The Law of Dreams by Peter Behrens Page A

up black so there was nothing to steal. We moved
     along the roads, keeping together, a band of us, me the eldest, though I was the
     girl.”
    She stopped again. “I tell you, Fergus, we were frightened of
     strange country, the little fellows especially, grabbing hold my hands and not letting
     go. You see ’em now, how bold they are, but not then. Some of them were born up in
     the booleys. They always lived wild.”
    â€œI was on the booley.”
    â€œWere you? Some of them were sold up very young for herds, sold to
     graziers. None of ’em knew a life beyond grass and sky, rain and cattle.
    â€œTwo or three of them caught the black fever and died along the
     road. We kept asking people, ‘Is this road for Limerick?’ We never seemed to
     get there. We walked for days and never found a town.
    â€œI’ll tell you the truth, Fergus — we were frightened of
     towns, that’s why we didn’t find it.” She touched his arm. Her hand
     was clean from the river, small and white. She had left her hair loose. She was small.
     Her body was like a whittled stick. Her face was white, clear, and fine. Gray bright
     eyes. Full, pale lips and good teeth.
    â€œBut finally we did come into Limerick. I was
     still a girl then. I was nice enough, and there were gentlemen that fancied me, spoke to
     me on the street. At first I thought it was kindness I heard, but it wasn’t.
    â€œI did well, whoring in Limerick. Oh, I did nicely there. I
     wasn’t any soft one — no. They liked me small and rough. I had a gentleman
     kept me, in a room above a beer shop. Wanted me all to himself. Guinea a week he paid
     — that’s a pound and a shilling. Once, looking down out my window, I saw a
     whore being mauled in the street. Pair of wolfhounds snapping her to bits and
     wouldn’t mind any shouting. I seen her afterward, all ripped to pieces.”
    Her voice was clear. Her skin glowed.
    â€œNo, no, Fergus, a town is wicked, I suppose. In Limerick sometimes,
     I was so whirled I had trouble remembering my name. I’d never known a room before,
     nor slept in a real bed. In Limerick my bed was better than mistress’s at the farm
     — white linen, soft pillows, rugs. My fellow, my gentleman, I would see him
     regular. He would give me a shilling extra if I’d let him lick my feet, and I did,
     and a few other things, and he always handed it over.”
    â€œHe paid a shilling to lick your feet?”
    She nodded, grinning.
    â€œI don’t believe it.”
    â€œYou haven’t been in the whirl, Fergus. Men will pay for just
     about anything.” She started walking away.
    He started after her. “I didn’t mean any insult.”
    â€œWhat you can or cannot believe, Fergus, don’t change a thing.
     Perhaps your head’s too small for the world. You can’t fit much
     in.”
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    They walked in silence for a while, then — “Do you want to
     hear it as it was?”
    â€œYes. If you please.”
    â€œMy gentleman would pay, and I would buy a ribbon or two, and Indian
     meal for the boys. For I had all the rations I required, and they were living in a
     stable in exchange for sweeping out the stalls, and begging and ranging for their food;
     and what they call in my country
snow gathering
— stealing clothes off
     hedges when they’re set out to dry.
    â€œOne evening my gentleman did not come, and next
     day a friend of his told me he had caught fever and was dead. There was wild fever in
     Limerick. Country people were pouring in, crowding the quays, selling whatever they
     could, buying passages for Liverpool, for Quebec. I wasn’t able to turn a living
     no more, there was so many girls for the trade. Then, one morning, in the stable, I came
     upon Shamie, with his little Mary Cooley, sleeping in the hayloft. He had cut loose of
     his regiment. Where he picked up the Mary I