A Heart in Port, Part 1 of 3

Sheephaven Bay cuts deep into County Donegal in the northwest of Ireland. The name derives from a misunderstanding. In Irish, the original name was Cuan na gCurrach, ‘haven of the ships’. When the English asked what the name meant, they heard ‘sheep’ instead of ‘ship’ in the local accent. The mistranslation has become so accepted that even in Irish the bay is now often known as Cuan na gCaorach, ‘haven of the sheep’.

The lower end of the bay is placid and sheltered and lives up to the original name. The mouth, however, faces directly north into the Atlantic, and the currents and winds there can be treacherous and unpredictable. This makes the bay a favourite of sailors, both those who prefer pleasant, safe outings in calm waters and those who want a more challenging sail in turbulent seas.

The summer nights are short along Sheephaven Bay. At that latitude the sun officially sets after ten in late June and early July, but it remains light long after that. The night sky is never truly dark and begins to grow light again around three. On all but the stormiest days, the bay is filled with sailboats and windsurfers from early in the morning until late at night. There are even some who would spend the entire day sailing if they could.

Early on the morning of June 23, St John’s Eve, Mark rushed into the kitchen of his family’s summer home. He had had a growth spurt that spring, and a long, bony arm peeling with sunburn snaked out to grab a piece of toast from the stack on the table as he sped past. His father caught Mark by a shoulder as he started for the door and spun him around. ‘And where are you off to then?’

‘I’ve got to get the boat ready for Brian. He’ll want to go out as soon as he gets here.’

‘Your brother’ll not be here for several hours. You spent all yesterday working on that boat. There can’t be much left for you to do. You can spare fifteen minutes to eat a proper breakfast.’

‘But, Da . . .’

‘But nothing. Your mother did not put breakfast on the table for you not to eat it. Now, sit and eat like a human being. And you’re not to be after your brother to take you out as soon as he gets here. He drove for several hours yesterday and spent the night on the ferry from Holyhead, and then he has to drive here from Dublin. He and his friend might want to rest before you herd them out to the bay.’

‘But the tide changes at four. Brian will want to catch the turn. And the weather report last night said fair weather and winds out of the northwest. We should have great sailing. Oh, I’d better see if there’s been any change.’ Mark leaped up from the chair he had so briefly occupied and switched on the radio. ‘And his friend won’t want to go with us. It will just be Brian and me.’ A news reader’s voice blared through the static of the old receiver, drowning out all other noise.

‘Mark, turn that radio off. I want to eat breakfast in peace. Your mother and I came here to get away from the financial news for a few weeks. The weather won’t change if you have to listen to it half an hour from now. And this Luan likes sailing. That’s why Brian asked him. Now sit and eat your breakfast.’

Mark reluctantly sat down. He tore off a quarter of the slice of toast with his teeth and chewed rapidly a few times before swallowing. ‘What kind of name is Luan? It doesn’t sound like a proper name. Anyway there won’t be any room for him on the boat. He’ll have to sit here while Brian and I go out.’’

Mark’s mother lowered the newspaper that she was reading and looked over the top of it at him. ‘That boat can hold three people. It has often enough before. And I don’t know what kind of a name Luan is. Maybe he was born on a Monday. The Innleys have invited us to join them at their bonfire tonight, and I imagine Mary Innley will ask him that very question. She’ll soon have his entire history out of him, and half the county will know it by tomorrow.’

‘Why Brian can’t stay longer? Why does he have to go to Belfast tomorrow? If that Luan wants to see his family, he could go by himself, and Brian could stay here. He won’t be able to get much sailing in.’

‘So you have said—several times. Brian has his own life now, and he can’t always consult your desires. He and Luan have only four days’ break from their training programme. You will have to accept that he may occasionally have things on his mind other than sailing. All he told your father and me was that the two of them are coming here to talk with us and then with Luan’s parents. If your brother wants to tell you the reason, you’ll know soon enough.’

Mark sank lower into his chair. Both of his parents returned to the pages of the newspapers they were reading. A solid wall of print confronted him. For the past few days, neither of his parents had said much to him, and they had taken to speaking to each other in whispers, whispers that were quickly replaced with nervous smiles and tightly closed lips when he walked into a room. Even his gran had picked up the habit. He sighed loudly to make his objections known and stuffed another large bite of toast into his mouth. The newspapers barely quivered. Five minutes later, he judged that he had spent enough time at the table and asked to be excused. His father made a noise deep in his throat, and Mark took that for permission to leave.

