Page 8 (1/1)

That’s really when life begins

Corr lifts his head, ears pricked, neck curved, as if he’s courting the Scorpio sea I whisper to hi attention to, not the song of this powerful water I watch his eye, his ears, the line of his body, to see whose voice will be ht, mine or the ocean’s

He jerks his head toward me so fast that I have an iron rod out of my pocket before he’s finished his turn But he wasn’t attacking, ood eye

I trust Corr more than any of theh the skin around his eyes is tight, so into the surf we go I let my breath out in a rush as the cold water creeps up ain, seeing what effect thearound his ankles has He shivers but doesn’t tense; we have done this before and theI cup a handful of salt water and tip it onto his shoulder,Still he stands So I stand with hiritty surf work on my tired feet

Corr, red as the sunset, looks out to the ocean The shore faces east and so he looks out to night, deep blue and then black, the sky and the watercolors with the breakers and foaant giant When I look to mine, for the first time, I see my father’s shadow Not quite ht hunch, as if against perpetual cold And his hair was longer But it is there in the rigid posture, the chin always lifted, a horseuard, so when CorrHe is in a half-rear before I realize it, but then he brings both his hooves down in the exact sahty wall of water spray my face I stand there, salt in my mouth, and I see that his ears are pricked at h In response to the sound, Corr shakes his head and neck like a dog shedding water I back up a few steps in the water and he follows me, and then I co deeply wounded, and then paws to splash o -- I never have my back to him -- as he follows me and I him He pretends to drink the water and tosses his head in ust I pretend to drink a handful and throw it at him

Finally, I am out of breath and my feet are sore froo to Corr and he lowers his head, pressing his face against h my soaked shirt I trace a letter on the skin behind his ears, to still hih his mane, to still me

Not too far away, I hear a distant splash It could be a fish, although it would have to be sizable for me to hear it over the breakers I look out over the sea as it turns to black

I don’t think it is a fish, and neither does Corr, who is again looking out toward the horizon Now he tre minute to convince him to follow He takes one slow step, then another, until the water is no longer touching hied He looks back to the sea, lifts his head, and curls back his lip

I snap the lead sharply and press the iron into Corr’s chest, before he can call While he’s in radual slope to the boat slip, I see silhouettes at the top of the road to Skare where it h they’re distant, one of theraceless form of Mutt Malvern Their posture is undeniably interested in ress, so I’ to discover that Mutt Malvern has pissed in ive Mutt the satisfaction of ood for his urine -- and tie their laces together I let the on either side of the saddle on Corr’s back and start up the slope Though it’s nearly dark, there’s still a lot to get done; I have to be to Gratton’s before ten The day stretches out in front of me, invisible in the darkness

We climb inland

My boots s time since I’ve been in Skarmouth after dark, and it reminds me of the time that Dad cut his hair For the first seven years of my life, Dad had dark curly hair that was likewhat he wanted it to do and then it went and did pretty much whatever it wanted to do Anyhen I was seven, Dad came back from the docks with his hair close shaven and when I saw him walk in the door and kiss ht he was a stranger

And that’s what Skarmouth has done, after dark: It’s turned into an entirely different Skarmouth from the one I’ve knownit kiss ht has painted the entire town dark blue All of the buildings press against each other and, clinging to the rocks, peer down into the endless black quay beneath the wires tied to telephone poles They look like Christ up toward the faint dark outline of St Coluainst walls, and more cars than I knew existed on the entire island are parked along the streets, streetlights caught in their windshields The cars have disgorged unfamiliar men and the bicycles have bucked off half-familiar boys I’ve only ever seen this ical and terrifying I feel lost, and I’ his way on the s to Joseph Beringer "Isn’t it past your bedtime?"

I park Finn’s bicycle as close to the butcher’s as I can get it and lean it against theinto the quay unless you absolutely ht and I peer down to see if there are any fishermen’s boats down there to account for the s it look like there is another Skar else that I don’t pay anyan oaf, because he’s such a fixture of life here that heelse seem more familiar

My head jerks as Joseph pulls my ponytail I whirl around to face hi soes whoo like he’s i at hi catchy to say, but there’s nothing but irritation that so that was funny to an eleven-year-old boy is still funny to a seventeen-year-old one So I just say ferociously, "I don’t have tier!"

This is true always, but truer tonight I’n up as a race participant today, I think Because of raciously offered to feed Dove forat a bucket as if it was the most cooing on about ain -- he likes to just take a topic and worry it to death, never a danger of nore him as I hurry down the walk to Gratton’s, the butcher shop As I look at all the people, some of them tourists already, I think about how Mum used to say that we needed the races, that this would be a dead island without theht

Gratton’s is a riot of sound, with people spilling out onto the walk I have to push h the door I wouldn’t say people in Skarmouth are rude as a rule, but beer makes people deaf Inside, the place is abuzz with noise and a crooked line leads around the walls The ceiling feels low and croith its exposed timbers close overhead I’ve never seen so h, it makes sense that the butcher’s should be the unofficial center for the races, on account of this is where all the riders get their htaway, shouting directly into so, is behind the counter, s, a piece of chalk in her hand Tho ruled it EveryDad said this was because they knew that Peg could cut their heart out neat and they loved her for it Certainly isn’t for her looks I heard Gabe say once that Mutt Malvern had bigger tits than Peg Which I suppose is probably true but I re so crass and unfair, because what say does a girl have in how big her chest gets?

I edge into the single line of people that leads to where Peg writes na behind a h he blocksI feel like I’ve becoles within the shop andable to stand any heat near his in to feel uncertain, like I’ in the line I think people are looking atand this has nothing to do with signing up for the races Maybe they won’t even letis that I’ve lost Joseph Beringer in the process

I step to the side of the giant in front of ain At the top it says JOCKEYS and then, to its right, CAPAILL Someone has written meat in small letters next to JOCKEYS And then, beneath all of that, there is a gap, and then the nain There are more names under JOCKEYS than there are under CAPAILL I feel like asking the mountain of a man in front of me why that is I wonder if Joseph knows I also wonder if Gabe has gotten hoed to work out how a bucket works yet Mostly I can’t think about any one thing for too long

And then I see him A dark-haired boy who isnext in line by the counter, silent and still in his blue-black jacket, his arms folded across his chest He looks out of place and wild in here: expression sharp, collar turned up against the back of his neck, hair still windblown fro at anyone or away froround, his mind obviously far, far away fro crowded and jostled, but no one crowds or jostles hih they don’t seem to avoid him, either It’s like he’s just not in the same place as the rest of us

"Oh, Puck Connolly," says a voice behindthose of us who are I think his nanize him as an old friend of h that he had a na, rinkles in his face deep enough for gulls to nest in "What are you doing here on this night?"