Page 13 (1/2)

I type back: et drunk

John knocks and opens the door He’s freshly showered and wearing clean clothes "Mother wants ht Please eat, and feel free to ask Martha if you need anything"

There’s no sense of Sorrow on the wind, no signs that she’ll be wailing and crying in the dark But sos a lament

"Don’t worry aboutroom The house is very quiet The housekeeper, Martha, says that Mrs O’Neill asked for all family pictures to be put ahich explains the squares on the walls that don’t rounds, protected from the cold by my thick wool coat, and lean on a wall to watch the ocean crash on rocks below A light shines steadily from Mrs O’Neill’s bedroom Once or twice I think I see John’s silhouette move behind the curtain A deathwatch is a sad and lonely business, and he’s endured so rips of time

"How is it, to be around Death so er

She’d brushed s from my forehead and said, "What’s it like to be around autuet a straight answer out of a banshee

Still there’s no Sorrow here Only the wind and sea spray, andnumb in the cold Back inside, I shed the coat and study myself in the mirror Trousers, an Oxford shirt, loafers I think about what my mother and sister would wear at a time like this and call the housekeeper

"I’otI can borrow?"

Martha eyes my body critically "Wait here"

After severalfilled with neatly folded clothes "You’re about the same size as Mrs O’Neill once was She meant to donate these Here, try this"

From the slacks and skirts she extracts a purple and black printed blouse with three-quarter length sleeves and beaded cuffs It’s flowing and pretty and co I would ever wear, but at least I don’t have to ditch my black trousers

"Looks lovely," Martha says, once I’ve changed Her approval nearly sends o down the hall and knock on Mrs O’Neill’s large doors When John opens the door, I can see his eyes are red

I say, "I wanted to sayAnd I don’t want you to be alone"

He glances backward "I don’t knowshe doesn’t want visitors"

Mrs O’Neill’s weak but clear voice says, "Let her in, John"

Her rooht comes from a tall white laainst a sea of blue silk pillows in a four poster bed carved of oak Above her is a painting of a tall ship, the kind that once carried Irish erants away from the fa that , or even the familiar smell of heather from a pot of warm oil

Instead it’s Mrs O’Neill herself--tiny, withered, her gray hair hanging long to her waist To huht would see the seaweed twined in her hand and silver scales covering her hands

"John," I say "You didn’t tell me your mother was a merrow"

"A what?" John asks

"He doesn’t know," Mrs O’Neill says "Sit down, little Banshee Tell me of Ireland, which I’ve ht call a mermaid Under the sea is where they live, and in the days before the Fairy Wars they were mortal enemies of the banshees for reasons lost to history I don’t think she’s very dangerous--she seems too frail--but she’s very old and there’s power in old things

There’s a knock on the door that John just closed I expect Martha the housekeeper, but instead it’s a quite i disheveled froht

Triu," Maeve tells Mrs O’Neill, some minutes later, from the chair beside the elderly wo," Mrs O’Neill says "You can’t feel like I do and not be dying"

Maeve tosses back her hair "You’re grieving, and that’s a different kind of dying But there’s no Sorrow on the wind, is there, Colleen?"

"Not at all," I say

Mrs O’Neill sniffs delicately into a lace handkerchief "I knohat I know But it’s nice that you caoodbye"

John asks, "Can so on?"