He sped out the door and grabbed his bike on the run, leaping on to it when had enough speed. Too impatient to let the bike glide down the hill, he peddled vigorously, pumping his legs to go as fast as possible and avoiding by well-practised inches all the ruts in the path. He braked at the last moment, sending a spray of sand and pebbles into the air as he reached the dock where An Ghaoth Gheal waited. A few drops of dew glistened on the taut cover over the cockpit. He wiped them off carefully before unsnapping the cover and stowing it away in the chest at the end of the dock. He swabbed the boat down and began working through the checklist Brian had devised for him many years before.

Even though he knew it was much too early for Brian to arrive, he kept an eye on the road leading down the hill into the village on the other side of the old harbour. Every low red car caught his attention. He could tell that none of them were Brian’s ancient MG Midget, but still he followed each of them as it went into the village, hoping that he was wrong. He waited in vain for each car to emerge from behind the row of houses that faced the harbour and then race along the road that curved along the coast toward their house, the sound of the engine changing as Brian shifted through the gears to speed toward him. But none of them did.

Around noon his father walked down to the dock bringing him a sandwich and an apple. ‘Your mother thought you might want to eat down here.’ His father’s eyes wandered up and down the boat. ‘You’ve done a good job. Brian will be proud of you. I listened to the weather report just now. The winds are at 10-15 knots out of the northwest. It will be a good sail. How far are you thinking of going?’

‘Depends on what Brian wants. Maybe to Horn Head.’ Mark wiped a minuscule spot off the teak railing. When it came to An Ghaoth Gheal, his father lacked Brian’s critical eye. He hoped that his father was right and that Brian would approve of how well he had kept the boat.

‘Don’t stay out too long. Your mother and grandmother have a big meal planned for Brian’s visit, and then we have to be at the Innleys by 10:00.’

Mark nodded and bit into the sandwich his father had brought. He thought that would be a signal to his father to leave, but instead his father kicked his shoes off and climbed aboard the boat. He sat on the side opposite Mark and stretched his legs out. He shaded his eyes with a hand and looked off into the distance. ‘A lot of boats out today. You’ll have to be careful.’

Mark nodded. The remark was so obvious it didn’t merit more of a response. His father cleared his throat a few times and then spoke to the air over Mark’s right shoulder. ‘You know, Mark, Brian may have changed since the last time he was here. He’s qualified for the provisional registration now. Another year, and then he has to chose a specialty.’

‘I know.’

‘What I’m trying to say is that he’s an adult now. He’s been one for years, and he’s contemplating some major changes in his life. That’s why he’s coming here. To talk with your mother and me. He may not be the big brother you remember. I just want to warn you not to expect him to be the same.’

‘I know. But he’ll still like sailing. That won’t change, will it?’

His father chuckled. ‘I think we can be confident of that. But he may not be able to spend as much time on the boat with you as you might want. He’s here for another reason.’

‘What? He didn’t say anything to me except to get An Ghaoth Gheal ready. And if he’s here to talk to you and mam, why is he bringing this Luan?’

‘I’ll let him explain that to you. That’s part of being an adult. You get to speak for yourself without your parents correcting you.’

‘Then I’ll be an adult right now.’

‘That day’ll come soon enough, lad. There’s no need to hurry it. And it’s less of a privilege than you might think. One other thing. Your brother will be happy if you’re nice to this Luan. And put a hat on. Your face will burn in this sun.’

‘That’s two things.’

‘Don’t be cheeky.’ His father tapped him on the shoulder and then stepped out of the boat. The motion pushed the boat away from the dock until the mooring ropes caught and pulled it back. The fenders chaffed against the dock as the boat rocked from side to side. To Mark’s mind, the boat was as anxious to be out on the bay as he was.

Mark returned to watching across the water to the road leading into the village. A solitary gull floated by, eyeing the food in his hand. He tore off a strip of crust and threw it into the water. The gull dived for it, but he had no sooner caught it in his beak and risen off the water than he was joined by another pair of gulls fighting to snatch it from him. Their raucous cries attracted more of them, and the first gull fled, pursued by the flock. The fight ended as abruptly as it began, and the gulls arranged themselves into a spiral tower, rising and falling as they drifted on the wind, watching for food.

