The emigrants

THE EMIGRANTS

She stood there, a tiny woman, distancing herself from them, watching uneasily, as they hugged and kissed, their loud cries of anguish echoing around the crowded Derry Quay. The drizzle falling on her face hid her own tears as she turned to look at the broiling river that rushed swiftly around the bend, and she cursed it; the River Foyle would soon be carrying her only son away from her.
The long ship bounced and lifted as the muddy water threatened to tear it from thick hemp ropes that held it to three squat wooden bollards. A bell rang. It was almost time.
She sighed heavily, her heartbeat quickening as she shuffled after her son and his wife to the bottom of the gangway.
Mary, her son’s wife tried to smile, but suddenly her contorting face erupted with tears bubbling from her deep-set dark eyes and croaking unintelligibly she threw her thin arms around her mother-in-law's shoulders and sobbed into her soaking shawl. The old woman stiffened, unused to any kind of open display of emotion. Then it was over, and Mary still crying stumbled away up the gangway.
Now he looked down at his mother, his pale face smiling sadly. Awkwardly he too reached to hug her gently at the same time whispering through choking breaths, “Don't worry about Mary and
me, ma. Sure we'll be alright. As soon…as soon as I get work, I'll send ye some money.”
She trembled in his strong arms as memories of his growing days and her own young life living along the upper Foyle valley came to her. All those happy, hard days would never return, just like her son. She would never see him again.
The ship's bell rang again, its heart-tugging peal followed by louder weeping and more frenzied hugging and kissing from the people around her.
“I'll hiv tay go, ma,” he rasped.
She forced a smile. “Aye, son, ye hiv tay go.” Looking past him she saw Mary, still crying, watching them from the deck.
The bell rang again, this time the ringing was accompanied by a high-pitched chant from the ship's cabin boy.
“ALL ABOARD FER PHILADELPHIA. SHIP SAILS IN TWO MINUTES. ALL ABOARD THAT'S GOIN' ABOARD.”
Bending, her son lifted his two cloth bags of belongings. He gulped as he looked at her again and his dark eyes glistened as he whispered hoarsely, “I'd better git on board, ma. They're gettin' ready tay sail.” He gulped again, his big Adam’s apple plunging up and down as he tried to choke back the tears, but suddenly he dropped his bags and reached to hold her for the last time. As she clutched to him she could feel his heart thumping against her ear and the memory of one particular late summer day came to her.

*
With her man she had worked in the many potato fields that sloped down to the River Foyle. The weather had been kinder that year, the year she had given birth. She had been happy then, and her husband had been strong. They had both been strong and full of hope. She remembered that dinnertime after they had eaten some boiled potatoes and she had fed her baby. The summer sounds and scents surrounded them as she lay with her husband by the high hedge near the river. She had been lying back with her eyes closed, a piece of grass protruding from her mouth and he had gently tugged it out and kissed her. As she returned his kiss she felt his warm tears on her cheek. The remembered words, “Thanks fer our son,” still made her cry, as she relived that time in her mind often throughout the following years when her man's energy and drive waned as they lost hope and grew old before their time.

She sighed slowly as she felt her son release her and suddenly with a cry he grabbed his bags and ran up the gangway. She stood there for a few moments her arms still outstretched.
The bell rang again.
“ALL ABOARD. ALL ABOARD FER PHILADELPHIA AMERIKAY.”
Philadelphia, she thought, as she moved back among the others. A name she had grown to hate, but a place that would welcome her son and his wife. Oh, they would do well out there, she had no doubt about that, and her prayers would protect them. Reaching for the ends of her shawl she pulled it tightly around her. Her prayers had been wasted on her man. He had refused to come and see them off. His curt goodbye at the door had upset them all. But she could understand how he felt. He didn’t want Eamon to go. He was angry, frustrated at losing him and so was she, but she couldn't say anything. At least her man was able to vent his feelings with anger.
But now, as one of the crewmen pulled in the starboard rope she could feel the hot tears run freely down her face.
“Goodbye ma. I'll write tay ye. Goodbye...”
Sniffing, her frail body heaved as she tried to hold her composure, and as the ship moved away from the quay she was
unaware that her own loud crying mingled with the others around
her. She waved; Eamon and Mary waved; the people waved, and
they all still waved, even as the ship rounded the bend and sailed away out of sight.
Soon she thought they would be at Moville; then Greencastle; then out and around the headland to the wide Atlantic Ocean. It would be a long hard voyage, but she knew they would be all right. After all, wasn't that what they had to go through. Wasn't all this laid out for them, and for her? She sighed heavily. Mary would have her day too.
Gradually the people began to move away from the quay until she stood there alone, a wee lonely woman who had just said goodbye to her life. Stepping closer to the edge of the quay she looked down at the swirling muddy pools that churned up from the bottom. My life is over, she thought. If only I had the courage to end it. She swayed, half hypnotised by the dark water. Suddenly, screaming loudly, a sea gull swooped in front of her; startling her, its piercing cry making her look after it as it flew down the river. The rain had stopped and the black clouds that had hung above the Donegal Hills all morning were quickly breaking up. Shadows stretched down along the fields below them as the sun struggled to make it a day.
“Ah well,” she sniffed tugging her shawl tighter around her and with a last look down the river she turned and walked away. He’ll be waitin’ fer me, she thought. He’ll need me now more than ever. She sighed. And perhaps I need him.



1050 words