Down
in Dunny Cove
by
Miriam Moreno
Perez
We
were at the very
beginning of year
2001 and the feeling
of the coming
of the new era
was still quite
vivid in people’s
mind - even though
we were already
in it, and everything
remained the same.
The biggest New
Year’s party
had taken place
in Sidney , and
Tina, my half
German half Greek
partner at the
time, and I, had
gladly missed
it while hiding
away in Dunny
Cove.
I was back home,
in Ireland, after
years of voluntary
exile in Berlin,
where I never
got to really
improve my German;
but where I spent
some of the best
years of my long
and perpetual
adolescence, as
it somehow strangely
felt despite having
abandoned my teens’
days so many years
before.
Times were different
now, and for some
reason I began
to think it was
the time to stop
wandering about
and start getting
down to something
more financially
productive and
stable in the
long run. My mind
was not entirely
content and convinced
about facing the
new changes in
my life though,
and it had been
two years since
I had a place
to start my studies
in engineering
at one of the
best universities
in the country,
but however uneasiness
kept holding me
back.
I guess for almost
anyone else my
next step would
have been nothing
but an easy decision,
an unquestionable
move, but not
for me. Apparently
and unquestionably,
it definitely
wasn’t going
to be that easy
for me. I was
certain about
how much I wanted
to continue my
academic quest,
but not so much
about turning
my life upside
down by adopting
a conventional
life style, which
I had almost forgotten
during the years
that I had spent
abroad, not just
in Berlin , but
travelling the
world as I wished.
That was easy.
All I had to do
was to find a
construction job
in the city for
a couple of months;
then, with the
money I made,
buy a ticket to
India , Africa
or South America
for about a year.
That was a deal
that never worried
me. Also the only
deal I was willing
to accept during
the last years
of my life; which,
at the same time,
left me with the
fear that I was
letting the trout
slip out of my
hands. I had to
make a decision;
make up my mind;
think how Tina
and I could put
our lives together
in the new world
that, I felt,
I was about to
create.
Tina wasn’t
very different
to me; the only
difference was
that she had already
started college
in Berlin before
we met, and quitted
by the time we
met and got enough
cash to go to
India . Yet, she
could still go
back and finish
her studies, and
I was certain
about that being
in her future
plans, what really
tortured my fragile
and indecisive
state of mind
was the question:
“Will she
leave me and go
back home to continue
with her life?”
I feared to ask
myself. “Will
she swap all we
have done together
for a degree and,
no doubts, some
excellent academic
references?”
These were basically
the doubts and
fears that corroded
my mind without
mercy along those
early days of
spring. I had
made clear to
college that this
year, finally,
I was determined
to start the course;
but that exactly
had been the case
the two previous
years, and I had
not.
So, here we were,
down In Dunny
Cove, West Cork
, in my parent’s
country house,
where I grew up
during the only
time I was really
free; with my
girlfriend still
by my side, safe,
although as if
dancing on the
tight wire while
observing how
the days were
again approaching
their end - How
hopelessly they
had to.
One early and
bright evening,
Tina was fiddling
away in the living
room next to the
apparently useless
chimney. It is
amazing how Ireland
awakes in foreigners
the gusto for
Irish instruments
and music. There
she was, as usual,
applying all of
her musical knowledge
to the strings
of the second-hand,
old Irish fiddle,
which didn’t
sound too strident
at all. She was
skilful with her
well-educated
fingers, which
had been trained
to play the violin
and classic European
pieces rather
than the usual
Irish folk music;
nevertheless she
belonged to it;
she either had
the cadence, her
ears simply loved
it, or both.
I still remember
her long reddish,
straight but bushy
and reactionary
hair on her shoulders.
I can still see
her making that
swift movement
that as a tic
she made with
her left shoulder
to get rid of
her hair while
she was immersed
in her own musicality.
She appeared quite
Germanic, but
the truth, as
I have already
mentioned, is
that she and her
both parents happened
to be Greek. I
guess this falls
in the sack of
the old story
of wrong stereotypes.
She had lived
in Hamburg since
an early age and
moved to Berlin
at a later. Her
figure and shape
couldn’t
be more westerner
- or maybe Greco
Latin? Long and
narrow as a vertical
line; average
size; rather pale
skin with a slightly
pinky touch in
it, and a Southern
one too, you could
tell she grew
up doing frequent
visits to her
family in Athens
. Her pastel,
pale eyes were
pretty big and
the opposite of
mine from the
front, but they
strangely gave
the opposite impression
when seen from
the side.
I still remember
those eyes so
well… I
think no other
eyes have ever
touched or captured
me as those did;
though that is
another story.
That evening,
as I very often
did, I tried to
join Tina’s
fiddle with my
acoustic guitar.
We used to sound
quite good together,
and had a good
time too; however
that day I was
not in the mood
to spend the whole
evening banging
my guitar’s
strings, so I
decided to go
out.
