Skellig

Chapter 44

THAT EVENING AND THE EVENINGS that followed, I helped Dad in the house. I mixed wallpaper paste for him and carefully painted door frames and window frames with him. We went to see Mum and the baby in the hospital. The baby soon came out of her long sleep and she got stronger and stronger. They took the wires and tubes out of her and they switched off the machine. The bandages on her chest were smaller and smaller. Every evening she sat in my lap, twisting and turning and gurgling. She learned how to stick out her tongue at us, and her mouth and eyes started to smile.

“Look at her,” we’d say. “Little devil.”

And Mum would laugh and say, “Watch out. We’re coming home soon.”

I used to look for Dr. MacNabola, but I never saw him again.

We had lots of Chinese take-out. Dad winked and said we had to keep it quiet or Mum would have us on salad for a month. I poked his stomach.

“Mightn’t be a bad idea, Fatso.”

“You don’t want them, then?” he said. “No more 27 and 53, then?”

“That’s right, Fatso,” I said. “I’ll have … 19 and 42 instead.”

“Ha! A bit of imagination, eh?”

After we’d eaten, I’d go to Mina’s. We drew and painted on her kitchen table. We read William Blake and we wrote stories about adventures in old houses and journeys to far-off imaginary places.

Each evening, Mina used to ask, “When’s she coming home, Michael? I can hardly wait. I haven’t even seen her yet.”

We went one more time to the attic before the baby came home. The sun was still shining. It hung low and red and huge over the city.

The attic was empty and silent. She pointed to the heap of owl pellets beneath the nest.

“Don’t go near,” she said. “They’ll defend their chicks to the death.”

We stood at the center, remembering Skellig.

“Someone else might find him now,” said Mina.

“Yes,” I said. “I hope they do.”

Then we saw the outline of a heart scratched into the floorboards beneath the arched window. Just outside the heart was scratched, Thank you. S., and inside were three small white feathers.

We picked up the feathers and smiled.

“Three,” said Mina.

“One for the baby as well,” I said.

As we crouched there, the owls flew out into the room and perched on the frame above us. Then two fledglings appeared, tottering in the shadows by the far wall. They were round and almost naked. Little cheeps came from their wide open beaks. We gasped at how beautiful they were, how delicate. Then the owls went out hunting. We stayed for a while. We watched the owls flying back in with the meat from tiny animals they’d killed. We watched the fledglings gorge themselves.

“Little savages,” I said.

“That’s right,” said Mina. “Beautiful tender savages.”

We smiled and prepared to tiptoe away. Then the owls flew back in and came to us. They laid something on the floor in front of us. A dead mouse, a tiny dead baby bird. Blood was still trickling through the ripped fur, through the young feathers. The owls flew quickly away again, and we heard them hooting in the thickening night.

“Savages,” I whispered.

“Killers,” said Mina. “Extraordinary presents, eh?”

“They think we’re something like them,” I said.

“Perhaps we are,” said Mina.

We lifted the creatures and tiptoed out.

“Goodnight, little chicks,” we whispered.

Outside, we buried the mouse and the fledgling in a border in the garden. We stared up toward the attic and saw the owls, lit by moonlight now, flying in with more meat for their young.

“The builders’ll be coming soon,” said Mina. “I’ll make sure they do nothing until the chicks have flown.”