Let it Lay
See a pin and pick it up,
All the day you'll have good luck.
See a pin and let it lay,
Bad luck you'll have all the day.
-rhymes of mother goose
Walter stood around waiting for Bertha; he could not remember ever feeling so out of place. Couples stood around and chatted and he wondered what they could possibly have to say. He edged closer to the stone wall attempted to look inconspicuous which consisted of him furrowing his brow and squinting his eyes a little. Needless to say, after a few minutes his mind was elsewhere, daring to consider for the first time in a few weeks, the series of events that had led him thus far in a pruned garden among strangers, far far away from home.
He considered the monumentality of his first step off the ship. The last time his feet had touched solid, static ground was in Ireland and in one stride he had stepped across unfathomable waters, onto a new and strange continent and into an unknown and uncertain existence.
The air tasted faintly like home. Perhaps he would not have had the courage to take that earth-shattering step if there had not been an Irish tang to the air in this Halifax. He might have stayed there suspended in time forever more and then none of this would have ever happened. But he took comfort in that air, he savored it. It was all he had.
A woman who was missing a few teeth shoved him from behind and he stumbled out into the sunlit breeze. As he did, a world blossomed below him in the harbor. Nameless people crisscrossing paths as they went on their way, fishermen tossing their loot onto the docks and the fires of industry and diligence burning bright off into the distance in red bricked factories and blinding tin roofed houses which lined up in ranks into oblivion. And white winged gulls cried their mournful cry as they swooped through the masts of ships and the clouds in the endless skies.
His knees almost gave way as he walked down the ramp, feeling like an infant toddling about on wary legs. He gripped the rope railing tightly, ignoring the tossing of his stomach and letting the sight of safe, steady, land sink through him.
He wandered, staggering with the general motion of the crowd streaming from the lower decks of the Catalonia. Person by person they peeled off to meet relatives or to go about whatever business they had, until he was left alone in a sea of strangers. Utterly lost, but there was nobody to find him, he knew not a soul in the world save back in Limerick and he could not go back, not now. He was beginning to realize just how big the world was and just how insignificant and speck like he was among these giants.
Faltering onward, too weary to defy the current of people, he felt broken and beyond repair. He had never been without a home before, an anchorless ship, a drifter. He felt a sudden urge to do something drastic, to make sure he was still alive and breathing. There was something too eerie and dreamlike about the way the people floated on, unknowing of the tragedy that had befallen him, oblivious to his heartbreak. Perhaps he had drowned with the others. Maybe this was limbo. He certainly did not feel alive anymore, he felt intangible and shadowy and inconsequential. Numbness encompassed him like a shell and blocked out his senses. It seeped through him and froze a pain before he could feel it searing. Pain was sufferable, it's absence was unbearable.
A young boy in coveralls ran straight into his torso and then stumbled backwards. He reached his hand down absently to help the lad up, and the boy took it, shifting a loaf of bread to his other arm.
"Help! Thief!" a stout, bearded merchant cried out huskily from the door of his harbor front bakery.
The boy glanced up quickly and then shot off. He stuck out his arm to stop the urchin, instinctively. The boy's eyes widened, he could not have been more than twelve years old. He looked at the boy's face, it was scrawny and grimy and the boy's eyes looked at him in desperate plea. He took his arm away and let the boy go, he grinned at him hurriedly before weaving his way through the crowds towards the North end.
"What do you think you're doing!" roared the merchant, his arms flailing wildly.
His stomach sank as several heads turned towards him. He was alive after all, and it was no relief. He pulled his cap low over his eyes, turned on his heel and began taking steady, unsuspicious strides in the other direction, latching on to a convoy of locals attempting to lose himself once more. All the while he kept his eyes on the worn wooden planks that flew by beneath his worn rawhide shoes.
A whistle sounded sharply and feet pounded on the dock behind him. He glanced over his shoulder hastily and meeting the furrowed eyes of a policeman who had his finger pointing at him, he willed his legs to run. He dodged around a lady and her husband and made his knees pump faster carrying him away to nowhere. They complained, they'd only just remembered how it was to walk and now they were flying across Halifax harbor, making the sails of the docked boats blur into whiteness beneath the same old blue sky, above the steely navy waves of the Atlantic.
He heard yells and more shots of shrill whistle whirled off, piercing the daylight, but he did not look back and nobody stopped him. He tasted his parched mouth and felt his breathing become unsteady as he gasped for air. But he did not look back and he did not stop and uncharacteristically did not stop to think. All he knew was that he must not be caught. His legs flew faster as he made his way along the waterfront.
