The Gift

  Lou sat on a rock and breathed in the fresh air. His numb nose dribbled, his cheeks were frozen stiff, and his ears ached from the nip in the wind. His fingers had turned a purplish blue, as though they were being strangled at the knuckles—not good weather for vital parts, but ideal weather for sailing. Unlike the carefully maintained gardens of his and his neighbors’ houses, the wild and rugged gorse had been even more lovingly left to grow as it wanted. It had roamed the mountainside and stamped its authority firmly around the headland. The land here was hilly and uneven; it rose and fell without warning, apologized for nothing, and offered no assistance to trekkers. It was the student in the last row in class, quiet but suggestive, sitting back to view the traps it had laid. Despite Howth’s wild streak in the mountains and the hustle and bustle of the fishing village, the town itself always had a sense of calm. It had a patient, grandparental feel about it: lighthouses that guided inhabitants of the waters safely to shore; cliffs that stood like a line of impenetrable Spartans with heaving chests, fierce against the elements. There was the pier that acted as a mediator between land and sea and dutifully ferried people out as far as humanly possible; the martello tower that stood like a lone aging soldier who refused to leave his zone long after the trouble had ended. Despite the constant gust that attacked the headland, the town was steady and stubborn.

  Lou wasn’t alone this morning as he pondered his life looking out at all this. Beside him sat himself. They were dressed differently: one ready for sailing with his brother, the other for ice-skating with the family. They stared out to sea, both watching the shimmer of the sun on the horizon, looking like a giant silver dime that had been dropped in for luck and now glimmered under the waves. They’d been sitting there for a while, not saying anything, merely comfortable with their own company.

  Lou on the mossy grass looked at Lou on the rock, and smiled. “You know how happy I am right now? I’m beside myself.” He chuckled.

  Lou, sitting on the rock, fought his smile. “The more I hear myself joke, the more I realize I’m not funny.”

  “Yeah, me, too.” Lou pulled a long strand of wild grass from the ground and rolled it around in his purple fingers. “But I also notice what a handsome bastard I am.”

  They both laughed.

  “You talk over people a lot, though,” Lou on the rock said, having witnessed his other self in conversation.

  “I noticed that. I really should—”

  “And you don’t really listen,” he added. “And your stories are always too long. People don’t seem to be as interested as you think,” he said. “You don’t ask people about what they’re doing. You should start doing that.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Lou on the grass said, unimpressed.

  “I am.”

  They sat in silence again because Lou Suffern had recently learned that a lot could come from silence and from being still. A gull swooped and squawked nearby, eyed them suspiciously, and then flew off.

  “He’s off to tell his mates about us,” Lou on the rock said.

  “Let’s not take whatever they say to heart; they all look the same to me,” the other Lou said.

  They both laughed again.

  “I can’t believe I’m laughing at my own jokes.” Lou on the grass rubbed his eyes. “Embarrassing.”

  “What’s going on here, do you think?” Lou asked seriously, perched on his rock.

  “If you don’t know, I don’t know.”

  “Yes, but if I have theories, well, then, so do you.”

  They looked at each other, knowing exactly what the other was thinking.

  Lou chose his words wisely, letting them roll around his mouth before saying, “I think we should keep those theories to ourselves, don’t you? It is what it is. Let’s keep it at that.”

  “I don’t want anybody to get hurt,” Lou on the grass said.

  “Did you just hear what I said?” he said angrily. “I said don’t talk about it.”

  “Lou!” Ruth was calling them from the garden, and it broke the spell between them.

  “Coming!” he yelled, peeping his head above the fence. He saw Bud, new to his feet, escaping to freedom through the kitchen door, racing around the grass unevenly, like a chick that had prematurely hatched from an egg, its legs alone breaking free. He shuffled along after a ball, trying to catch it but mistakenly kicking it with his running feet each time he got near. Finally learning, he stopped running before reaching down to the ball, and instead slowly sneaked up behind it, as though it was going to take off again by itself. He lifted a foot. Not used to having to balance on one leg, he fell backward onto the grass, safely landing on his padded behind. Lucy ran outside in her hat and scarf and helped to pull him up.

