Date: Thu, 16 Apr 2009 21:52:42 +0000 (GMT)
From: Nexis Pas <nexispas@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: A Heart in Port

A Heart in Port

Nexis Pas

Copyright 2009 by the author. Nexis Pas asserts the moral right to be
identified as the author of this work.

Sheephaven Bay extends deep into County Donegal in the northwest of
Ireland. The name derives from a misunderstanding. In Irish, the original
name was Cuan na gCurrach, `haven of the ships'. When the English asked
what the name meant, they heard `sheep' instead of `ship' in the local
accent. The mistranslation has become so accepted that even in Irish the
bay is now often known as Cuan na gCaorach, `haven of the sheep'.

The lower end of the bay is placid and sheltered and lives up to the
original name. The mouth, however, faces directly north into the Atlantic,
and the currents and winds there can be treacherous and unpredictable. This
makes the bay a favourite of sailors, both those who prefer pleasant, safe
outings in calm waters and those who want a more challenging sail in
turbulent seas.

The summer nights are short along Sheephaven Bay. At that latitude the sun
officially sets after ten in late June and early July, but it remains light
long after that. The nights are never truly dark, and the sky begins to
grow light again around three. On all but the stormiest days, the bay is
filled with sailboats and windsurfers from early in the morning until late
at night. There are even some who would spend the entire day sailing if
they could.

Early on the morning of June 23, St John's Eve, Mark rushed into the
kitchen of his family's summer home. He had had a growth spurt that spring,
and a long, bony arm peeling with sunburn snaked out to grab a piece of
toast from the stack on the table as he sped past. His father caught Mark
by a shoulder as he started for the door and spun him around `And where are
you off to then?'

`I've got to get the boat ready for Brian. He'll want to go out as soon as
he gets here.'

`Your brother'll not be here for another six hours or so. You spent all
yesterday working on that boat. There can't be much left for you to do. You
can spare fifteen minutes to eat a proper breakfast.'

`But, Da . . .'

`But nothing. Your mother did not put breakfast on the table for you not to
eat it. Now, sit and eat like a human being. And you're not to be after
your brother to take you out as soon as he gets here. He drove for several
hours yesterday and spent the night on the ferry from Holyhead, and then he
has to drive here from Dublin. He and his friend might want to rest before
you herd them out to the bay.'

`But the tide changes at four. Brian will want to catch the turn. And the
weather report last night said fair weather and winds out of the northwest.
That means great sailing. Oh, I'd better see if there's been any change.'
Mark leaped up from the chair he had so briefly occupied and switched on
the radio. `And his friend won't want to go with us. It will just be Brian
and me.' A news reader's voice blared through the static of the old
receiver, drowning out all other noise.

`Mark, turn that radio off. I want to eat breakfast in peace. Your mother
and I came here to get away from the financial news for a few weeks. The
weather won't change if you have to listen to it half an hour from now. And
this Luan likes sailing. That's why Brian asked him. Now sit and eat your
breakfast.'

Mark reluctantly sat down. He tore off a quarter of the slice of toast with
his teeth and chewed rapidly a few times before swallowing. `What kind of
name is Luan? It doesn't sound like a proper name. Anyway there won't be
any room for him on the boat. He'll have to sit here while Brian and I go
out.''

Mark's mother lowered the newspaper that she was reading and looked over
the top of it at him. `That boat can hold three people. It has often enough
before. And I don't know what kind of a name Luan is. Maybe he was born on
a Monday. The Innleys have invited us to join them at their bonfire
tonight, and I imagine Mary Innley will ask him that very question. She'll
soon have his entire history out of him, and half the county will know it
by tomorrow.'

`I don't see why Brian can't stay longer. Why does he have to go down to
Galway? That Luan could go by himself, and Brian could stay here. He won't
be able to get much sailing in.' Since Mark had learned of Brian's pending
visit, it had been a oft-voiced grievance that his brother planned to leave
the next day after dinner.

`The two of them are coming here to talk with us and then with Luan's
parents. If your brother wants to tell you the reason, you'll know soon
enough.'

Mark sank lower into his chair. Both of his parents returned to the pages
of the newspapers they were reading. A solid wall of print confronted
him. For the past few days, neither of his parents had said much to him,
and they had taken to speaking to each other in whispers, whispers that
were quickly replaced with nervous smiles and tightly closed lips when he
walked into a room. Even his gran had picked up the habit. He sighed loudly
to make his objections known and stuffed another large bite of toast into
his mouth. The newspapers barely quivered.  Five minutes later, he judged
that he had spent enough time at the table and asked to be excused. His
father made a noise deep in his throat, and Mark took that for permission
to leave.

