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The Bone Clocks

Marinus’s sea chest is being loaded back onto the launch moored to the concrete pier. It now contains the kids’ clothes as well as the Eagle of the Ninthbooks, Lorelei’s box shrine, her fiddle, and Rafiq’s box of fishing floats and hooks—Marinus assured him the salmon fishing in Iceland is world-class. Rafiq’s key to Dooneen Cottage is still around his neck, by accident or design I don’t know, but it’s his. He picked up two white pebbles from the strip of beach by the pier, I noticed, and put them in his saggy coat pocket. Then the three of us hug, and if I could choose one moment of my life to sit inside of for the rest of eternity, like Esther Little did for all those decades, it’d be now, no question. Aoife’s in here too, inside Lorelei, as is Ed, as is Zimbra, with his cold nose and excited whine. He knows something’s up. “Thanks for everything, Gran,” says Lorelei.

“Yeah,” says Rafiq. “Thanks.”

“It was my honor,” I tell them.

We separate, at last. “Take care of them,” I tell Marinus.

That’s why I came, he subreplies, and says, “Of course.”

“Say bye from me to Izzy and the O’Dalys and … everyone,” says Lorelei, her eyes streaming, not with the cold.

“And from me too,” says Rafiq, “and tell Mr. Murnane sorry I didn’t get my fractions homework done.”

“Tell them yourselves,” says Marinus. “Via the tab.”

I can’t say “Goodbye” because that word’s too painfully final, but I can’t just say “See you then” because when will I ever see these precious people, really, in the flesh? Never again: That’s when. So I just do my best to smile as if my heart isn’t being wrung out like an old dishcloth and watch as Lorelei and Rafiq are helped aboard the launch by Lieutenant Eriksdottir, followed by the youthful ancient Marinus. “We’ll thread you once we’re safe ashore at Reykjavik,” he calls up to me from the boat. “It should be the day after tomorrow.” I call back, “That’s great, do that.” My voice is thin and stretched, like a violin string wound too tight. Rafiq and Lorelei look up from the deck, not sure what to say. Marinus subwishes me, Good luck, Holly Sykes, and I sense that somehow he knows about my resurgent cancer, and my huckleberries in their childproof canisters, stowed safely for if and when. So I just nod back at Harry Marinus Veracruz, no longer trusting my voice. A tall marine unmoors the boat and hunkers down in the prow. Owls in the Knockroe pines hoot. The outboard motor is ripped into life. The noise jolts Lorelei rigid and alert and she’s scared now, and I am too. This is the moment of no turning back. The launch pulls away from the pier in a tight curve. Lorelei’s hair streams across her face. Did she remember her woolly hat? Too late now. Above Knocknamadree Mountain on Mizen Head swim a pair of blurry overlapping moons. I wipe my eyes on the cuff of my ratty old fleece and the two captive planets become one again. Pale gold and badly scratched. I shiver. We’re in for a cold night. Now the launch is skimming off at full speed over the dark and choppy water, and Rafiq’s waving and Lorelei’s waving and I’m waving back until I can’t make out the figures in the noisy blue murk anymore, and the white wake from the outboard engine is widening behind the launch … But not for long. Incoming waves erase all traces of the vanishing boat, and I’m feeling erased myself, fading away into an invisible woman. For one voyage to begin, another voyage must come to an end, sort of.

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The Bone Clocks

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