They are, yes.”

“Ah. I thought as much. What are you doing, so?”

“There's no browse left in their field. It's all cropped
down. You couldn't keep a rabbit there.”

“And do you expect to be paid wages for grazing these poor old
bucks?”

“I don't.”

“That's wise. Because Sunday's
Sunday, you see. The law says I can't pay a fellow Sunday wages, even if I would.
Kindness must be its own reward. But here, have a cigar.” Reaching out, Mr.
Murdoch handed him a cigar. “That's a decentlooking animal you're
sitting on. Good bones. Is he one of mine?”

Fergus nodded, sudddenly afraid that the contractor was going to claim the
horse for himself.

The blue raised his head and shook his neck.

“He looks well set up.” Mr. Murdoch eyed the horse critically.
“Might have hunted him — in his better days.”

“He'll run twenty tips a day. Got his own mind. Wicked
biter.”

“Is he? Well, it's always sad to see a gentleman come down in
the world.”

Mr. Murdoch rode off. Relieved, Fergus reached down to stroke the
blue's neck, and the horse twisted around and tried to bite him.

Perhaps meanness was the reason he'd come down from saddle horse to
cart horse to tip horse on the railway — or perhaps his misfortune had made him
mean. The world didn't require a reason for things to fall apart. He knew that,
and the horse knew it too.

IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT
he was awakened by one sharp
cry. He kept very still, heart knocking in his chest. Wind squealed along the walls of
the shanty. It was a hard, cold night. He tried convincing himself it was only wind that
he'd heard.

He'd been beaten, often. The open palm, the fist, the stick.
Speechless violence, what men seemed to admire most of all. The humiliation almost
unbearable, far worse than the pain.

Her next scream flickered so fast, like a startled bird, he almost
believed he hadn't heard a thing.

The musty smell of night with fear flowering in it, which is the smell of
being alone.

With nothing around you but cold, you perceive the world coldly, realizing
anything else is a lie you've told yourself.

When she cried out again, it wasn't loud. A small shout, quick. A
fox caught in a leg trap.

He got out of the crib, dressed quickly, and crept out into the cozy,
causing a dispersal of startled mice.

A few coals were glowing in the grate. Dishes sat in moonlight.

He could hear the iron bed creaking.

Crossing the room, he lifted Muldoon's pistol from the shelf. Powder
and
bullets were in a leather bag. Conscientiously, he loaded.

You smell a girl coming at you, like apple blossom on the wind. Excitement
and demands, transformation, danger. A girl awoke you and suddenly you were walking in
the startling forest of your dreams.

He crossed the room and stopped in front of the curtain.

He could hear nothing from inside, no voices, only the ticking of the
ganger's watch.

The wind had died. After a while he could hear Muck's deep, steady
breathing.

Only make a sound. Cry out. I shall walk straight in and shoot the
fellow.

Muldoon began snoring.

Fergus stood just outside the curtain, shivering, his resolve slowly
leaking away. Finally he unloaded the pistol, replaced it on the shelf, and returned to
his crib where he fell asleep and dreamed of Luke fleeing across the bog, her boys
chasing her. She was covered in scratches and they had been licking her blood.

IT WAS THE LAST SUNDAY
before the Pay and he was grazing
the tip horses along the road when he saw her walking out from camp. He'd never
seen her away from the shanty before. Muck did not like her to venture.

McCarty said the road was death for girls, with all the famished tramps
and gypsies.

She was a solitary figure, wearing an old bonnet and carrying a basket. As
she came closer he saw she was barefoot.

“Where are you off to?”

“Gather seabirds' eggs.”

He was astride the horse, and she passed by without saying anything
more.

He continued to watch her. She had a way of walking, resolute. She owned
herself.

He saw her leave the road and start across the grid of small, enclosed
fields. She was heading for the clifftops above the sea. Kicking his heels, he started
the horse ambling along the road. Dismounting at the gate she'd passed through, he
started after her across the fields.