He sped out the door and grabbed his bike on the run, leaping on to it when
had enough speed. Too impatient to let the bike glide down the hill, he
peddled vigorously, pumping his legs to go as fast as possible and avoiding
by well-practised inches all the ruts in the path.  He braked at the last
moment, sending a spray of sand and pebbles into the air as he reached the
dock where An Ghaoth Gheal waited. A few drops of dew glistened on the taut
cover over the cockpit. He wiped them off carefully before unsnapping the
cover and stowing it away in the chest at the end of the dock. He swabbed
the boat down and began working through the checklist Brian had devised for
him many years before.

Even though he knew it was much too early for Brian to arrive, he kept an
eye on the road leading down the hill into the village on the other side of
the old harbour. Every low red car caught his attention. He could tell that
none of them were Brian's old MG Midget, but still he followed each of them
as it went into the village, hoping that he was wrong. He waited in vain
for each car to emerge from behind the row of houses that faced the harbour
and then race along the road that curved along the coast toward their
house, the sound of the engine changing as Brian shifted through the gears
to speed toward him. But none of them did.

Around noon his father walked down to the dock bringing him a sandwich and
an apple. `Your mother thought you might want to eat down here.' His
father's eyes wandered up and down the boat. `You've done a good job. Brian
will be proud of you. I listened to the weather report just now. The winds
are at 10-15 knots out of the northwest. It will be a good sail. How far
are you thinking of going?'

`Depends on what Brian wants. Maybe to Horn Head.' Mark wiped a minuscule
spot off the teak railing. When it came to An Ghaoth Gheal, his father
lacked Brian's critical eye. He hoped that his father was right and that
Brian would approve of how well he had kept the boat.

`Don't stay out too long. Your mother and grandmother have a big meal
planned for Brian's visit, and then we have to be at the Innleys by 10:00.'

Mark nodded and bit into the sandwich his father had brought. He thought
that would be a signal to his father to leave, but instead his father
kicked his shoes off and climbed aboard the boat. He sat on the side
opposite Mark and stretched his legs out. He shaded his eyes with a hand
and looked off into the distance. `A lot of boats out today. You'll have to
be careful.'

Mark nodded. The remark was so obvious it didn't merit more of a response.
His father cleared his throat a few times and then spoke to the air over
Mark's right shoulder. `You know, Mark, Brian may have changed since the
last time he was here. He's qualified for the provisional registration now.
Another year, and then he has to chose a specialty.'

`I know.'

`What I'm trying to say is that he's an adult now. He's been one for years,
and he's contemplating some major changes in his life. That's why he's
coming here. To talk with your mother and me. He may not be the big brother
you remember. I just want to warn you not to expect him to be the same.'

`I know. But he'll still like sailing. That won't change, will it?'

`I think we can be confident of that. But he may not be able to spend as
much time on the boat with you as you might want. He's here for another
reason.'

`What? He didn't say anything to me except to get An Ghaoth Gheal
ready. And if he's here to talk to you and mum, why is he bringing this
Luan?'

`I'll let him explain that to you. That's part of being an adult. You get
to speak for yourself without your parents correcting you.'

`Then I'll be an adult right now.'

`That day'll come soon enough, lad. There's no need to hurry it. And it's
less of a privilege than you might think. One other thing. Your brother
will be happy if you're nice to this Luan. And put a hat on. Your face will
burn in this sun.'

`That's two things.'

`Don't be cheeky.' His father tapped him on the shoulder and then stepped
out of the boat. The motion pushed the boat away from the dock until the
mooring ropes caught and pulled it back. The fenders chaffed against the
dock as the boat rocked from side to side. To Mark's mind, the boat was as
anxious to be out on the bay as he was.

Mark returned to watching across the water to the road leading into the
village. A solitary gull floated by, eyeing the food in his hand. He tore
off a strip of crust and threw it into the water. The gull dived for it,
but he had no sooner caught it in his beak and risen off the water than he
was joined by another pair of gulls fighting to snatch it from him. Their
raucous cries attracted more of them, and the first gull fled, pursued by
the flock. The fight ended as abruptly as it began, and the gulls arranged
themselves into a spiral tower, rising and falling as they drifted on the
wind, watching for food.

The only sounds were the waves slapping against the side of the boat and
the creaking of the timbers as the boat knocked gently against the dock. On
the far side of the harbour to the east of the village, a line of three
horses galloped through the shallow waters off the strand, the shouts of
the riders urging them on, joined together in the pleasure of the
moment. When Mark was sure that his father could no longer see him, he
pulled his cap out of his pocket and smoothed it down on his head.

