Migrations(24)

Henry, who is closest to the front door, gets up to answer it and we all listen to his feet pounding along the floorboards.

“What? You know what time it is, man?”

“I believe it’s 0302,” a voice replies, and I know that voice. “Sorry to disturb.”

I sit blearily upright.

“Does Franny Stone live here?” the voice says, and a chorus of groans travels through the Manor.

Sinead and Lin throw their pillows at my head while I stumble to the door.

Niall Lynch is on our front step, bathed in silver Galway moonlight. He’s in the same clothes he was wearing earlier tonight, and he’s smoking a cigarette. He looks lean and pale. What is it about him that so enamors everyone? I can’t see it. Not when he isn’t talking about birds.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m not coming in.”

I blink. “Correct.”

“Want one?” He holds up his self-rolled ciggie.

“Yuck. No.”

“Here, then.” This time it’s a calico bag of things. I look through it curiously and make out a few items: bandages, disinfectant, painkillers, and a bottle of gin.

“Thanks. I mean I have stuff…”

“I assumed.” He spreads his hands helplessly. “You did that and then you just walked off and you looked like shit and no one even said thank you.”

I process this. “So you’re saying thank you?”

He shrugs. “Aye. I guess.”

“Okay.”

He finishes his cigarette, stamps it beneath his shoe, and reaches for his tobacco pack.

“Are you gonna leave that there?”

His gaze follows mine to the butt. He smiles a little. “Why, you want it?”

“Just pick it up, will you? It’s disgusting.”

He laughs as he bends down. “Jesus, I was going to. Forgive me for being a wee bit slow at this hour.” He’s not laughing as he straightens. “I thought you were going to die tonight. And those boys.”

Silence. I shrug, no idea what he wants me to say.

“Do you have a death wish or something?”

I frown because the question pisses me off. Wasn’t he also preparing to go into the water? Wouldn’t anyone? “What are you doing here, Professor?”

Niall Lynch hands me a folder. In the dark it takes me a moment to make out the words on the front page. NUI Enrollment.

My cheeks start to burn unpleasantly. “What is this?” Then, “How do you even know where I live?”

“I asked your boss. He told me you’re not a student.”

“So?”

“So I’m going to generously invite you to continue to attend my class until you’ve properly applied and enrolled, because I’m that kind.”

“No, thank you.”

“Why not?”

“None of your business. And while we’re at it, this”—a hand gesture to encompass his presence—“isn’t cool. I never even told you my name.”

I try to hand the papers back but he won’t take them. He doesn’t need to know I never finished year ten. There’ll be no university for me.

There’s a second, pre-rolled cigarette in his pouch, and I watch him light a match and hold the flame to its end, and I watch the little round glow of the burn, and I watch him inhale deeply, his eyes drifting closed as though the act is a religious one. I imagine the foul taste of his mouth and tongue.

“Chuck them out or burn them, or whatever,” he says. “But have a read first. And keep coming to my class.” He smiles a little. A smile too dangerous to keep. “I won’t tell.”

As he walks away I think, Don’t ask don’t ask don’t ask, and then I ask. “Why’d you do this?”

Niall pauses and looks over his shoulder. His hair and eyes are very black, his skin silver. He says, “Because you and I are going to spend the rest of our lives together.” Then he adds, “Seeya.”



* * *



Inside the Manor I can hardly breathe. I lie on my single mattress on the floor and ignore the giggles of my roommates, who have heard every word.

I am in the sea’s grip once more: within the pages of the enrollment forms he has hidden a single black feather.

I wait for the house to fall back to sleep and then I touch the feather’s burning tip to my lips, and I touch myself to the thought of Niall Lynch.





8

The Saghani, NORTH ATLANTIC OCEAN MIGRATION SEASON

A horn sounds throughout the boat and all I can think is Thank god. Even if it means we’re sinking, even if there’s another iceberg or a perfect storm, I don’t care—anything to get me out of this box. I scramble to my feet and wrench my windbreaker on over my thermals. I hop to get my boots on, always off balance on my maimed right foot, and then follow Léa at a run. The other crew members are already bolting past, headed for the stairs to the deck.

Basil grins at me. “He’s bloody found something.”

I return the smile, thinking it’s not Ennis who’s found something, but the birds. I follow the others up into the glaring beams of the spotlights. Two illuminate the boat, which has stopped moving, while one beam swings smoothly out over the water. We all dash to the railing to see what he’s found. The black ocean glimmers faintly silver; what look to be hundreds of fish swim just beneath the surface, and there above them are the terns, diving in and out of the water to eat their fill.