“Are
you going fishing?”
Tina asked stopping
the music for
a moment after
observing through
the large windows
that the tide
was in.
‘No,
I’m just
going for a smoke
outside,’
I said as I was
quickly getting
out of the way
through the door.
‘Sound,’
she said - a word
that she had really
got fond of; then,
she carried on
with her practice
starting the same
tune again.
Outside the sea
had covered the
cove and looked
quite calm. It
was a good moment
to catch some
Mackerel, or maybe
Pollack, although
I was having a
lazy day and I
was only up to
getting back in
and grab a beer
after having my
cigarette. The
rabbits had run
away as soon as
I had steeped
out, but this
time there was
one still about
the adventurer,
the bold or lost
one; you could
see dozens of
them through the
window, get out
and not even see
a single one of
them vanishing.
The house was
right next to
a small cove,
it was so close
to the water that
Tina found maddening
the hypnotic sound
of the waves at
night before sleep.
There were no
trees around and
therefore not
many birds to
be seen or heard.
Some crops lay
at the back of
the house, and
rough grass covered
all hilly plains
over the cliffs
either side of
the house, engulfed
in a wild and
picturesque huge
bay, where there
were no houses,
no lights at night
and not people
– It was
really just one
of the very few
idyllic places
left on hearth.
Outside I sat
on the bench that
my father had
made when he and
my mother bought
the house. There
was a rainbow
on the wall of
the house right
behind the bench,
beneath the living
room’s window,
which I had painted
myself being just
a kid. The beauty
of the bay from
there was immeasurable.
My cigarette was
brief; and as
if expecting something
else from the
day, I decided
to get out of
the property’s
garden and walk
down the cove
and up the hill
towards the only
tower that remained
from an ancient
castle, perfectly
visible from the
house. The original
position or base
of the castle
was as unthinkable
as improbable.
The tower was
still standing
there on the supposed
walls of the small
fortification;
but the only space
left for the rest
of it was the
just fall of the
cliff. In other
words, it looked
as if most of
the castle had
simply and unquestionably
fallen into the
sea. Some of its
remaining walls
were just another
feature of the
cliff site covered
in rough grass
and Sea Campions.
This wild flower
is the only one
that grows up
there among the
very few old stones.
The white part
of the flower
that holds the
petals has what
looks like veins
going through
it. This is something
that gives it
a sort of human
look. I used to
think that the
people who possibly
died there had
turned into the
seeds which would
give this fleshy
wild flower; this
being the only
reason why this
species was the
only one to grow
in this so peculiar
place.
Every time I sat
there I was overcome
by a kind of yearning,
as if whatever
that had laid
there in the past
was calling us
from beyond and
we couldn’t
hear it. Maybe
that was the reason
why the flowers
had to be half
human; maybe,
in my mind, they
were being part
of that call;
maybe that was
the reason why
they were coming
out of the rock
and stretching
towards me; maybe
that was the only
reason for their
beauty and attraction;
maybe, the solitude
they denounced
was the reason
why for as long
as I stayed there,
I would accompany
them, as they
would accompany
me.
This thought always
stayed with me
when I sat on
top of the tower’s
rendered stones.
I was certainly
a very superstitious
person, the type
with the imagination
to read the crows’
movements in a
whimsical way,
as if they were
nothing less than
omens.
On my way back
I began to descent
the hill covered
by the overgrown
wild grass, which
felt very fresh
and almost velvety
on my bare feet.
As my eyes could
already reach
the small landing
down the hill,
I, at once, saw
a couple of strange
floating craft
disembarking by
the shore.
As I approached
the bottom of
the hill, the
image began to
elucidate. The
two craft that
managed to someway
float in the water
gave me the impression
of being the huge
and well-polished
skull and skeleton
of a mature mammoth.
I got to the bottom
of the hill, and,
since my parents’
house was literally
above the small
pier, I couldn’t
understand how
Tina had not noticed
anybody hanging
around at some
point and how
these people had
not caught her
attention.
My eyes kept disappointing
my expectations,
and the more I
looked for my
parents’
house the more
frustrated I got
for I couldn’t
find it where
it was meant to
be. Despite the
confusion I was
seduced by an
impending curiosity
which dragged
me towards the
craft in the water
forgetting Tina
and my parents’
house for a moment.
I was about to
go down the small
path that led
to the stone platform,
or old pier, when
I discerned people
surrounding the
odd ships, which
they seemed to
be loading and
preparing to sail
somewhere –
Assuming, of course,
that such craft
could ever be
sailed, which
I seriously doubted.
From a bit up
the small hill
and not far from
the seashore,
my mind finally
drifted for an
instance while
my head was thinking:
“Those boats,
as these people
seem to see those
two huge floatable
sculls, maybe
float but there’s
no way they could
ever be sailed,
let alone successfully
cross the ocean,”
I looked towards
the southwest
while I said this
to myself, “because
that’s the
direction they
are going, right
towards the American
continent.”