He ducked into a hidden alleyway and with his back against the wall he sunk to the ground, his chest heaving as he wheezed and panted. Then his eyes widened in fear, he'd ran in on something. There were people, men, in the alley having some sort of an argument. One had the other by the scruff of the neck, holding him against the stone wall of a building. The man held against the wall was quite well dressed with a gold pocket watch hanging from his belt and a waxed moustache twitching as his bloodshot eyes wild and wide. The other man, who was yelling furiously at the man on the wall, appeared to be a seaman with a full red beard and a face with ruddy blotchy stains on the cheeks.
He buttoned his eyes tightly and tucked his white knuckled fists in his ears to block out the scene. Depending, for the first time in many years on that old childish philosophy that if you cannot see them, they will never find you; desperate times called for desperate measures. But the yells seeped past and his brain began to process them inadvertently as he bowed his head and leaned against an old barrel.
"You filthy stinking scoundrel! Yer nothin' but a bloody old profiteer Willis! There were children on that boat! Women and their babies! Not that they can speak for themselves now can they? You have seen to that haven't you Willis? HAVEN'T YOU?" roared the man in slurred shaking syllables
He bowed his head further down and clamped it between his knees. This was not something he wanted to hear.
The man against the wall was trembling and wouldn't look the seaman in his eyes, he cowed away and seemed to shrink in stature against the brick.
"Now see here Seamus! There were powerful people on that boat. Rich and powerful people. They threatened to blackmail the company if the ships weren't segregated! I told you that already!" he made a dismal attempt at sounding brave and indifferent
"Yeah well look what we got 'ere on our hands now! It's a right sight worse than blackmail would 'ave been. This is no mere scandal Willis. It's a bloody tragedy! What a mess, what an 'orrible mess! They'll take my job and it's all I got! Things won't be looking so good for you either Willis! There will be families who will be wanting compensation for their loss you bet your belt! And all hands point to you as the blame for those deaths! You know they do! They'll put you right in the pokey and it's no more than you deserve!" He released his grasp slightly on the man's collar his voice getting a little quieter and raspier.
"They made me an offer I could not refuse! How was I supposed to know the ship was going to sink! They said the Hope was unsinkable Seamus! Mr. Gray wanted them all taken off so his new bride could see the view. I didn't have to leave any lifeboats on! But I did!.. Rich and powerful people on that ship! It's them that's paying your salary! Don't forget." And with that he tore himself from the seaman's grasp and straightened his tie.
Walter began humming to himself in the quietest whisper. He could feel himself gradually regressing to the early stages of childhood. All he had been slipping away. Pretending that the men were not talking about what he thought they were talking about, pretending that he was at home on his grandfather's knee, listening to fairy tales or playing with his wagon or running with the horses; anywhere but here and now in this moment in time.
"Where do you think you're going? We're in this together! You got us into this mess so you're going to get us out ye bloody coward!" bellowed the man called Seamus, his voice growing a little shaky.
"There seems to be something else you forgot," Willis said smugly, eyeing two dark shapes emerging from the shadows behind them, "I am the most influential man in Halifax, and what are you?" he spat on Seamus' shoes, "A 'poor simple sailor'... Ha!"
The dark shapes turned into two burly men, who grabbed Seamus roughly under the arms and restrained him as he flailed his arms in rage and kicked out violently with his legs.
"You–are-never–going-to-get-away with this you bastard!" he said, dodging the hands of the two men who were trying to gag him, sounding more and more hysterical.
Willis reached out and jabbed Seamus sharply in the ribs with his gloved hand. Seamus bent over in pain.
"Oh won't I? You don't say? Again you have overlooked the fact that I am not tied to this Hope ship as you are. As a mere benefactor it will be only too easy for me to put the blame on the captain, or the first mate, or the warden..."
"They're dead! They're all dead! You're rotten to the core you devil! You'll go to hell. You'll burn in hell you son of a bitch! You filth-"his cries ended suddenly as one of the men clamped a hand over his lips. He was still struggling vainly and he sounded like he was underwater.
Walter began mouthing soft songs that he did not know the names of, to himself.
"Tut, tut blasphemy Seamus, we can't have that can we boys? No. I am afraid it's my word against yours. You know what to do McCrae, Gordon..." he said calmly nodding to the two men as Seamus' face blanched. He continued with a tone of dark finality, "Make sure he stays quiet."
With that, the two men dragged a thrashing Seamus into the shadows. Willis pivoted on his heels and reached for a pocket watch, looked at it and then tucked it away again. Walter hugged his knees to his chest and waited for the man to leave him alone.
It was funny how his body and his heart were never on the same page. When his heart wanted to fly and then his body wasn't up for it. That sometimes his body could be so hungry when his heart was so full. Right then his body wanted to up and run but he did not have the heart.
