Sea Girl

Inis Oírr, Ireland, 1973.

The pale moon gazed down at dusk’s sea, churned like milk to white foam. He could smell the fires in the town’s hearths. He found it strange that not a soul walked the path then, but the sea wind did that to some folks; so long as the sea gave them work and home, who was he to speak ill of it?

Three thatch huts lined the white beach, and five more sat on the north side of the dune, at the start of the grass. He’d have to go back to eat soon, he knew that, but he did not want to. Meabh would make fun of him and his dad would call him a fool. He did want to eat, though, so he got off the low stone wall and skulked back to his hut.

His dad let him in. “Find one yet?”

“No, but I will. I know I will.”

“Fionn, son, it’s time to face facts. They’re not real. They weren’t real then, and aren’t real now.”

Meabh laughed. “Yeah, grow up, will you? Why don’t you go talk to real girls, like Aoibh from Howth Head.”

He shot her a sharp glare. “No, I won’t. She’s mean, and she smells weird. I know they’re real, and you two can’t stop me. I’ll find one, real soon. I can feel it.”

Not one of them spoke for a while.

His dad sighed and made his way to his chair. He sat and grabbed a pipe from the tray next to him. He lit it and raised it to his lips, and a puff of smoke filled the small room. “If they are real, I can tell you they’d be naught but bad luck.”

Maebh stopped, pot of stew in hand, and looked to her dad. “And how would you know? In the tales you told us they brought good luck and long life.”

A new puff of smoke. “Aye, but that’s just what I told you: the world’s full of tales, some for kids, some too dark for kids.” He drew from his pipe. “Some tales are changed for kids.”

“So you know they’re real, then?” asked Fionn.

“No, you dunce, he just knows the tales say that they’re bad luck,” Meabh snapped.

“What if,” another draw, “you’re both right?”

Fionn shot Meabh a look.

“What do you mean, we’re both right?”

Their dad took the pipe from his lips and looked past them, through the glass, at the now-black sea. “The sea gave me more than a home and a job. It gave me one, and she gave me kids.”

Fionn said, “You don’t mean—”

“Meabh, Fionn...you’re both of the sea.”