Echoes

Table of Contents

 

 

 

 

 

“Binchy is a grand storyteller in the finest Irish tradition. . . . She writes from the heart.”—
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“For my money, any story told by Maeve Binchy is worth a hearing.” —
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“Binchy is a first-class storyteller.”—
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AlSO BY MAEVE BINCHY

 

Aches and Pains
(Nonfiction)

New American Library
Published by New American Library, a division of
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Published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Previously published in Viking,
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First New American Library Printing, November 2008

eISBN : 978-1-440-65366-7

Copyright © Maeve Binchy, 1985

All rights reserved

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PEOPLE SEEMED TO KNOW WITHOUT BEING TOLD. THEY CAME out of their houses and began to run down the main street. The murmur became louder, and almost without knowing they were doing it they started to check where their own families were. It was still just a figure, facedown in the water. They didn't know for sure whether it was a man or a woman.

“Perhaps it's a sailor from a ship,” they said. But they knew it wasn't anyone who had gone overboard. No nice anonymous death of someone they didn't know. No informing the authorities and saying a few prayers for the deceased unknown sailor. This was someone from Castlebay.

They stood in silent groups on the cliff top and watched the first people getting to the water's edge: the boy who had first seen the waves leaving something frightening on the shore; other men too; people from the shops nearby and young men who were quick to run down the path. Then they saw the figures coming down the other path near the doctor's house, kneeling by the body in case, just in case there was something in a black bag that could bring it back to life.

By the time Father O'Dwyer arrived with his soutane flapping in the wind the murmur had turned into a unified sound. The people of Castlebay were saying a decade of the rosary for the repose of the soul which had left the body that lay facedown on their beach.

IT WAS SOMETIMES CALLED BRIGID'S CAVE, THE ECHO CAVE, AND if you shouted your question loud enough in the right direction you got an answer instead of an echo. In the summer it was full of girls calling out questions, girls who had come for the summer to Castlebay. Girls who wanted to know would they get a fellow, or if Gerry Doyle would have eyes for them this summer. Clare thought they were mad to tell the cave their secrets. Specially since people like her sister Chrissie and that crowd would go and listen for private things being asked and then they'd scream with laughter about them and tell everyone. Clare said she'd never ask the echo anything no matter how desperate she was, because it wouldn't be a secret anymore. But she did go in to ask about the history prize. That was different.

It was different because it was winter anyway, and there was hardly anyone except themselves in Castlebay in winter; and it was different because it had nothing to do with love. And it was a nice way to come home from school that way down the Cliff Road; you didn't have to talk to everyone in the town, you could look at the sea instead. And suppose she did go down that crooked path with all the Danger notices on it, then she could go into the cave for a quick word, walk along the beach and up the real steps and be home in the same time as if she had come down the street talking to this person and that. In winter there was hardly any business so people waved you into shops and gave you a biscuit or asked you to do a message for them. She'd be just as quick going by Brigid's Cave and the beach.

It had been dry, so the Danger bits weren't so dangerous. Clare slid easily down the cliff on to the sand. It was firm and hard, the tide had not long gone out. The mouth of the cave looked black and a bit frightening. But she squared her shoulders; it looked just the same in summer yet people went in there in droves. She shifted her schoolbag to her back so that she could have both hands free to guide herself and once she got used to the light there was no difficulty seeing the little ridge where you were meant to stand.

Clare took a deep breath: “Will I win the history prize?” she called.

“Ize ize ize ize,” called the echo.

“It's saying yes,” said a voice just beside her. Clare jumped with the fright. It was David Power.

“You shouldn't listen to anyone else, it's like listening in to confession,” Clare said crossly.

“I thought you saw me,” David said simply. “I wasn't hiding.”

“How could I see you? Didn't I come in out of the light? You were lurking in here.” She was full of indignation.

“It's not a private cave. You don't have to keep shouting Cave Occupied,” David retorted loudly.

“Pied pied pied pied,” said the cave.

They both laughed.

He was nice, really, David Power, he was the same age as her brother Ned—fifteen. They had been in Mixed Infants together, she remembered Ned telling someone proudly, wanting to share some experience with the doctor's son.

He wore a tie and suit when he came home from school, all the time, not just when he went to Mass on Sundays. He was tall and he had freckles on his nose. His hair was a bit spiky and used to stick up in funny directions, one big bit of it fell over his forehead. He had a nice smile and he always looked as if he were ready to talk except that something was dragging him away. Sometimes he wore a blazer with a badge on it, and he looked very smart in that. He used to wrinkle his nose and tell people that it only looked smart when you didn't see a hundred and eighty blazers like that every day at his school. He'd been at a boarding school for over a year but now it was closed because of scarlet fever. Only the Dillon girls from the hotel went to boarding school and of course the Wests and the Greens, but they were Protestants and they had to go to a boarding school because there wasn't one of their own.