dumb.”
It is Grania’s last day at home. After a special supper at the corner table in the hotel dining room, she and Mamo walk along the shore of the bay, hand in hand, heading towards the rocky place near the edge of the woods. Mamo carries the lumpy clock bag, its strap slung over her shoulder. When they return home, Mamo pulls Grania to her lap in the rocking chair and they rock together for a while, and Mamo blows into her ear.
Father comes to the house to get her and takes her to his office in the hotel and sits her on his knee. She knows that he has been outsidethis evening, because his sleeves smell like stable and horse. He gives her a hug and a kiss and they sit quietly together. Carlow is on the floor and puts one paw over his pirate eye and Grania says “YEW,” to make him feel better. Father’s moustache has been trimmed by Grew and, when he begins to talk to her, Grania understands most of what he says. He tells her that if she is afraid of the dark at school, she should say her fears out loud. She should send them out into the dark.
Grania is surprised. How does Father know that she is afraid of the dark? Maybe Father knows about the ankle rope, too.
“Say your fears into the dark, my darling, and they will go away,” his lips tell her.
Grania tries to understand and she nods and smells Father’s tobacco smell and he takes her by the hand through the passageway, back to the house.
Now Grania is in her own bed, tucked in by Mother. It is late and she thinks about Patrick and Bernard in their beds in their shared room at the end of the hall. She thinks of Mamo in her room, of her parents on the other side of the bedroom wall. Do they have fears? She thinks of everyone in the family sending their thoughts out into the dark. Does everyone want her to go away?
She pulls hard at the ankle rope, her lifeline, the ribbon of night language she will no longer have with Tress. She senses stillness across the room. She moves her foot. No response. She tugs the rope again. Tress is suddenly beside her, standing at the edge of the bed, leaning over and pointing to her own lips.
“Stop,” she says. “I have to sleep, Graw. I’m tired.”
Grania closes her eyes and commands her body to be still. If she moves too much, Tress will detach herself and slip the end of the rope over her foot and off. If that happens, Grania will be cut adrift, cast out into the floating dark.
Her leg tenses while Tress returns to her bed on the other side of the rag rug. The pattern of leaves outside the window fluttersagainst the shade. She has to keep Tress attached but she also has to fall asleep. She tries to dull her brain but she can’t turn off the pictures in her head.
She gets up, risking Tress’s anger.
Tress is still awake. “What’s the matter now?” Instinctively she raises her head so that Grania can see her lips in the zigzag of light.
“I can’t sleep. It’s too dark.”
“Tell your brain to stop thinking.”
“What?”
“That’s what I do. It’s easy. I tell my brain to stop thinking and then I go to sleep.”
Grania returns to her bed, but her brain won’t stop thinking. The more she tries, the more her brain creates pictures. She drifts in and out of half sleep. She finds herself inside a sea of tunnels. She follows hand signals and painted arrows and the sluggish movement of snails. Her ears are below water but she fights against going completely under. The seashore girl at the end of the Sunday book drifts by, lifting her head off the page to look at Grania as she passes. She is wearing her hat and sash and dress, and she is still waiting to be rescued. A flotilla of earless ladies with willowy waists and trailing skirts sails by. Oscar, the cutout man with the black pointy toes, floats past in his catalogue underwear. Despite his stout belly, he does not seem in danger of sinking. Grandfather O’Shaughnessy’s body surfaces, turning over and over in the rolled-up sheet. The cutout
It is Grania’s last day at home. After a special supper at the corner table in the hotel dining room, she and Mamo walk along the shore of the bay, hand in hand, heading towards the rocky place near the edge of the woods. Mamo carries the lumpy clock bag, its strap slung over her shoulder. When they return home, Mamo pulls Grania to her lap in the rocking chair and they rock together for a while, and Mamo blows into her ear.
Father comes to the house to get her and takes her to his office in the hotel and sits her on his knee. She knows that he has been outsidethis evening, because his sleeves smell like stable and horse. He gives her a hug and a kiss and they sit quietly together. Carlow is on the floor and puts one paw over his pirate eye and Grania says “YEW,” to make him feel better. Father’s moustache has been trimmed by Grew and, when he begins to talk to her, Grania understands most of what he says. He tells her that if she is afraid of the dark at school, she should say her fears out loud. She should send them out into the dark.
Grania is surprised. How does Father know that she is afraid of the dark? Maybe Father knows about the ankle rope, too.
“Say your fears into the dark, my darling, and they will go away,” his lips tell her.
Grania tries to understand and she nods and smells Father’s tobacco smell and he takes her by the hand through the passageway, back to the house.
Now Grania is in her own bed, tucked in by Mother. It is late and she thinks about Patrick and Bernard in their beds in their shared room at the end of the hall. She thinks of Mamo in her room, of her parents on the other side of the bedroom wall. Do they have fears? She thinks of everyone in the family sending their thoughts out into the dark. Does everyone want her to go away?
She pulls hard at the ankle rope, her lifeline, the ribbon of night language she will no longer have with Tress. She senses stillness across the room. She moves her foot. No response. She tugs the rope again. Tress is suddenly beside her, standing at the edge of the bed, leaning over and pointing to her own lips.
“Stop,” she says. “I have to sleep, Graw. I’m tired.”
Grania closes her eyes and commands her body to be still. If she moves too much, Tress will detach herself and slip the end of the rope over her foot and off. If that happens, Grania will be cut adrift, cast out into the floating dark.
Her leg tenses while Tress returns to her bed on the other side of the rag rug. The pattern of leaves outside the window fluttersagainst the shade. She has to keep Tress attached but she also has to fall asleep. She tries to dull her brain but she can’t turn off the pictures in her head.
She gets up, risking Tress’s anger.
Tress is still awake. “What’s the matter now?” Instinctively she raises her head so that Grania can see her lips in the zigzag of light.
“I can’t sleep. It’s too dark.”
“Tell your brain to stop thinking.”
“What?”
“That’s what I do. It’s easy. I tell my brain to stop thinking and then I go to sleep.”
Grania returns to her bed, but her brain won’t stop thinking. The more she tries, the more her brain creates pictures. She drifts in and out of half sleep. She finds herself inside a sea of tunnels. She follows hand signals and painted arrows and the sluggish movement of snails. Her ears are below water but she fights against going completely under. The seashore girl at the end of the Sunday book drifts by, lifting her head off the page to look at Grania as she passes. She is wearing her hat and sash and dress, and she is still waiting to be rescued. A flotilla of earless ladies with willowy waists and trailing skirts sails by. Oscar, the cutout man with the black pointy toes, floats past in his catalogue underwear. Despite his stout belly, he does not seem in danger of sinking. Grandfather O’Shaughnessy’s body surfaces, turning over and over in the rolled-up sheet. The cutout
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