He knew that he looked good in the red cap and dark aviator glasses that
Brian had given him. His old white shirt was half unbuttoned and its
sleeves folded back to the elbows, the tails tucked carelessly into his
shorts. His sockless feet were shoved into the dirty grey plimsolls he wore
on the boat. They were getting too small for him. He needed to buy a new
pair. Maybe, he thought, he could find an old pair of Brian's that would
fit him.

The growth spurt had left him gangly, but he knew that he would grow out,
just as Brian had. Brian had been so tall and thin one summer, and then he
had gone away to school and come back at Christmas a `fine figure of a man'
as their gran had said. He would be like Brian, follow the same path. He
would qualify as a doctor, just like Brian. When he finished, he would join
Brian in his practice and the two of them would work together the rest of
their lives. Maybe living in the same house, or next door to each
other. Brian would teach him everything he needed to know, just as he had
taught him how to read the waves and see the wind in their brightness.

His eyes idly trailed a green Vauxhall down the road into the village. He
shifted his eyes elsewhere when it disappeared behind the row of buildings
lining the harbour side. He was only vaguely aware of it when it took the
north coast road a minute or so later and came toward him. He didn't even
pay it much attention when it turned into the driveway of his parents'
house. It was, he supposed, just someone dropping in to speak to his
mother. He heard the sounds of car doors, and then his parents and the
people in the car talking. It wasn't until he heard someone call his name
that he turned around and looked.

Brian was standing with his arm around his mother and waving toward
him. Mark leaped to his feet, barely pausing long enough to kick his
plimsolls off and thrust his feet into his regular shoes. He raced up the
path to the house, waving his right arm like a madman.

Brian ran a few steps toward Mark and hugged him tightly as he jumped off
his bike and let it fall to the ground. `Lord, you've grown. You're not my
little brother any more.'

`Where's the MG? What have you done with your car? Why are you driving this
piece of rubbish?'

`Well hello and good to see you too. Now, stop choking me. Let me breathe.'
Brian held Mark at arms' length and then grabbed the bill of Mark's cap and
pulled it lower over his forehead. `There now, it's an improvement not to
have to look at as much of your ugly face.'

Mark grinned at this sign of his brother's affection and pushed the cap
back in place.

`And the MG takes more time to keep it going that I have time to give
it. This "piece of rubbish" is Luan's car.' Brian hooked an arm around
Mark's shoulders and turned him around, still laughing. His hand tightened
its grip on Mark's shoulder as if he were afraid that Mark might run away.
`This is Luan Cusack. Luan, this is my brother Brian. He didn't really mean
what he said about your car.'

`Well, it is a piece of rubbish, but unlike yours at least it runs.' His
brother's friend held out a hand to Mark and smiled at him. `So in addition
to being an excellent sailor, you are also a good judge of cars. Brian's
told me a lot about you but he didn't tell me that.'

Mark smiled at Luan shyly as they shook hands. He was unsure what to make
of this stranger who seemed to know about him. As his father pointed out
some nearby landmarks to Luan, he took advantage of the distraction to
examine Luan more closely. Brian had mentioned many friends and colleagues
since he had left for medical school and then the foundation programme, but
this was the first one he had ever brought home. He wore a red cap and
aviator glasses, much like Mark's. He had very white, very even teeth. His
dark black hair curled out from beneath his cap and stirred in the
breeze. He was an inch or so taller than Brian and three or four inches
taller than Mark. He looked athletic, as if he jogged and played a lot of
sports.

His mother interrupted his father's guided tour of the bay. `Come in. I'll
make a pot of tea. Did you eat? I can make you something if you're hungry.'

`Mum, Brian wants to go sailing.' Mark tugged at his brother's arm. `An
Ghaoth Gheal is all ready. I got everything ready. The tide changes just
after 4:00, and if we leave now we can make it to the mouth of the bay just
as the tide turns and come back on a rising tide.'

Brian put his arm around his brother's shoulders again and drew him toward
the house. `Just let us stretch our legs for a bit. Then we can go out.'

Mark fretted throughout the next hour. Their mother had pushed them into
the front lounge. In a departure from their usual practice, his parents
were sharing the couch instead of sitting in their customary chairs. Both
sat upright and close together, their hands in their laps and their feet
planted solidly on the floor. His father had made Luan take the chair next
to the fireplace, facing them. Mark took one of the window seats, as far
from the others as he could. Through the open window, he could see down the
hill to the bay, but the boat was hidden from view by the house. Brian had
sat down briefly but soon stood up and began pacing about the room. When
their mother had invited him to sit, he said that he needed to walk
about. His path took him behind the sofa, forcing their parents to look
around whenever they spoke to him.