  “She’s so like Ruth.” He heard a voice near his ear say before realizing the other Lou had joined him.

  “I know. See the way she makes that face.” They watched Lucy scolding Bud for being careless. They both laughed.

  Bud screeched at Lucy’s attempt to take him by the hand and lead him back into the house. He pulled away and threw his hand up in the air in a mini-tantrum, then chose to waddle to the house by himself.

  “And who does he remind you of?” Lou said.

  “Okay, we’d better get moving,” he said, ignoring himself. “You walk down to the harbor, and I’ll drive Ruth and the kids into town. Make sure you’re there on time, okay? I practically had to bribe Quentin into saying yes about helping him today.”

  “Of course I’ll be there. Don’t you break a leg.”

  “Don’t you drown.”

  “We’ll enjoy the day.” Lou reached out and shook hands with himself. Their handshake turned into an embrace, and Lou stood on the mountainside giving himself the biggest and warmest hug he’d received in a very long time.

  LOU ARRIVED DOWN AT THE harbor two hours before the race. He hadn’t raced for so many years, he wanted to get reaccustomed to the talk, get a feel for being on a boat again. He also needed to build up a relationship with the rest of the team: communication was key, and he didn’t want to let anybody down. Most of all, he didn’t want to let Quentin down. He found the beautiful Alexandra, the forty-foot sailboat Quentin had bought five years ago and had since spent every spare penny and every free moment on. Already on board, Quentin and five others were in a tight group, going over the course and their tactics.

  Lou did the math. There were supposed to be only six on the boat; Lou joining them made seven.

  “Hi, there,” he said, approaching the boat.

  “Lou!” Quentin looked up in surprise, and Lou realized why there were already six people. Quentin hadn’t trusted him to show up.

  “Not late, am I? You did say nine thirty.” He tried to hide his disappointment.

  “Yeah, sure, of course.” Quentin said, “Absolutely, I just, eh…” He turned around to the other men waiting and watching. “Let me introduce you to the rest of the team. Guys, this is my brother, Lou.”

  Surprise flitted across a few faces.

  “We didn’t know you had a brother,” one of them said, stepping forward to offer his hand. “I’m Geoff, welcome. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “It’s been a while”—Lou looked over at Quentin—“but Quentin and I were sent on enough sailing courses over the years, it’d be hard for us ever to forget. It’s like riding a bike, isn’t it?”

  They all laughed and welcomed him aboard.

  “So where do you want me?” Lou asked.

  “Are you really okay to do this?” Quentin asked him quietly, away from the others.

  “Of course.” Lou tried not to be offended. “Same positions as we used to?”

  “Foredeck man?” Quentin asked.

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” Lou said, saluting him.

  Quentin laughed and turned back to the rest of the crew. “Okay, boys, I want us all working in harmony. Remember, let’s talk to each other; I want information flowing up and down the boat at all times. If you haven’t done what yo
u should have done, then shout, we all need to know exactly what’s going on. If we win, I’ll buy the first round.”

  They all cheered.

  “Right, Lou”—he looked at his brother and winked—“I know you’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.”

  Lou knew better than to correct him.

  “Finally you get your opportunity to see what Alexandra’s made of.”

  Lou punched his brother playfully on the shoulder.

  RUTH PUSHED BUD’S BUGGY THROUGH Fusilier’s Arch and they entered St. Stephen’s Green, a park right in the center of Dublin city An ice rink had been set up in the grounds, attracting shoppers and people from all around the country to join in the unique experience. Passing the duck-filled lake and walking over O’Connell Bridge, they soon entered a wonderland. A Christmas market had been set up, lavishly decorated and looking as if it had come straight out of a Christmas movie. Stalls selling hot chocolate with marshmallows, mince pies, and fruitcakes lined the paths and the smell of cinnamon, cloves, and marzipan wafted into the air. Each stall owner was dressed as an elf, and while Christmas tunes blared out of huge speakers, wind machines blew fake snow through the air.

