excerpt
Nora was so glad of having someone to talk to that she prattled away like the gutting girls in the kippering house. Nora missed company. Liam was out most of the time and busy with his books in the evening. Only lately had he begun to skimp on the invested evening hours he normally gave to study in order to squander them on Nora. But then he drew as many out from his midnight reserves to pay back what he owed to his reading and writing. Nora’s only close friend was Janet Gordon. Janet lived in the village and helped her mother in the post office; she didn’t have much time to visit and talk, especially now when she had just become engaged to Colin Patterson, the nephew of a former barber in the village who had been shot dead, presumably by the IRA, with Nora’s uncle, Flynn Casey, as the prime suspect. With her mother Nora had never been particularly close. Caitlin stopped in only rarely on her way to or from the village or the church, and Nora made infrequent calls at her mother’s. Even these often ended in a row.
Joe watched Nora with warm affection as she talked about the names for her unborn child. And he remained silent for a while when she appeared to have fallen deep into thought. Then he said, ‘Yes, I’ll be the child’s godfather and gladly so.’
‘I am so pleased, Joe.’ Nora stood up, placed her forearms on his shoulders, locked her fingers behind his neck and stared at him for a moment with a happy smile that her dimples made so sweet, so innocent-looking, so endearing. And those powerful emotions returned, wrenching at his stomach. He felt his face take on the look of wistful melancholy. At the same time the smile faded from Nora’s lips. A sad, pensive yearning took its place. Lightly, lingeringly, tenderly, she kissed his mouth.
Liam put a brave face on Joe Carney’s visit. He talked amiably about the war in general, about the Battle of the Atlantic in particular, about Joe’s older brothers, Tom and Stephen, about the village itself and the latest local gossip, all of which gossip Joe had heard twice over already. But all the while Liam’s heart was thumping in his chest, his breathing was uneven, and a dull ache gnawed at his entrails. He knew that Nora still loved this spruce young sailor. He watched for every glance exchanged, for every inadvertent contact of their hands or eager fingers. He recalled the hours that Nora spent in writing letters every week, the excitement that she could not hide when letters came for her, letters that she put aside and never allowed Liam to see. Liam felt almost sick. He only picked at the ham sandwiches that Nora had made for tea and did not even touch the apple tart she had baked. He compared his own balding head, his tight, hard mouth and hollow…
Mayanaam
vequinox
Manolis 