The four adults seemed not to know what to say to one another. One of his
parents might inquire yet again about the trip, only to be told once more
that it had gone smoothly. Then all of them would take a sip of tea and
look out the window rather than at any of the others. Mark couldn't see why
if they had nothing to say that it was necessary for them to sit politely
pretending to have a conversation. Everyone was tense, a situation he
attributed to the presence of Luan. The stranger was keeping Brian from
being his usual self.

After Mark had looked pointedly at the clock several times, his brother
said to him, `Why don't you take Luan down to see the boat? He'll help you
get it ready. I'll be along in a few moments.'

Mark looked uncertainly at the intruder. `Does he know what to do?'

`He has a name, and you can talk to him directly. Can you try not to be so
rude!'  Brian spoke sharply. `And yes, he knows what to do. He was sailing
before you were born.'

`It's all right, Brian.' Luan looked embarrassed at being the cause of a
fuss.

`No, it's not all right. He's fourteen years old now. He should know how to
be polite.'

Brian's sudden explosion of irritation snapped Mark to attention. `I was
just asking.' He couldn't understand why Brian had reacted so angrily to
his question. It was the first time in his life that his brother had taken
someone's else side over his and one of the few times Brian had criticised
him. His face flushed, and he bit back the tears that suddenly came to his
eyes. It was as bad as if Mark had slapped his face in front of all his
friends.

Brian covered his eyes with a hand and took a deep breath. `I'm sorry,
Mark,' he said in a weary voice. `Could you just show Luan the boat? I need
to talk with Mum and Da privately for a moment. Then I'll come down.'

`Let me get my jacket and shoes from the car, and I'll be ready. Thank you
for the tea.' Luan quickly stood up, obviously thankful to have an excuse
to leave, and walked out.

Mark looked uncertainly from his parents to his brother. None of them
seemed to want to look at him. Finally his mother said, `Mark, please do as
your brother asked. I'm sure that in any case both of you would rather be
out on that damn boat than talking with your parents.' She slammed her
teacup down on its saucer and stood up. She strode over to a window and
looked out, her back to the room. `Your brother has something to say to us,
and his "friend" needs attention. You haven't done anything this summer but
worry about that boat. We don't ask you for much. You can at least
entertain Mr Cusack for us for a few minutes.'

Mark slid out of the room, half-relieved that he was allowed to leave and
half-frightened by his parents' and Brian's unaccustomed displays of
anger. The house was heavy with their unease. And he didn't understand the
reason for it. As he stepped out the door, he heard his mother say in the
coldest voice he had ever heard her use, `I believe you have something to
say to us.'

Luan stood beside his car. He had put on a yellow cagoule and held a pair
of plimsolls with one hand. He looked uncertain of his welcome. Mark wasn't
in a mood to be pleasant. `It's down this way. We'll have to walk. We've
only the one bike here.' He hurried on, not stopping to check if Luan was
following him. When they were halfway down the hill, Luan broke the
silence. `Brian tells me that An Ghaoth Gheal belonged to your
grandfather.'

Mark nodded, without turning around. If he could, he would have walked even
faster. The only thing that kept him from running was a fear that Brian
would not forgive that rudeness. He had been instructed to `entertain'
Luan. No one had ordered him to pretend to be happy about it.

`It's such a beautiful name. An Ghaoth Gheal.' Luan had a Connacht accent,
and he said each syllable distinctly rather than running them together, as
if he had forgotten how to speak Irish in London. Mark's ears resented even
that slight proof of difference. It was a sign of Luan's foreignness, the
cause of the unhappiness in their house. He didn't bother to correct Luan's
pronunciation.

Luan suddenly came up beside him. `You're a sturdy walker, as me mum would
say. How often do you get out? On the water, I mean.'

Mark shrugged. Conversation seemed unavoidable now that Luan had caught him
up. Besides there were things he wanted to know, and he couldn't find them
out if he kept quiet. `I'm not allowed to go out on my own yet. Da will go
with me once or twice a week, if I pester him. But he doesn't really like
it. He didn't start sailing until after he married mum.'

`There's no one else?'

`There's Jimmy Innley. That's their house there, the one with the pile of
wood for the bonfire tonight. But he's only interested in going fast. He'd
be happiest if the boat capsized or ran aground. That would be a lark for
him. Sometimes one of the other owners will let me crew for him, but the
only practice I get steering is with Da and Jimmy.'