  Santa’s Igloo was the center of attention, a long line forming outside, while elves dressed in green suits and pointy shoes did their best to entertain the waiting masses. Giant red-and-white-striped candy canes formed an archway into the igloo, while bubbles blew from the chimney top and floated up into the sky. On a patch of grass off to the side a group of children—umpired by an elf—played tug-of-war with an oversized Christmas cracker. Next to all this a Christmas tree twenty feet tall had been erected and decorated with oversized baubles and tinsel. Hanging from the branches were giant balloons, at which a line of children—but more daddies—threw acorns in an attempt to burst the balloons and release the gifts inside. A red-faced elf ran around collecting gifts from the ground, while his accomplice filled more balloons and passed them to another teammate to hang on the branches. There was no whistling while they worked.

  Bud’s chubby little forefinger pointed in every direction as something new caught his eye. Lucy, usually chatty, had suddenly gone very quiet, taking in the sights. She was dressed in a bright red double-breasted coat that went to her knees, with oversized black buttons and a black fur collar, and cream tights and shiny black shoes. She held on to Bud’s buggy with one hand and floated along beside them all, drifting away in a heaven of her own. Every now and then she’d see something and look up to Lou and Ruth with the biggest smile on her face. Nobody said anything. They didn’t need to. They all knew.

  Farther away from the Christmas market they found the ice rink, which was swarmed by hundreds of people young and old, the line snaking alongside the rink providing an audience for all those who crashed and fell on the ice.

  “Why don’t you all go and watch the show?” Lou said, pointing to the mini-pantomime that was being performed in the bandstand next to the rink. Dozens of children sat on deck chairs, entranced by the magical world before them. “I’ll get in line for us.”

  It was a generous gesture and a selfish one both at the same time, for Lou Suffern couldn’t possibly change overnight. He had made the attempt to spend the day with his family, but already his BlackBerry was burning a hole in his pocket, and he needed time to check it before he quite simply exploded.

  “Okay, thanks,” Ruth said, pushing Bud over to join Lou in the line. “We shouldn’t be too long.”

  “What are you doing?” Lou asked.

  “Going to watch the show.”

  “Aren’t you taking him?”

  “No. He is asleep. He’ll be fine with you.”

  Then she headed off hand in hand with a skipping Lucy, while Lou looked at Bud with mild panic, full of prayer for him not to wake. He had one eye on his BlackBerry, the other on Bud, and a third eye he’d never known he had on the group of teenagers in front of them, who had suddenly started shouting and jumping around as their hormones got the better of them, each screech from their mouths and jerk of their gawky movements a threat to his sleeping child. He suddenly became aware of the level of “Jingle Bells” being blasted through the rink’s speakers, of the feedback that sounded like a five-car pileup, when a voice cut in to announce a separated family member who was waiting by the Elf Center. He was aware of every single sound, every squeal of a child on the ice, every shout as their fathers fell on their asses, everything. On high alert, as though waiting for somebody to attack at any moment, the BlackBerry and its flashing red light went back in his pocket. People ahead of him moved up, and he ever so slowly pushed the buggy up the line.

  In front of him, a greasy-haired adolescent who was telling a story to his friends through the use of serious explosion sounds and the occasional epileptic-fit movements caught Lou’s eye because of his dangerous proximity. Sure enough, the boy, getting to the climax of the story, leapt back and landed against the buggy.

  “Sorry,” the boy said, turning around and rubbing his arm, which he’d bumped. “Sorry, mister, is he okay?”

  Lou nodded. Swallowed. He wanted to reach out and throttle the child, wanted to find the boy’s parents so that he could tell them about teaching their son the art of storytelling without grand gestures and spittle-flying explosions. He peeped in at Bud. The monster had been woken. Bud’s eyes, glassy and tired, and not yet ready to come out of hibernation, opened slowly. They looked left, they looked right, and all around, while Lou held his breath. He and Bud looked at each other for a tense second, and then, deciding he didn’t like the horrified expression on his father’s face, Bud spat out his pacifier and began screaming. Scream. Ing.

  “Eh, shhhh,” Lou said awkwardly, looking down at his son.

