The Celtic Riddle Read Online Free PDF Page A

overboard in the North Atlantic, or somewhere like that,
they might as well go straight to the bottom as struggle hopelessly on."
    "But you're saying he was trying to kill himself. That it wasn't an
accident."
    "It was no accident, of that I am certain. It was really hard to
find him in the dark, and I can't tell you how heavy he was, but I
managed to haul him out. The poor sod was trying to fight me off, but
he was too drunk. I dragged him back to a filthy little hotel, him
cursing at me-his daughter comes by her choice of language honestly, I
must say-put him to bed, and watched over him while he slept. The next
day I made him wash, and we had a little chat about life, the one I had
from time to time with the young lads on the ship who went somewhat
astray, shall we say. We had a terrible row, actually. Somewhat comic,
I'd think, in the overall scheme of things, if it wasn't so desperate.
Here I was trying to think of reasons why he shouldn't kill himself,
and him arguing with me.
    "I told him a life was a terrible thing to waste, and he told me his
wasn't worth saving. Then I told him he was a coward, doing what he
did, no matter what had happened to him. He said it was his life, and
up to him what he did with it. I wasn't making too much headway until I
noticed he was wearing a small cross around his neck. I told him he'd
roast in hell if he died by his own hand. I remember he just looked at
me, then said he'd roast in hell for much worse things than that. But
it seemed to do the trick. He pulled himself together. In the end, he
forgave me for saving him, I guess. He said something to the effect
that it wasn't my fault because a man could only go when he was called,
and that he hadn't been called that day in Singapore. Nice fatalistic
touch, really, the idea that your day of death is preordained.
Superstitious people, the Irish, in many ways."
    "No hint of what he'd done that was so terrible, then?" I asked.
    "He said he'd broken something actually, although I can't recall
what it was."
    "Just a minute," I said. "Are you telling me he tried to kill
himself because he'd knocked over the family's favorite Royal Doulton
figurine, or something?"
    "It would be more likely to be the Waterford crystal here in
Ireland, don't you think?" Alex smiled. "No, I think it was something
more like a taboo. He used a word I didn't recognize, it wasn't
English. I wish I could remember it, because someone around here might
be able to tell me what it was. Maybe it will come back to me. The
memory isn't what it used to be, unfortunately. Old age, I'm afraid."
    "It's still better than mine," I replied. "So then what? Obviously
you were successful in talking him out of suicide."
    "I got him a job as a deckhand, and for the next few months we
sailed together. It's backbreaking work, you know, on those ships, but
it was what he needed, I guess, and he was a good worker. When we got
back to Europe, he took his wages, which he'd managed not to drink, and
left the ship. He made me promise I'd never tell anyone about what he
called his moment of weakness, and I never have until this very moment.
And I don't think I'll tell his family now, quite frankly, even though
it doesn't much matter, I suppose, now that he's dead.
    "I can't say I really got to know him, we'd never be close friends,
and we lost touch soon after. I'd never seen him again until today. If
you count that video as seeing him, that is. That and his picture in
one of those business magazines about five years ago: he was being
touted as a big success in one of those international roundups or
whatever they call them. I recognized him, although he looked a whole
lot different. To be honest with you, I have no idea why he should
remember me in his Will, really. I did very little for him, and I
certainly wasn't expecting to be given anything when he died."
    "He said you'd refused compensation before," I said.
    "He sent me a letter about ten years after we'd parted company with
a check for ten