`Brian and I have the same problem. We've met some people in London who
keep a boat at the Isle of Wight. They let us crew for them, but we're just
the help then. We tried renting a boat one weekend, but it was a tub. Had
no lift at all. And the Channel is too tame if you're used to the western
coast. '

`What do you have at home?' In spite of himself, Mark was curious about
this stranger, this "friend" Brian had brought into their home.

`You mean in Galway? We have an old Hunter Sonata.'

`Not too different from An Ghaoth Gheal then. Same rigging but a couple of
feet longer.'

`Brian says the Sonata's too sluggish.'

`Brian's sailed on it?'

`Yes, we go out every time he visits. He's been on it several times now.'

`I didn't know. He didn't tell me.' The knowledge that Brian had been in
Ireland without coming home stung. Mark suddenly looked several years
younger, the boy he had been a few months before peeping out behind the
teenage face with its hints of the adult he would become. He seemed to
shrink inside his clothes. He felt betrayed--the most important person in
his life had developed other loyalties. The day was bringing too many
surprises, and none of them welcome.

`You'll have to visit next time we're in Ireland. We've some great
sailing. And we would be pleased to have you there.'

Mark shrugged. `I don't know. It can't be any better than our coast.'

`You're just like your brother then. He says the waters in Galway Bay
aren't as challenging as those off the Donegal coast. And he complains that
he can't feel the water against the tiller in the Sonata the way he can in
your boat.'

`He's always on about that. Feeling the water against the boat and seeing
the wind ahead in the waves.'

`He says you're a natural at that. The best he's ever seen.'

`Nyah.' Mark flushed with pleasure. The unexpected praise found a warm home
inside his chest. `That's wrong. He's the best.' He looked directly at Luan
for the first time. `Did he really say that?'

`Yes, several times. He said he had to work to learn what he knows. But you
just knew it.'

`That's because he was always talking on at me about it. He made me sit
beside him and hold the wheel as he steered so that I could learn what it
felt like to sense what the wind and the water were telling you. By the
time he let me try steering by myself for the first time, I already knew
what it would feel like. I used to practice on my bed, at night.'

`He's very proud of you, you know.' Luan stopped suddenly, forcing Mark to
face him again. `You mustn't mind what he said just now. He's tense about
this visit and then the one to my parents. Although my parents will be
worse than yours.'

Mark had to fight a momentary urge to defend his parents and insist that
they were much better at being much worse than Luan's could possibly
be. Instead he asked, `What's happening? No one will tell me.'

`Brian will explain it to you. He wants to do that.'

`He's not ill, is he? It's not cancer.'

`No, no, nothing like that. You mustn't worry about that.' They rounded the
final corner in the path to the dock. `Oh, is that An Ghaoth Gheal? What a
beauty. How old is it? Nobody uses wood like that now. It's all plastic
resins and fibreglass now.'

`My grandfather had it built in the early 1950s. In a yard in Belfast.'

`If Brian doesn't come soon, we'll leave him ashore and go out by
ourselves.'

It felt good to be working alongside Luan. He moved about the boat
efficiently, getting it ready to sail. Mark watched him carefully for
mistakes, but there were none. Perhaps he did know something about sailing
after all. And he didn't seem a bad sort. Brian appeared just as they were
finishing their preparations.

`Mum says we're all to wear life vests. She doesn't want to add our deaths
to her troubles.' Brian looked a bit haggard. For the first few minutes his
mind was on other things. After they cast off, Mark manoeuvred the boat
away from the dock using the small electric motor. When they reached deeper
water, he motioned to Brian and stepped away from the wheel.

`What are you doing?' Brian looked surprised.

`Don't you want the wheel?'

`No. I'm a tourist today. You have to do the work. I'm just along for the
ride, brother. And it's a test. If you do well, I officially turn An Ghaoth
Gheal over to you. Prove to me that you deserve it.' He grinned and began
raising the mainsail. Luan stepped forward to handle the foresail. The
canvas began flapping and then stretched taut as the sails filled with the
wind. An Ghaoth Gheal quickly picked up speed as Mark steered the boat into
a beam reach and it began to move north up Sheephaven Bay.

For the most part, Brian and Luan sat on the railing forward of the wheel,
midway along the hull. They faced outward, their legs dangling over the
side of the boat, shifting into action only when Mark changed course. The
two of them talked quietly. Except for an occasional word, Mark couldn't
hear what they were saying. From time to time Brian would point to some
feature of the bay. And Luan would nod, and then the two of them would
resume their conversation.

