Moon Hook I - 2
Part I, Chapter 2 of an ongoing fiction series by Maura McHugh, published every Thursday, for subscribers of Splinister.
Part 1
Chapter 2
‘Catch of the Day’
The Line was only eighty-eight metres long but driving over it on a dark, wet night the structure seemed to stretch like pulled sugar.
Rain diamonds on her windscreen dazzled Daria, backlit by a giant white electronic sign at the far side of the bridge that scrolled up large red letters. Along with the metronome slap of the wipers and the regular flicker of the glistening cables in her periphery vision, it caused a spear of pain in the right-hand side of her skull.
‘Shit!’ A migraine; she knew its dreadful herald well.
Reflectively, she hit the brake to slow the car to a crawl, grateful for the lack of any tailing traffic. She squinted through the glass, which encouraged the pain crown to bite its spikes into her head.
Phuwap… the wiper smacked.
WELCOME
On either side of her car, the cables whisked past in measured frames.
TO
A zigzag migraine aura started flashing over her vision, adding to the confusion.
MOON
Phuwap … flick … phuwap.
HOOK
She dragged in tight breaths and narrowed her focus. ‘Where’s the end to his bloody bridge?!’
It was going to be a dirty migraine, one that tackled her to the ground and wouldn’t let her up for days. It had been years since a Big Bastard turned up. She’d never had to drive with one before, especially not over unfamiliar terrain.
Phuwap … flick … phuwap.
She was close, the giant floodlit sign loomed over her and exploded the raindrops into a million iridescent stars, intercut with her personal jagged lightshow. A sluggish thought wormed out of a small, detached part of her mind, How cool!
Out loud she growled with guttural determination.
The car rolled over a cruel speed bump and the shock rattled the chassis and shot pain up her spine. She passed the sign at a slow speed pulled the car into the first available shallow spot in the road.
Daria clicked the button and her window whirred down. Immediately rain sprayed her face, and the overwhelming presence of the ocean invaded the car. She welcomed the harsh pelting water with its tart salt finish and heard the dull booming sound of waves crashing into rock. Daria’s curls whipped about in a brisk breeze. She shuddered but the bracing cold turned the migraine down a notch.
Despite her visual disturbance and the peppering rain she could make out the shape of the small stone pier and docks, poorly illuminated by scant streetlights. A handful of bobbing boats of various sizes were moored to them. The road in front of her forked, one sloping down to the port and its compact parking lot, and other the snaking up to become the high road upon which the village perched. Thankfully, an easy drive: it was one long curved street. Christmas lights hung in loops over the facades of the conjoined houses, painted cheerful Mediterranean colours. The decorative lights were unlit, indicating that this place stuck to a more traditional date for igniting the holiday.
A sign in Irish pointed towards the hamlet: Eite. She’d looked this up. It translated as fin, because this section of the island was supposed to resemble a flaring tail fin of the mythical fish the sea god had vanquished.
Somewhere at the end of street was the local people’s favoured eatery, ‘The Catch’. It normally closed at 5pm in winter, but the owner, a deep voiced man called Cathal, had informed her earlier that it stayed open late on a Thursday – to accommodate the local amateur dramatics club. She remembered being irritated that he didn’t have any capacity for instant messages. It was a text or a direct phone call. She couldn’t face the prospect of negotiating their transaction over a primitive text message, so she’d resorted to an actual voice interaction. He had the keys to the Airbnb she was renting.
‘As long as you arrive before 7 pm, we’re grand,’ he’d said.
Daria checked the dashboard digital clock: 6:50 pm. She always set it five minutes fast, but how had her detour taken so long? The sudden buck of fear that she might end up sleeping in her car on a windswept car park brought back the ferocity of her migraine. The flashing aura had expanded so it was disappearing from her vision, but it remained a distraction. Daria dismissed the idea of upending her bag to locate her pain pills and wasting more time – there was no traffic, she’d risk the short drive. Once she had secured her access to accommodation, she’d take measures to dull the pain.
She started the car and pulled out rather too quickly. Loose gravel and sand skidded her car. It spun slightly and lurched towards the slick rock bluff... she pumped the brakes, hoping not to smash into it, and instead a body flung itself across her windscreen.
Daria screamed, causing a jolt of agony in her temple.
‘Oh fuck, no! Please Mary, Jesus and all the saints, no, no, no…’
She leaped out of the car and heard a plaintive sound. A large, slender bird with a big rump and a long dark neck lay in front of her car. It lifted its head, and its half-lidded eyes stared at Daria with what she was assumed was a deeply reproachful stare.
‘I’ll get you help!’ She turned in an indecisive circle, aware of the rising, moaning wind, and the rain flying with icy indifference. Her monster bag took up the entire back seat of her car.
‘Fuck!’ she roared into the wind, adding to the pain shards grinding in her brain. This was not how this day was meant to end. She’d imagined a cosy scene involving a glass of red wine in front of a fire, not first aid for a goose… or whatever that bird was.
She banged open the passenger door. And moved slowly towards the prostrate bird. It flapped a little but didn’t seem inclined to attack.
