Subject: wet Sunday in Kinsale
From: Scottie Bowman (rbowman@indigo.ie)
Date: Tue Aug 01 2000 - 04:26:14 GMT
The rain fell in grey veils over the masts of the yachts
in the harbour & blew against the windows of the tea
rooms of the White Lady Hotel.
Mark tilted back his chair & held up a hand.
'We need another pot,' he said.
She was a young girl, `fifteen maybe, & I was a little
puzzled by her hair. It was like Sinead O'Connor's
a month or two after she stopped shaving her head.
'You want more tea?' She sounded disbelieving.
'Yes. And we'll need a clean cup as well.'
'A what?'
She wondered why he was gazing at her like that.
Cecilia laughed nervously & put her hand over the big home
pottery mug. She was not sure where this was going.
'What is it you want?'
'A clean cup,' Mark said. 'A clean cup to go with
the fresh tea.'
'Right,' the girl said & went off. Her back said:
fucking pretentious English.
'You know where, in fact, we are?' Mark said. 'We're in
that other tea room. The one in Devon.'
'Cripes,' I said. For a second I could not think what
he meant. 'Right for you. Look at the rain.'
'Well,' Cecilia said, 'we know what that makes me.'
I looked at her. This was what those bright, cherubic,
quatrocento puttis turned into in their twenties. I could
not remember if the sergeant actually told us Esme was pretty.
One just assumed it.
At the other tables, it was all families & high teas. Damp,
subdued children, silent, angry-looking fathers & young mothers
managing, just, to keep their little ships afloat. Bacon & egg.
Sausage & egg. Bacon & sausage & tomatoes & egg.
'Cecilia,' I said. 'Tell me about Paul. He looks absolutely
ancient in the photograph.'
'Oh no,' she said quickly & I could see the faint flush of colour
where the soft wing of blond hair curved up over her ear. 'He's
not that old at all.'
________________________________________
The rain was still falling as we drove up out of the town.
'Well,' I said to Mark. 'What did you think?'
'Very nice. I thought she was terrific.'
'Yes, I thought so too. I told you she was bright.'
'Who are these people anyway? Tim, Mattis, Bruce, Hochman ...?'
'They're all in the archives. You should read them sometime.'
'Yes. Maybe. Sometime.'
'I thought some of that stuff she told us was hilarious.'
'Yes but Salinger always attracted a lot of weirdos.'
'At least we could tell her about Kozusko. Everyone's intrigued
by old Matt.'
At the top of the hill, you have a last glimpse of the sea as
the road starts to turn inland back towards the city.
'Where are they going tomorrow?'
'Listowel, she said. And the Ring. Then they're going
on to Limerick.'
'Gosh,' Mark said. 'I hope no one gets bumped off
before then.'
______________________________________________
Scottie B.
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