Brian had changed since the last time Mark had seen him. He had grown
older, but more in manner than in years. Brian acts more like a man now,
thought Mark. The last of his youth had been shed. And he seemed
happier. Whatever had troubled him earlier was quickly forgotten once they
were on the water and he was talking with Luan. Occasionally when Mark
manoeuvred the boat, Brian would look over his shoulder and smile and hold
a thumb up in approval.

Mark soon gave his full attention to the boat. He could sense the ebbing
tide moving north beneath the hull, pulling the boat along with it, and
even what his grandfather had called the echoes of the waves against the
shore, the reverberations of energy that flowed away from the land as the
water shoaled. As he had been trained, he watched the water ahead, alert
for clues to sudden shifts in the direction of the wind. `Watch the light
dancing on the water ahead. That will tell you where the wind is and what
it's doing.' Brian had schooled him in that over and over--to read the
`bright wind' that lent its name to An Ghaoth Gheal.

As they neared the mouth of Sheephaven Bay, he felt the water under An
Ghaoth Gheal grow quiet as the movement of the ebbing tide slowed and then
ceased. Mark waited for the moment that would soon come. He was vaguely
aware that Brian and Luan had stopped talking and were watching him, but he
ignored them, focussing totally on what was happening around him. And then
there came a hint of a motion against the boat, the gentlest push against
the keel, as the tide began to return to the bay. `I'm bringing it about,'
he shouted above the wind. Brian and Luan leaped up as Mark began turning
the boat in a broad arc. The sails began to luff noisily as the boat
briefly came head to wind. Luan backed the jib as Mark moved the tiller in
the same direction, and the boom swept across the boat. In unison, Luan
lowered the foresail and Brian sent the spinnaker ballooning aloft. An
Ghaoth Gheal leaped forward as if that were the moment she had been
awaiting.

Brian gave a great shout, of joy, of triumph, as the boat sped down the
bay. The three of them were flushed with the satisfaction of a perfectly
executed manoeuvre. Mark felt a renewal of comradeship with his
brother. And Luan was no longer a stranger--they had shared too much for
that. He never knew how to describe the feeling, even to himself. But when
he was sailing and the boat was running perfectly, he was taken out of
himself. It wasn't freedom exactly because the boat still depended on the
water and the wind, but it was as if all the forces of nature were working
together and his spirit had soared into the sails, raising the boat out of
the water and sending it flying on the wind.

When they had docked and were securing the sails, Luan turned to him and
said, `Thanks. That was great sailing. It felt as if the boat were alive.'

Brian growled at him. `Not just great. It was perfection. And if the boat
was alive, it was Mark's doing.'

Luan laughed. `I pity people who never experience that.' He turned to
Mark. `We work with some people who can't understand why we sail every
chance we get. They can't imagine anything better than clubbing and
drinking. They think we're fools to want this.'

`A heart in port,' said Mark.

`Oh, I haven't heard that in years.' Brian stopped what he was doing and
stared at a memory.

Luan waited for an explanation from one of the brothers. When none was
forthcoming, he asked, `What's that?'

`It's a line from a poem our grandfather used to quote,' said
Brian. "Futile the winds to a heart in port. Done with the something,
something." Can't remember the rest of it.'

` "Futile the winds to a heart in port. Done with the compass. Done with
the chart. Rowing in Eden." ' Mark finished the quote. `He always said that
would be the worst thing for a sailor--to be condemned to row a boat on a
calm lake in paradise.'

******

Mark sat at his bedroom window. He was supposed to be in bed. After they
had returned from the Innleys, he had been sent upstairs. But he was too
excited to sleep. The Innleys had built a huge bonfire, and dozens of
people had shown up to celebrate midsummer night's eve.  When his mother
had drifted off to talk with her friends, Brian had passed him a bottle of
beer. His father had seen it, winked at him, and then looked away. And when
the sun had set and the fire had died down to the embers, Mr Innley had
come over and asked Mark and Brian to sing. Brian said no, he wasn't good
enough to sing with Mark, but `my friend Luan is.' When Luan had protested,
Brian had said simply, `Do it for me.'

And so Mark and Luan found themselves conferring, trying to find a song
both of them knew. Several people called out favourites, but they rejected
them all. Finally, Brian said, `Sing "Gaoth Barra na dTonn".' And they
did. They sang it for Brian, Mark felt. The others were just bystanders
listening in. The words didn't fit the season, but they matched what he
felt that evening. It was an offering of thanks to the waves and to his
brother, and that was all that mattered. And Luan's voice was as good as
promised. His baritone harmonised effortlessly with Mark's high tenor. When
they finished, there was a silence and then some cheers and
clapping. Others stepped forward and sang. But none were as good as Mark
and Luan.