"Hey sonny?" said the voice of Willis nervously. Walter felt a presence step over him. He decided to ignore it.
"Get up son. There's a good lad. How long have you been there boy?" the voice of Willis flooded with fear, though he maintained a calm.
"No." said Walter simply and stubbornly, remaining in the fetal position.
"Fr-fresh off the boat are you? You don't sound like an American." The voice spoke slowly, seemingly choosing his words carefully.
"I'm from Dublin." Walter said quietly looking up finally and meeting the two wide eyes, one of which was twitching rhythmically, of who could only be Willis.
"Oh there you are! Would you mind telling me what you were doing down there? You weren't listening to my conversation were you son? Because you know here in Nova Scotia eavesdropping is not proper." He spoke very quicky and stole fleeting glances towards the opening of the alleyway.
"I didn't hear anything sir."
Willis eyed him suspiciously.
"No, of course you didn't. "he extended his hand daintily and when Walter took it, he pulled him to his feet forcefully, "I am Jackson Willis of Boilingbrooke, Nova Scotia. What's your name son?" he asked in a cold grey tone.
"Walter Shirley sir... of nowhere in particular at the moment I suppose."
Jackson Willis of Boilingbrooke was standing about two inches from Walters face. Walter could smell whiskey on his breath and though he was about a head taller than him, there was something menacing and about the man that made Walter uneasy.
"Pleasure to make your acquaintance boy. Now if you'll tell me please how you came to be there beside that barrel?"
Walter took a sharp breath and it made a rattle sound in his throat.
"Well sir my family and I wanted a new start after the potato-"
"What ship did you say you came over on?"
A little annoyed Walter spoke again, trying to spit as much as possible so as to get the man to back up a little.
"I don't believe I did but-"
"You alone boy?"
"Yes."
Wills' eyes flashed dangerously
"You're not meeting anyone?"
"No sir."
"No one is expecting you?"
"No sir. " Walter took his hands out of his pockets and crossed them over his chest, trying to look brave.
"Do you have a job son?" Willis said sharply
"No, I only just-"
Willis looked him over from head to toe out of the corner of his eye. A scheming smile spread from his eyes to his lips.
"You ever done work before?"
"Well I taught a little after school and then I had to go to the mines with my brothers..."
"I mean farm work. Have you ever worked on a farm?"
"Only the family farm sir."
"Excellent!... I'll make you an offer boy. A good home and free meals in exchange for some light work on my land. What do you say?"
"I don't quite know-"
"Nonsense, nonsense. It's just several hours away down the coast. We will be there in no time. You can start a new life for yourself and just forget about anything you may or may not have heard here today, it's of little importance. I may even be able to get you a job teaching at our high school. Would you like that. I know some people..."
Then with his arm around Walter's shoulder he led him from the alley, Walter did not look back. There was a horse and buggy waiting for them outside with a chauffeur sitting primly with the reins in his hands. He motioned for Walter to climb the stairs into the carriage ahead of him. Walter moved slowly, awed and incredulous.
They drove along the coast on a winding road that showed Walter his first glimpses of his new home. He watched the sun journey across the sky and kept his back turned towards the sea. Mr. Willis spoke of almost everything without really speaking of anything, oblivious or indifferent to the fact that Walter was not taking in a word. He let everything that had happened to him in the past few days come rushing in at once, it turned all his senses foggy and sluggish. He let them all go and immediately felt better. They floated up into the sky and he watched them go. He would start all over, fresh and blank slated as a new born and everything would be fine.
The sun approached the horizon as they entered Boilingbrook. It burst across the sky in orange and pink splendor and then set diamonds shimmering on the waters. The sky went a deep purple and the air became salty sweet. They rounded a corner and struggled up a steep hill when a lush grassy knoll rose beside them and Walter caught his breath.
A young woman stood there watching the sunset. Her eyes aglow and her hair aflame as it blew in the wind. Her skin was milky from her high brow to her bare feet and her purply gown billowed around her. She laughed and twirled lightly before skipping down the other side of the hill and out of sight. Walter shut his eyes tightly and opened them again, she was so vivid... but he convinced himself that he had imagined her for Mr. Willis said nothing. And then...
"Bertha! Get back in the house young lady! If your mother saw you!" Jackson Willis had stuck his head out the window, and then he ducked back in shaking his head, "Do not mind her, my daughter. We have another one..." and then he muttered something inaudible that sounded like "Instanity does not run in the family" or maybe "she was dropped on her head as a baby"
Walter smiled to himself and gazed back out the window.
A delicate hand wrapped itself around Walter's jaw and another grabbed his hand. Together they pulled him into the present.