True, that if
they were lucky
to survive, the
tide would eventually
lead them to the
very south of
the American continent,
to Mapuches’
Land of Fire .
But that idea
was simple preposterous,
I thought to myself,
and I suddenly
paniced realising
that they were
going to die.
Then,
before rushing
and going to speak
to them, I quickly
observed the sort
of people that
I was about to
deal with.
They were dressing
as if commemorating
the Stone Age,
the Viking perhaps,
or who knows what.
They were dressing
up in the skins
of some similar
mammoth to the
one they were
using as a boat.
Women’s
hair was braided
and dark. There
were only two
or three adults,
the rest were
all children.
I could only see
a mature man,
the rest were
very young in
comparison. They
were probably
a family celebrating
some sort of strange
private carnival.
Something about
them however told
me that they were
seriously planning
to cross the ocean
on those fancy
boats; that they
were so alien
to the world I
knew that they
thought they could
survive and find
a better life
on another, not
far, seashore.
Their shoes were
made of the same
skin which covered
their well formed
sturdy bodies
and everything
the shoes and
clothes clung
to their bodies
with ropes. I
began to feel
a very severe
anxiety which
began sweeping
through my body,
and I could not
hold my fear back
any longer. I
knew I had to
warn them somehow.
I rushed into
my intention coming
to understand
that I could not
carry out such
task, that there
was an almost
imperceptible
wall between us
that did not allow
us to interact
with each other.
I started to shout
with all my strength;
some of the kids
have already got
onboard, and their
father would soon
release the shaggy
ropes which retained
the eccentric
boats. Then, after
a few minutes,
they would be
gone for good.
I shouted and
twisted my body
between spasms
in my agitated
mind, but they
did not even look
my way. Then,
the tall and stout
man, who had managed
to cut his dark
hair with probably
a sharp stone
- I suppose, because
of the way it
looked like –
walked a bit backwards
up the hill approaching
where I was –
where I was standing
sweating and staring
at him totally
out of control.
He got so close
to me that the
most unbelievable
thing after all
was not what my
eyes beheld, but
the fact that
he really could
not see me or
hear me.
Slowly the man
started to turn
around himself
as if he had heard
something in the
distance; or maybe
as if he could
feel true eagerness
and wanted to
have the last
look at the land
that he had probably
inhabited for
a long time, and
that now he was
just about to
leave. He turned
around showing
me his face, a
countenance I
will never be
able to forget.
What I saw was
not entirely human.
My whole body
stopped and shivered
from fear. The
kind of man’s
forehead was exaggeratedly
protuberant, making
his eyes look
as frightening,
deep and dark
cavities in his
face, where he
had like two big
lumps either side
of it. The face
had, although
less than the
body, a significant
amount of hair
as well. He looked
so inhuman in
a way, that all
I felt down my
very guts was
the deepest fear
I had ever sensed.
“Honey?”
I heard Tina shout.
“Is that
you?” Tina’s
voice broke my
sudden silence.
“I thought
I’d heard
you screaming.
Are you alright?”
She continued
shouting trusting
her sixth sense
and knowing that
I was close enough
to hear her.
I looked back
in the direction
of the same house
I could not find
only a moment
ago. I, then,
saw that it was
almost dark. I
quickly turned
around again to
look at the man
one more time,
determined to
not give up, but
the man was gone.
The darkness had
swallowed the
extraordinary
mammoth craft
and the entire
“troglodyte
family”.
“Say
something, will
you?” Tina
shouted. “You’re
scaring the hell
out of me! What
are you up to,
may I know? Ho
– nn- ney…?”
she stuttered
with trembling
voice from the
entrance of the
house, as if she
would have been
the victim of
such an atrocious
experience and
had just seen
an entire family
drowning in the
sea.
I am an imaginative
person; I have
always been a
kid with more
than just imagination
- I guess, special.
And all I have
ever lived, as
much as all I
have ever imagined
has always been
full of mystery
- An unsolvable
or unlockable
mystery which
would hold its
own key for good.
I suppose that
is life, an unsolvable
mystery.
Was Tina going
to go away or
was she going
to stay with me?
Who on earth knew
the answer to
that mystery which
almost drove me
crazy? Whichever
was the right
answer, I had
to let it go –
I had to let it
go and then let
it happen. I had
no choice, so
what was the point
in me not being
able to decide
if I was going
to eventually
breath the very
air that went
through my very
nostrils whatever
happened, when
it wasn’t
even up to me
or even her?
I still remember
her huge but almond
eyes. I will never
forget them; I
found them immense,
unlike mine, nevertheless
kind of similar.
©
2010 by Miriam
Moreno Perez
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