The day had started badly but it had ended well, he thought. From his
bedroom window, he could see down to the bay and the dock where An Ghaoth
Gheal was berthed. It was too dark to see the boat, but there was a long
thin line of darkness against the reflection of the moon in the water and
he imagined it was the mast. Over supper, Brian had raved about Mark's
sailing and argued strenuously that he should be allowed to sail
alone. Their mother had objected that Mark was too young, but Brian had
said, `No. He's the best sailor on these waters, and he needs to be out on
sailing every day, in every kind of weather. For the practice. He could
bring home a gold medal for Ireland in the Olympics. He's that good. But he
needs to practice.' An Ghaoth Gheal, he pointed out, was built to be rigged
so that a single person could sail it, and Mark was skilled enough to do
that. His father had joined in on Brian's side. There had been further
argument, but it had ended when his father had told his wife that Mark had
inherited her father's talents. That satisfied his mother. She didn't say
yes, but she stopped saying no, and Mark took that as permission. He knew
that after he had sailed by himself once, she would not protest.

The conversation was much more relaxed than it had been earlier. Brian was
elated about something, and he wouldn't let anything prevent him from being
happy. By the time they left for the Innleys, everyone was laughing with
him. Whatever had caused the tension before had disappeared.

Even with the moon, the night was dark outside his window. A few fitful
glimmerings across the bay betrayed the locations of the remains of other
bonfires. Below him a rectangle of light appeared briefly on the ground as
the back door of the house was opened and closed. Brian and Luan walked out
to the low wall that separated the back garden from the fields beyond. They
leaned against it, with their backs to him, standing closely together. The
murmuring of their voices came through the open window.

Mark knew that if they turned around and looked up, they would see him at
the window, but he was watching over them, not spying on them. That night
he was charmed, every power was his. He would protect them and bless them.

The door opened again, and his parents stepped out. Brian and Luan turned
around and walked toward them. His father shook Luan's hand and then his
mother kissed him. They repeated the action with Brian. A few words were
exchanged and then all of them went back inside. Mark was still puzzling
over the incident when he fell asleep.

*****

Mark had been up so late the previous evening that he slept until past
seven. When he came downstairs, his parents were talking in the kitchen. He
heard his mother say, `It's not what I would choose for him, but Luan seems
nice, and he makes Brian happy. I will try to let that be enough and be
happy for him.'

As Mark came around the corner into the kitchen, his father started to say
something but then stopped when he saw Mark. `Oh, you're up finally. The
rest of us have already eaten. There's some toast left for you. Brian and
Luan are down by the boat. They have to leave early this afternoon. Don't
keep them waiting.'

That was all Mark needed to hear. He grabbed a slice of toast and flew out
the back door. He could hear his mother calling something after him, but he
outsped the words.

His brother and Luan were sitting close together on the storage chest at
the end of the dock. When Mark ran down the dock, Brian stood up.

`I'm sorry to be late. Let's go.' Mark started to jump aboard An Ghaoth
Gheal, but Brian stopped him.

`I have something to tell you. Walk with me for a bit. Luan will watch the
boat.'

Brian started up the dock to the shore. Mark looked at him and then at
Luan. Luan smiled and nodded his head toward Brian. `Go with him. It's
important.'

When he caught Brian up, he was seated on a rock overlooking the bay. He
had drawn his legs up and was resting his forearms on his knees. He moved
over slightly to make a place for Mark to sit.

`This was one of my favourite spots when I was young. I used to spend my
days here watching the boats and dreaming of the time when I could sail
one. Sometimes I wish I could go back to that. Things were simpler then. Do
you ever feel that way?'

Mark nodded. In truth, he couldn't wait to be fully grown, but Brian seemed
to want agreement. `You can always come back here. Once you qualify. Not
here. It's too small, but Letterkenny or Sligo. They're big enough to
support a doctor. And you could come up on the weekends, and we could go
sailing.'

`No, rural Ireland's not a place that would tolerate me and Luan very
well. We need a different sort of country. Some place like London.'

`But Luan doesn't have to be here.'

`But I have to be with Luan. That's what I'm trying to tell you. That's why
we're here. To tell everyone that we have to be together.'

`I don't understand.' Mark shook his head from side to side, trying to
chase away the knowledge that was growing inside him.

`I love him. He loves me. Next month in London we going to register a civil
partnership and go through a ceremony. Mum and Da and Gran are going to be
there. We hope that you and Luan's parents and family will join us. I would
like you to sing for us.'

