Free Long Lankin: Stories by John Banville Page A

Fished him out today. Didn’t I tell them? Aye.
    —What did they do with him, Jimmy? I suppose they took him away long ago.
    —Not at all, said the old man. Sure it’s no more than half an hour since he come in. Ah no. He’s still down there.
    He waved an arm toward the beach at his back.
    —Did they just leave him there? asked the girl in surprise.
    —Aye. They’re gone off to get something to shift him in.
    —I see.
    She bit her lip, and leaned close to the old man’s ear and whispered. He listened a moment, then turned and stared at her from one yellowed eye.
    —What? What? You don’t want to see a thing like that. Do you? What?
    —We do. That’s why we came. Isn’t it?
    She rammed her elbow into the boy’s ribs.
    —O yes, he said quickly. That’s why we came.
    The old man stared from one to the other, shook his head, then got to his feet, saying:
    —Come on then, before your men come back. Begod, you’re the strange ones then. Hah. Aren’t you the strange ones? Heh heh.
    They walked back along the pier, the girl rushing excitedly between the old man and the boy, urging them to hurry. When they reached the sand the old man led them down behind the sea wall. At the edge of the waves a bundle covered in an old piece of canvas lay in the shade of the pier. The girl rushed forward and knelt beside it in the sand. The old man cried:
    —Wait there now, young one. Don’t touch anything there.
    The three of them stood in silence and gazed down at the object where it lay in the violet shade. Out on the rocks a sea-bird screeched. The old man leaned down and pulled away the canvas. The boy turned away his face, but not before he had glimpsed the creature, the twisted body, the ruined face, the soft, pale swollen flesh like the flesh of a rotted fish. The girl knelt and stared, her mouth open. She whispered:
    —There he is, then.
    —Aye, the old man muttered. That’s what the sea will do to you. The sea and the rocks. And the fish too.
    The boy stood with his back to them, looking at his hands. And then a shout came from far up the beach.
    —Hi! Get them children away from there! Get out of it, you old fool!
    The boy looked up along the sand. Figures were running toward them, waving their fists. The old man muttered a curse and hobbled away with surprising speed over the dunes. The girl leaped to her feet and was away beside the waves, her bare feet slapping the sand and raising splashes that flashed in the sun like sparks. The boy stood motionless, and listened to her wild laughter that floated back to him on the salt air. He knelt in the sand and looked down at the strange creature lying there. He spoke a few words quietly, a message, then with care he gently replaced the canvas shroud. Then he ran away up the beach after his sister, who was already out of sight.
    Some time later he found her, sitting under a thorn tree in the fields behind the beach. She was rubbing the damp sand from her feet with a handful of grass. When she saw him she sniffed derisively and said:
    —O, it’s you.
    He lay down in the warm grass at her side, panting. Bees hummed about him.
    —Did they catch you? she asked.
    —No.
    —That’s a wonder. I thought you were going to stand there all day.
    The boy said nothing, and she went on:
    —Jimmy was here a minute ago. He said I was a right little bitch getting him into trouble. He’s worried as anything. That fellow’s not a bit mad. Anyway, he’s gone now. I don’t care.
    She looked down at him. He was chewing a blade of grass and staring into thorns above him. She poked him with her toe.
    —Are you listening to me?
    —No.
    He stood up, and said:
    —We’ll have to go home. Tantey will be worried.
    —Ah, sugar on Tantey.
    They found their bicycles and started home through the glimmering evening. Clouds of midges rode with them. The tiny flies found a way into their hair and under their clothes. The girl cursed them and waved her hands about her head. The boy rode on