Departures Read Online Free PDF Page A

tray.
    When the hymn finished we all moved outside. A wind was gathering on the edge of the water; it moved confidently among the assembled, tousling hair and examining gowns, lifting hems and cuffs for inspection before moving on. Mysister stood to one side and consulted her Bible; even the wind seemed to know better and give her a wide berth. Here, daughter, my father said softly, go see how he’s doing. So I went over to Eddie and took hold of his hand.
    How do I look? he said.
    Cold, I said. Do you know what you’re supposed to do, now?
    You tell me again, he said.
    There is one body and one Spirit, I said, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of us all, who is above all and through all and in all. That’s all you need to know, I told him. Please don’t be afraid.
    There were three to be baptised, two women and Eddie, and as they were church members he’d agreed to go last. The first woman sank back in the water like a slumberer, surrounded by the cushions of air in her clothes. I remembered how my sister had washed a coat once without having emptied its pockets first. Eighty-five quid and a bill of sale, all that was left of some forgotten transaction my mother had made before she died came out in a lump, and we had to submerge it in a bowl of warm water till the layers separated and the creases relaxed. That’s what it looked like, that jellyfish way the cloth sank and lifted just below the surface. Then there was another time when they’d let us out early, told us not to ask questions and to head straight for home. The police had been there, and the army, too, but still Jimmy Macken had torn leaves from his textbook and hurled them in celebration straight back at the school. A gust of wind had lifted the pages, pressed them up into the bare limbs and branches of the trees in the schoolyard. The next morning they hung there dripping with rain, and that’s what the woman’s arms looked like, buoyed up beside her in the cold clasp of her sleeves.
    When she resurfaced, the water ran off her in all directions with the soft spit and sigh of a bubble breaking. The deacon caught hold of her wrists as she straightened and gave her a push as her eyes scanned the shore, a little shove to get her started as she struck out towards whomever she’d come with, waving, bright pearls of water sliding off of her skin.
    Ah, your poor sister, my father said. We both knew my sister had wanted this for herself. Standing once in the corridor just outside the ward, I’d heard her describing her plans to my mother, the changes she’d make in the way she’d been living, the difference that Christ had already made in her approach to things, good or bad. I’d listened to their voices, rising and falling like gulls in strong wind, until my father returned with three cups of coffee and a glass of orange from the hospital canteen. Whatever brings you strength, my mother had said, whatever you trust enough to believe. But then her church had acquired a transparent tank with internal wiring, waterproof lights, and a set of steps with a handrail leading down, and though she’d considered moving to some other parish, eventually she’d reconciled herself to a second birth indoors. Poor thing, my father said, it’s been hard for her, too.
    The next woman, taller, lay back in the Lough like a plank of wood. When she righted, the water broke over her arms first, then her face, burbling from her mouth and nostrils, twist-spinning off her hair; she was smiling. The minister helped stand her erect, kept his hand at her elbow as she moved away, until the swing of her arms as she walked through the water pulled his touch free and other arms reached out towards her with towels, welcoming her back to the shore.
    Then it was Eddie. I heard the tide hiss and swallow onthe sand as he entered, and made up my mind not to take my eyes off him until I was sure he was going to be okay.