She crouched down, murmuring, ‘I’ve got you, I’ve got you, sweet girl, no need to peck my eyes out, no, I’m a friend. Yes, I knocked the wind out of you, but my eyes, I need them to drive, and see, and Jarlath once told me they were my best feature.’
She picked the bird up, staggering under the awkward size and bulk, instantly grateful for all the weight training she’d racked up during the summer. Its beak grazed her earlobe, and she restrained a shriek. It breathed warm air, stirring the tiny hairs in her ear, and made an almost humming sound, like the beginning of a song Daria once knew.
Daria bundled it into the passenger seat, and carefully closed the door.
She bolted for the driver’s side, slid in, and shut the door. For one hushed moment the woman and the bird regarded each other solemnly.
A gurgle of manic laughter bubbled in her chest. ‘I’m normally a very safe driver.’
The bird’s steady gaze seemed disbelieving, and Daria bridled.
‘You’re the one that flew into my car, lady.’
The bird slowly stretched its neck so its face was directly in front of her. Gently, it tapped its beak off her forehead.
It felt like a benediction and a thanks, and a wave of confusing emotions crested in Daria. A tear slipped down her cheek. ‘You’re welcome,’ she whispered.
It reeled back into its own space, and Daria noticed the long white swoosh of white feathers trailed from its bright eyes down its elegant neck. It had a daring red crown. ‘Stunning outfit. You must tell me where you shop.’
Daria started the engine, and slowly drove towards the main street. The car, being far too clever, detected weight on the passenger seat and began an annoying alarm that the seat belt must be engaged. She glanced over at the bird, which seemed less dazed and enjoying the journey, and decided against asking it to belt up.
She passed a lone old man, with a grizzled white beard, wearing a dark navy pea coat. He carried a large fishing rod resting on his shoulder. He paused as she and her avian passenger slipped by. Both bird and woman turned to look at him.
He nodded, one ice-blue eye sparkling under his shock of white hair, and raised his hand to his forehead in a friendly salute. Daria nodded back, and under her breath, said, ‘Good evening, Popeye.’
The sailor watched her as she drove on. Ahead: a cheerful animated neon sign, in which a grinning silver fish jumped up and down in a pan. The sign above the doorway was faded, and proclaimed, ‘Gabháil an Lae’.
She found a spot behind a cluster of cars outside the restaurant, which had two big bow windows, painted foam white. She turned to the bird. ‘Wait here.’
It blinked at her.
She closed the door, carefully, and sprinted to the restaurant. Pops of pain detonated with every footfall.
Daria flung open the door. A jangle of metal fish chimes announced her and pierced her head. A dozen people turned to stare. They were wearing a mixture of Victorian clothing, with a pile of items dumped on a long table. One large, flushed man wore a cocked yellow bonnet, and was in the middle of a chuckling session with a tiny woman with rainbow streaked hair holding a corset over an Aran jumper.
‘Excuse me,’ Daria blurted, ‘I knocked down a bird. Can someone help me?’
Silence. They eyeballed each other and turned as one to the man with the thick black beard in the apron behind the counter.
He nipped around and held out his hand, while some hushed conversations in Irish commenced.
She noticed he had a wide hand with slender fingers, more suited to a pianist than a cook. More dark hair twisted at his shirt cuffs.
‘Daria Shawe, I assume?’
She shook his hand. It was warm, firm and brief. She nodded, then winced, her hand reaching for her temple. ‘Yes.’
‘We spoke on the phone, I’m Cathal. Are you hurt?’
She shook her head, glad for his concern and kind expression.
‘No… just a migraine. I know this is mad, but I hit a large bird on my way into town. It’s in my car.’
Cathal’s lips twitched, but he did not laugh. Before he could say anything an older woman with long silver hair said, dryly, ‘Well, island birds are fierce clumsy.’
The crowd sniggered while Cathal nimbly passed her to exit the premises.
She followed and was followed.
Daria hurried forward and showed Cathal to her car.
The passenger seat was empty.
The crowd behind had given them a respectful distance, but they could see the birdless vehicle. They raised eyebrows and elbowed each other like some arch comedic troop.
‘I swear! It was there a few minutes ago.’
She opened the door, and one long slate-grey feather sat on top of a pile of bird shit in the passenger seat.
‘That’s a poor tip for a good Samaritan,’ one jape opined. A rumble of laughter.
Cathal turned to them. ‘Go leor, leave her be. Gather your props and head out. Oíche mhaith!’
They drifted back to the restaurant, murmuring among each other.
‘There was a man, perhaps he let her out…’ She angled her neck to check up and down the street, but Popeye had vanished.
‘So, the bird was female?’
Daria shrugged, ‘Yeah. I dunno. I thought so?’
Cathal spread his hands, indicating the empty vehicle. ‘Perhaps we should sort out your keys, and get you settled.’
‘Thanks. I need to sleep.’
They walked slowly back to the restaurant to allow the gossips time to disperse.
The cunning ocean breeze discovered every runnel of their clothing to burrow through and shiver their skins.
It would take some time for Daria to discover that by the next day the islanders had Christened her An Bhean Corr – The Crane Woman.
I forgot today was Thursday, aka Moon Hook Day, so a pleasant surprise in my inbox! Looking forward to discovering more about this mysterious island next week.