  Bud screamed louder, thick tears forming in his tired eyes.

  “Em, come on, Bud.” Lou smiled at him, giving him his best porcelain-toothed smile that usually worked on everyone else.

  Bud cried louder.

  Lou looked around in embarrassment, apologizing to anybody whose eye he caught, particularly the smug father who had a young baby in a pouch on his front and two other children holding his hands. He turned his back on the smug man, trying to end the screech of terror by pushing the buggy back and forth quickly, deliberately clipping the heels of the greasy teen who’d put him in this predicament. He tried pushing the pacifier back in Bud’s mouth, ten times over. He tried covering Bud’s eyes with his hand, hoping that the darkness would make him want to go back to sleep. That didn’t work. Bud’s body was contorting, bending backward as he tried to break out of his straps like the Incredible Hulk breaking out of his clothes. He continued to wail. Lou fumbled with the baby bag and offered him toys, which were flung violently out of the buggy and onto the ground.

  Smug Family Man with the front pouch bent over to assist Lou in his gathering of dispersed toys. Lou grabbed them while failing to make eye contact, grunting his thanks. Finally Lou decided to release the dough monster from the buggy. He struggled with the straps for some time while Bud’s screams intensified, and just as someone was close to calling social services, he finally broke his son free. Bud didn’t stop crying, though, and continued to yell, with snot bubbling from his nostrils, his face as purple as a blueberry.

  Ten minutes of pointing at trees, dogs, children, planes, birds, Christmas trees, presents, elves, things that moved, things that didn’t move, anything that Lou could lay his eye on, and Bud was still crying.

  At last Ruth came running over with Lucy.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Woke up as soon as you left, he won’t stop crying.” Lou was sweating.

  Bud took one look at Ruth and reached his arms out toward her, almost jumping out of Lou’s arms. His cries stopped instantly, he clapped his hands, and his face returned to a normal color. He looked at his mother, played with her necklace, and acted as though nothing had happened to him at all. Lou was sure that when nobody else was looking, Bud turned and smiled cheekily at him.
/>
  STARTING TO FEEL IN HIS element, Lou felt his stomach churn with anticipation as he watched the coastline move farther into the distance and they made their way to the starting area, north of Ireland’s Eye. Bundled-up family members and friends waved their support from the lighthouse at the end of the pier, binoculars in hands.

  There was a magic about the sea. People were drawn to it. People wanted to live by it, swim in it, play in it, look at it. It was a living thing that was as unpredictable as a great stage actor: it could be calm and welcoming one moment, opening its arms to embrace its audience, but then it could explode with its stormy tempers, flinging people around, attacking coastlines, breaking down islands. It had its playful side, too, as it tossed children about, tipped over windsurfers, and occasionally gave sailors helping hands—all with a secret chuckle. For Lou there was nothing like the feel of the wind in his hair and the sun in his face as he glided through the water. It had been a long time since he’d last sailed—he and Ruth had had many holidays on friends’ yachts over the years, but it was a long time since Lou had been a team player in any aspect of his life. He was looking forward to the challenge, not only to be in competition with thirty other boats, but also to try to beat the sea, the wind, and all the elements.

  In the starting area they sailed near the committee boat Free Enterprise for identification purposes. The starting line was between a red-and-white pole on the committee boat and a cylindrical orange buoy that was left to port. Lou got into place at the bow of the boat as they circled the area, trying to get into the best position to time it perfectly so that they’d cross the starting line at just the right time. The wind was northeast force four and the tide flooding, which added to the sea’s bad humor. They would have to watch all that to keep the boat moving fast through the choppy, lumpy sea. Just like old times, Lou and Quentin had already talked this out, so both knew what was required. Any premature passing of the starting line would mean an elimination, and it was up to Lou to count them down, position them correctly, and communicate with Quentin, the helmsman. They used to have it down to a fine art when they were in their teens; back then they’d won numerous races and could have competed with their eyes closed, merely feeling the direction of the wind. But that had been so long ago, and the communication between them had broken down rather dramatically over the past few years.