The only sounds were the waves slapping against the side of the boat and the creaking of the timbers as the boat knocked gently against the dock. On the far side of the harbour to the east of the village, too distant to be heard, a line of three horses galloped through the shallow waters off the strand, the riders urging them on through the spray tossed up by their passage, joined together in the pleasure of the moment. When Mark was sure that his father could no longer see him, he pulled his cap out of his pocket and smoothed it down on his head.

He knew that he looked good in the red cap and dark aviator glasses that Brian had given him. His old white shirt was half unbuttoned and its sleeves folded back to the elbows, the tails tucked carelessly into his shorts. His sockless feet were shoved into the dirty grey plimsolls he wore on the boat. They were getting too small for him. He needed to buy a new pair. Maybe, he thought, he could find an old pair of Brian’s that would fit him.

The growth spurt had left him ungainly, but he knew that he would grow out of it, just as Brian had. Brian had been so tall and thin one summer, and then he had gone away to school and come back at Christmas a ‘fine figure of a man’ as their gran had said. He would be like Brian, follow the same path. He would qualify as a doctor, just like Brian. When he finished, he would join Brian in his practice and the two of them would work together the rest of their lives. Maybe living in the same house, or next door to each other. Brian would teach him everything he needed to know, just as he had taught him how to read the waves and see the wind in their brightness.

His eyes idly trailed an old green sedan down the road into the village. He shifted his vision elsewhere when it disappeared behind the row of buildings lining the harbour side. He was only vaguely aware of it when it took the north coast road a minute or so later and came toward him. He didn’t even pay it much attention when it turned into the driveway of his parents’ house. It was, he supposed, just someone dropping in to speak to his mother. He heard the sounds of car doors, and then his parents and the people in the car talking. It wasn’t until he heard someone call his name that he turned around and looked.

Brian was standing with his arm around his mother and waving toward him. Mark leaped to his feet, barely pausing long enough to kick his plimsolls off and thrust his feet into his regular shoes. He raced up the path to the house, waving his right arm like a madman.

Brian ran a few steps toward Mark and hugged him tightly as he jumped off his bike and let it fall to the ground. ‘Lord, you’ve grown. You’re not my little brother any more.’

‘Where’s the MG? What have you done with your car? Why are you driving this piece of rubbish?’

‘Well hello and good to see you too. Now, stop choking me. Let me breathe.’ Brian held Mark at arms’ length and then grabbed the bill of Mark’s cap and pulled it lower over his forehead. ‘There now, it’s an improvement not to have to look at as much of your ugly face.’

Mark grinned and lifted a hand to push the cap back in place but then thought better of it and left it as it was as a sign of his brother’s affection.

‘And the MG takes more time to keep it going that I have time to give it. This “piece of rubbish” is Luan’s car.’ Brian hooked an arm around Mark’s shoulders and turned him around, still laughing. His hand tightened its grip on Mark’s shoulder as if he were afraid that Mark might run away. ‘This is Luan Cusack. Luan, this is my brother Mark. He didn’t really mean what he said about your car.’

‘Well, it is a piece of rubbish, but unlike yours it runs.’ His brother’s friend held out a hand to Mark and smiled at him. ‘So in addition to being an excellent sailor, you are also a good judge of cars. Brian’s told me a lot about you but he didn’t tell me that.’

Mark smiled at Luan shyly as they shook hands. He was unsure what to make of this stranger who seemed to know about him. As his father pointed out some nearby landmarks to Luan, he took advantage of the distraction to examine Luan more closely. Brian had mentioned many friends and colleagues since he had left for medical school and then the foundation programme, but this was the first one he had ever brought home. He wore a red cap and aviator glasses, much like Mark’s. He had very white, very even teeth. His dark black hair curled out from beneath his cap and stirred in the breeze. He was an inch or so taller than Brian and three or four inches taller than Mark. He looked athletic, as if he jogged and played a lot of sports.

His mother interrupted his father’s guided tour of the bay. ‘Come in. I’ll make a pot of tea. Did you eat? I can make you something if you’re hungry.’

‘Mam, Brian wants to go sailing.’ Mark tugged at his brother’s arm. ‘An Ghaoth Gheal is ready. I got everything ready. The tide changes just after 4:00, and if we leave now we can make it to the mouth of the bay just as the tide turns and come back on a rising tide.’

Brian put his arm around his brother’s shoulders again and drew him toward the house. ‘Just let us stretch our legs for a bit. Then we can go out.’

(continues at http://www.abctales.com/story/nexis-pas/heart-port-part-2-0f-3)