Colm Tóibín - The Blackwater Lightship

'And she's been ill, hasn't she?'

The woman nodded again.

'The message is confused now, but are you twins or very close in age?'

'We're very close in age.'

'But when you were children, you are the one who was ill, right?'

'Yes, that's right.'

'Could this be your mother, dear, could this be your mother? I know that she wants to protect you and she's worried about your sister, but things are better now, and she's watching over you both.'

There was silence in the kitchen as Helen and her grandparents watched the television. The woman on The Late Late Show moved on to someone else.

'I'm getting strong signals again,' she said to a woman. 'Did you have a little boy who was killed or died as a baby?'

'No,' the woman said.

'I'm getting strong signals. Did you have a brother who died young?'

'Yes, I did,' the woman said.

'And he's still watching over you and he knows that you're a very strong person and you've just moved house, have you?'

'Yes,' the woman said.

'And is your mother living with you?'

'No, she was, but she's not now.'

'Well, he's worried about her, he thinks the change is for the best, but he's worried about her. I think you might know what he means by that.'

The woman nodded.

'Now I have to talk to somebody else. There's something important. Is there somebody called Grace here?'

There was no response.

'Is there somebody called Grace? Maybe even a surname?'

A hand went up. 'Grace is my surname,' a man said.

'And your first name?'

'Jack.'

'Jack,' the woman said, 'I think you're about to make a big decision. Now it's somebody very close to you. Jack, the ties are very close between this person and you. It's someone you think about every day, a few times a day. You know who it is, I think?'

Jack nodded.

'She says you mustn't go. That's the message, it's very clear. But there's something else as well, there's a relationship that's very important for you. You're unsure about it, but she wants to give it her blessing, and she says she still loves you and is protecting you and guarding you.'

When the break for advertisements came, Helen's grandmother did not move from the chair. She motioned Helen to turn down the sound.

'I wonder if you can write to that woman.'

'Enclose a postal order, I'd say,' her grandfather said.

'Who would you like to get in touch with, Granny?'

'Oh, Helen, I'd love to get in touch with my sister Statia, and I'd a brother Daniel who died of TB. I'd love to hear from them, no matter what it was, even if it was just a message. And it must be terrible hard for that American woman, having that power.'

'She's making all that up,' Helen's grandfather said.

'No,' her grandmother said, 'she has the power, I'd know by her. And did you see that man's face? It must have been his wife that was getting in touch with him. I'd give anything now to talk to Statia.'

Around that time, maybe a week or two later, Declan began to have nightmares. The first night Helen could not think what the sound was. She woke and tried to go back to sleep, but the noise persisted, and then she heard her grandmother moving in the room above and coming down the stairs. As though alert to her movements, Declan began to scream, and Helen jumped out of bed and ran into his room. He had sounded as though someone were attacking him.

They woke him, but he could not come out of the dream. He continued to scream and cry, even when they brought him into the kitchen and gave him a drink of milk and offered him a biscuit. He was frightened by something, and did not fully recognise either of them, and then slowly he began to calm down, but he said nothing, stared ahead of him, or at the light, and for a while they were unsure whether he was still living in his dream. And then he was fine again, but he would not go back to his room until the light was left on.

The nightmares changed him; during the day he became withdrawn, and often, as they went through a lesson or played cards, he became forgetful and distant and she would remind him where he was and that became a joke between them. But the dream did not stop, although some nights he would sleep soundly. On the other nights, as soon as his shouting began, both Helen and her grandmother would run to him and always – it was the same each time \a151 it would take five or ten minutes to calm him down and bring him back to the world they lived in.

His grandmother wondered if he had worms or if he might be sickening for something, and she brought him to the doctor in Blackwater. "He refused to go into the surgery unless Helen came as well. She watched the doctor examine him, check his tongue and tonsils and the whites of his eyes, listen to his breathing through a stethoscope. The doctor asked him if he was afraid of anything and he said no.

'And so what are your dreams about?'

Declan looked at the doctor and thought for a while.

'If I think about it too much, it'll come back,' he said.

'But just tell me what it is.'

'I'm small, I'm tiny, like the smallest things, and everything is huge and I'm floating.'

'You mean everything else is huge.'

'Yes.'

'And is that frightening?'

'Yes.'

'And he won't eat,' his grandmother interrupted. 'I can't get him to eat.'

'Oh, he's well nourished,' the doctor said. 'I wouldn't worry about that.'

Declan was still staring ahead, thinking. 'I kind of forget the dream after I've had it,' he said.

The doctor said that Declan should move his bed into the room with Helen and maybe he'd feel safer then. 'A lot of boys have nightmares for a while like that and they just go away.' He pinched Declan's cheek.

Helen watched the post. The postman came at eleven. He delivered the newspaper as well, and if there was no post he dropped the newspaper in the door, but if there was post he knocked on the door, and handed the letters to her grandmother. Her mother's letters were short and vague; she used the same words each time. Helen wondered if her father were really having tests, why the tests could not be over, why they did not produce results.

One day \a151 she could not remember what month it was – a letter came from her mother which her grandmother did not show her and which later, when Helen asked about it, her grandmother told her did not arrive. Helen was sure it had been delivered and searched with her eyes over the mantelpiece where the letters were kept, but it was not there. Her grandmother knew how to hide things. And the next day she heard her grandmother whispering to Mrs Furlong, and she felt she understood the reason for the whispering: there was something in the letter which she could not be told.

In all the months in Cush – by this time, she was sure, they had been there for three or four months – Helen and Declan had never discussed how long they would be there or what was happening to them, but as soon as Declan brought up the subject they could not stop discussing it.

'Hellie,' he began one day over lessons in the parlour. 'I want to go home.'

'Ssh,' she said. 'She'll hear you.'

'I don't think they're in Dublin at all. I think they're in England or America.'

'Don't be silly.'

'Why has she never come down here?'

'Because she's visiting him in hospital.'

'Why has she not come even once?'

'Because we're all right here.'

'We're not all right.'

Helen told him nothing about the letter. She tried to talk him out of his new idea, but it became an obsession.

'I saw a programme about it on the television,' he said. 'The father and mother left their children behind.'

'Behind where?'

'In an orphanage.'

'This is not an orphanage.'

'What will happen when she needs the rooms for summer visitors?'