The grass was thick. Sheep bawled at him. Climbing the last stile, he lost
sight of her. Fearing she had fallen over the cliff, he was hurrying to the edge when
she reappeared, crawling out under from a clump of gorse.

“Muck says we'll sell eggs for a penny each. I see them but I
can't reach them.”

She didn't seem surprised that he had followed
her. She stood up, brushing off her gown, and walked to the edge of the cliff.
“There's Ireland out there, man.” She pointed. “If you was a
seabird, you might fly the way.”

He couldn't see anything, just sea. The sky fast with clouds.

“No use going back,” he said.

“No. No use.”

Standing beside her, he could feel some tension in her. She was near the
edge, her toes out over the grassy tufts at the very lip of the cliff. Waves smashing
white on the rocks far below.

“I'm thinking I'm going to jump, Fergus,” she said
suddenly. “Give these old goners a splash. I'm ready as Hell.”

He took hold of her hand.

“No. Let me go.”

There a white patch of sail, far off, quite small on the silver plate of
sea.

“Look, Molly, a ship.”

Stepping back from the edge, she sat down in the grass.

He sat beside her. Wetting his handkerchief, he wiped her forehead,
temples, cheeks. At first she balked, then shut her eyes.

“If you want to get away,” he said, “I'll take you
to America.”

She said nothing for a while, and he kept dabbing her face.

“You haven't the money,” she finally said. “No
more than three pounds coming to you, I suppose. A fare's three pounds each, even
to Quebec. And you must have supplies for a passage. Warm clothes. Extra rations —
you can't make it on what they feed.”

“We'll go down the line, another contract. London tunnels.
Soon we'd have enough.”

Her eyes were unreadable. “He'd find me on the
line.”

“He wouldn't.”

“You don't know Muldoon. You're no good next to a fellow
like that. You're only a boy.”

“I'd take care of you, Molly.”

“Muck's not so bad — he brought me out of Ireland. I was
living like a finch when he found me.”

“He beats you.”

“I can stand it.”

“He rules you, though.”

She looked out to sea. Seabirds circled below the cliffs, wailing.

None of it thought out. No plan in your head. No words before you said
them.

“You want to get away of him. Don't be afraid. Come with
me.”

“‘Don't be afraid'?” She laughed, mocking
him, but he saw how terrified she was, and he felt strong. Muldoon was nothing, Muldoon
was bad sky; he would walk right through Muldoon.

She suddenly stood up, brushing grass and twigs from her gown and picking
up the basket, which contained two paltry pale green eggs. She stepped to the edge
again. He could hear birds crying and sea breaking on the rocks far below.

“If you are going to jump, Molly, then jump with me, to
America.”

She looked over her shoulder. He felt exhilarated and strange, as though
he were living outside himself. “Will you come?”

The huge, empty pan of sea. The motion of things.

“He mustn't find out. You mustn't say a word to anyone.
Not to McCarty or anyone else. Keep away from me — don't be whispering at
me, never! Keep apart, or Muck will know. The Pay is when. Night of the Pay —
we'll get away then, Muck will be on a spree. How much will you have on Pay
Night?”

“As you say; three pounds nearly.”

“It's not enough.”

“It will get us to London.”

“Muck will be drinking and roaring on the Pay. Can your horse carry
us both? To Chester?”

“Yes.”

“Go to the stable after you collect your pay. Wait for me there, get
your horse ready. I'll get clear of Muck somehow; once he's on the spree you
could shoot him, and he wouldn't know it. We'll go for Chester and catch the
Southern Express. Only don't say nothing. And don't come at me, no whispers,
no sweet talk; don't look all moony. If Muck is giving me trouble, knocking me
about, you stay out of it. I can take it. If he finds out, he'd kill us
both.”

He felt like a ship, powerful, restless, moving. Standing up, he placed
his hands on her shoulders. She stood still, her gaze fixed at a point on his chin.

When he bent to kiss her she accepted it, but her lips were dry and
closed.

