Bones Pat Murphy

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.Where have you been, you no-good scoundrel.”While Vance and the woman talked, Charlie waited in the courtyard, staring up at the patch of sky.He heard them murmuring about someone named Peg, and Vance said “God rest her soul,” in an insincere voice.But Charlie paid no attention.He felt tired and confused.On the ship, he had begun to feel ill at ease, missing the solid warmth of Irish soil beneath his feet.When he had complained to Vance, the little man had attributed the complaint to seasickness and said that the feeling would go away when he reached solid ground again.But the sickness remained, a hollowness in his belly, like the emptiness of hunger without the hunger pains.He wore shoes now—Vance had insisted on that when they reached Dublin—and he longed for the touch of honest soil beneath his feet.“Charlie, come along, lad.Mary will set us up with the rooms we need,” Vance called to him.Vance seemed familiar with the house.The woman showed them a furnished sitting room and a bedroom that attached to it.The bedroom was dark and cold, but Charlie just shrugged when Vance asked him what he thought.He barely looked at the rooms, knowing that he would not be in London for so very long.He would gather the Irish, and then be on his way.So it was not worth quibbling about the look of the rooms.Vance engaged the rooms and then hurried Charlie along, saying that they had many things to do that day.They went to a tailor shop and Vance had Charlie measured for a suit of clothes.Then they went to the office of the Morning Herald where Vance placed an advertisement and ordered handbills to post.“Make ‘em say—‘The tallest man in the world,’” Vance told the clerk.“‘Eighth wonder of the world.’ “While Vance was talking to the clerk, Charlie stepped outside.He looked down the narrow street.In the distance, he saw the open sky and a spot of green.He left Vance behind, drawn to the greenery.The River Thames flowed through London, bringing water to the city and carrying away the sewage and refuse.Charlie walked down the street and found himself on steps leading down to the river.A tall tree grew on the river bank, providing a restful spot in the gray stone of the city.In the tree, a bird was singing.Charlie sat on the stone steps.A seagull landed beside him and cocked its head from side to side, studying him with one yellow eye and then the other.Charlie smiled at the bird, then tilted his head back so that the sun shone on his face.The river water lapped gently against the bottom step, whispering comforting words in a language all its own.He rested there, soaking up the warmth of the sun and feeling a portion of his strength returning to him.Sean was a mudlark, one of the filthy crew who made their living by scavenging bits of saleable refuse from the mud of the River Thames.When the tide was out, he and his two brothers waded into the dirty water, foraging for bits of rope and old iron to sell to the rag man, or for lumps of coal that their mother could burn.Sean was seven years old, and he had been mudlarking since he was six.His father, a laborer on the docks, had died after being crushed between two barges.With Sean’s father’s death, the family had fallen on hard times.His mother did char work when she could get it, and all the children scavenged.On warm days, it was not so bad to wade in the river: they could clamber from the water and let the sun warm them every now and again.But when the wind blew, there was no comfort for them—just cold mud and cold water and a gray and cheerless sky.On that sunny day, Sean and his brothers had been both lucky and unlucky.Over by the docks where some men were repairing a ship, they found a dozen copper nails, worth a half-penny for the lot.That was good luck—but bad luck came with it.Sean had stepped on one of the nails, running it deep into his foot.When the sailors chased them away from the docks, he could scarcely run for the pain.Even now, hours later, his foot throbbed with a hot pain and he hobbled after his brothers, walking on his heel to avoid touching the wound to the mud.“Look there,” David, his oldest brother, called.“By the river steps.”The tallest man Sean had ever seen was lounging in the sun on the stone steps that led down to the water.“Come on,” David said.“Let’s go talk to him.”The three boys approached cautiously, marveling at the size of the man.Their mother had told them stories of the giants who lived in Ireland in the early days.This man might have emerged from such a story.Sean was in shallow water just a few yards away from the giant when the man opened his eyes.“Good day, sir,” said David, the boldest of the three.“Have you a penny for some poor lads?”The giant blinked at them.“A penny?” He shook his head.“Not so much as a penny, though Joe Vance says that I will be a wealthy man soon enough.”Encouraged by such an amiable response, Sean stepped closer.“You’re very big,” he said.“Are you a giant, like the ones in the stories?”The man nodded.“My father was a giant.I suppose I’m one, too.” He held out his hand.“Come up out of the water if you like.” He took Sean’s hand and lifted him from the water.“There now,” he murmured.“Sit down here.”Sean limped up the steps to sit beside the giant.His brothers hung back, gaping at him from the safety of the river.But the giant seemed friendly enough [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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