“Moll —”

She clapped a hand over his mouth, kissing his chin, then cheeks, his ear
— then his mouth. Their teeth clashed. The juice in her mouth tasted sweet. She
began unbuttoning his trousers. She pushed him down on the cold grass, lay down beside
him and, seizing his wrists, pulled him on top of her, licking and biting his hands,
thrusting his fingers into her mouth and sucking them, then dragging one hand up under
her skirts and rubbing his fingers between her legs. Grasping his cock she directed him.
When he was plunged in her she began bucking her hips.

Joy overwhelms the capacity to make sense of it.

For a few seconds as the juice was leaping out of him he believed he was
seeing the shape of life clearly, but when the climax passed and he collapsed on her his
brain went cloudy and the vision did not sustain.

She lay still for a few moments, then began wriggling out from under. She
stood up, shaking down her dress. “Don't come after me now.”

Before he could say anything she was gone. He sat up and watched her
striding over the meadow, climbing the stiles.

Turning, he looked out to sea. Pale sun glinted on the waves. The sail had
disappeared.

Could you see America, when the air was clear?

No. Too far.

The hard-looking, empty sea made him feel empty and alone.

It lay out there, the mystery.

Of course you couldn't see.

HE FOUND
a piece of Molly's clothing draped on a
stool by the fire, drying. A little undershirt. Flimsy white Manchester cotton.

She was outside, bucketing through more wash.

Afraid to be seen with him. Afraid Muck would somehow sniff out their
plan.

He took the soft little thing, lay down in his crib, and covered his face
with it, the dampness and the softness.

A girl turned you inside out.

WEATHER CAME IN SLEET
the night before the Pay. Snow
covered the grade and greased the rails in the morning so that the first trucks ran
almost in silence. The sky began to break at dinnertime and was dark blue by afternoon.
The navvies cheered when they saw the wagon with an iron strongbox aboard pulling up at
the timer's shed, a policeman in a leather cape sitting alongside the teamster.
The timer emerged to escort them to the beer shop where the Pay would be made.

After feeding their horses and turning them out, Fergus and McCarty walked
back through the camp, passing the beer shop, which was closed, with curtains drawn over
the windows.

It was very quiet in the camp. The navvies had came down off the cutting
at the sound of the bell and headed straight up the hill to the shanties to get
themselves ready.

“What will you do with your pay?” McCarty asked.

He was tempted to share the secret, but resisted. “Don't
know.”

“I'd like to get a girl,” said McCarty wistfully.

A secret makes you strong.

PAY NIGHT
supper was cheese, bread, and onions, eaten
quickly. Then the wash tub was dragged in front of the fire and filled. Muldoon bathed
first, dropping
his old clothes on the floor and stepping gingerly
into the tub. After he finished it was old Peadar's turn, then McCarty's.
After bathing, each man stood naked in front of the fire rubbing himself with the clean
rags Molly had set out, then went into the sleeping room to dress in clean clothes.

Fergus was last. She was greasing boots as he undressed. She'd paid
no attention to any of the men bathing except Muldoon, who had her scrub his back.
Fergus was about to step into the gray, soapy water when he looked up and saw her across
the room staring at him.

Naked, holding her gaze, he felt charged and reckless.

During the weeks on the line his body had been transforming, hardening. He
felt fresh with power as he held her stare.

She was such a small person, small bones, hands, feet.

His prick was arousing, thickening in its pad of curious hair. Her eyes on
him, wary.

Suddenly he felt capable of killing Muldoon. Knife or stick or fist or
gun.

Finishing him, pitching his body out the door.

“You want hot water,” she said. Wrapping a handkerchief around
her palm she lifted the kettle from the store and began pouring the steaming water into
the tub.

“Get in,” she said. “You certainly need it.”

THE MEN
sat in front of the fire in clean clothes,
smoking their pipes, waiting for the timer's bell, and he tried not to look at
her.

When the bell sounded, the old navvy clapped his hands. “That is the
sound of joy, men! I wish you all the joy of your pay.” The old navvy and Muldoon
arose and shook hands. For a few moments, they were all shaking hands with one
another.