`No.' Mark jumped up and away from Brian. `You can't. It's a sin.'

`No, that's the one thing it's not.'

`You're joking. Stop it. I won't listen. It's not funny.'

`Mark, please, just listen to me. Luan completes me. He's . . .'

`Noooooooo.' Mark ran off blindly, his feet stumbling over the rocks along
the shore. He heard Brian chasing after him. He had run only thirty feet
when Brian grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him to a stop, wrapping
his arms around Mark to keep him from fleeing.

Brian put his hand on the back of Mark's head and held it tightly against
his chest. He rocked back and forth. `Please. Don't run away. I need you.'

Mark pounded his fists against Brian's back. `Let go of me. I hate
you. You're not my brother.'

`I'm still the same person I always was. I still love you. It's just that
now you know something about me you didn't before.'

`Why did you tell me? I didn't want to know. You can change. We can make
everything like before.' Mark felt his brother stiffen and lift his
head. He knew then that Luan had walked up and was standing behind
him. `Make him go away. I don't want him here. Just make him go away.'

Mark sprang away from the two of them as his brother released him from his
grip. Luan stepped forward and stood beside Brian. The two brothers looked
at each other warily, uncertain what to say next. Then Brian put his arm
around Luan's shoulder and pulled him close.

Tears welled up into Mark's eyes. He started running again. Behind him, he
heard Luan say, `No, don't. Let him go. He needs to be by himself for a
time.'

Mark turned around and danced furiously in place. The stranger had no right
to interfere and tell Brian what to do. `I hate you. I hate you. Why did
you come here? You don't belong here.' Then, sobbing, he ran off, putting
more and more distance between himself and Brian and Luan. He could tell
that they weren't following him, but he kept running until he had rounded
the next spit of land and was in a rocky cove. He found a place among a
pile of boulders where he could hide and there he gave vent to his misery.
He cried until his throat ached. The schoolboy words echoed through his
mind. All the dirty hateful words. Queer. Faggot. Gay. Perv. All the jokes
about that singer in Westlife and the one in Boyzone. The sniggering over
Captain Jack and Ianto in Torchwood and John and Craig in Hollyoaks. The
remarks about the boys that didn't play football, or the ones that were too
good-looking or the ones like himself that didn't quite fit in. And now his
brother was one of those people.

He cried for himself and for finding himself bereft and alone. He cried
because he felt tainted and would never be whole again. He was still crying
when his father came several hours later. His father stood there silently
for a moment and then said, `Come, Mark, it's time for you to come home.'

`Is he there?'

`Brian and Luan left several hours ago. They were sad that you weren't
there to say good-bye, but they understood that you had to be alone.'

`I don't ever want to see him again. You can't make me. I won't.'

`That will be your decision. However, both Brian and Luan will be welcomed
in our house whenever they choose. We won't change that for you.'

Mark nodded. `I'll go away when they come.'

His father smiled sadly in reply and nodded. `Come, your mother's getting
worried. It's time for supper. You didn't have much for breakfast and you
didn't eat dinner. You must be hungry.'

The house was silent when he returned. Neither of his parents said anything
about his absence or about Brian and Luan. It was as if they had decided to
ignore everything that had happened. They talked about the news as they ate
and spoke about their plans for the days ahead. Mark sat at the table
without saying anything. When they finished, he went up to his room.

He didn't notice the envelope at first. He threw himself onto his bed and
lay there feeling miserable. He took stock of his room. All the sailing
paraphernalia on the walls and propped up in the corners. All of it useless
to him now. He would never sail again. He knew that.  An Ghaoth Gheal was
simply a reminder of a brother who had chosen someone else.

The patch of whiteness on his desk glowed in the half-dark and seemed much
larger than it was. He tried to ignore it, but he couldn't. His eyes kept
coming back to it. He finally gave in and opened the envelope and pulled
out the piece of paper inside. He hoped it contained the news that Brian
was renouncing Luan and coming back to him. But he knew even before he read
it that it wouldn't.

`Dear Mark, I have given my heart to only two people in my life, and you
are one of them. It started the day Mum and Da brought you home from
hospital and let me hold you for the first time. You were a miracle to
me. You still are. There aren't words to tell you how special you have made
me feel over the years since and how important it is to me that you are my
brother and that you love and respect me. I know that I have hurt you, but
I cannot be other than what I am, and I hope you will understand. Please
accept me for what I am. Love, Brian.'

Mark crumpled the piece of paper up and tossed it toward the bin. It
bounced off the rim and fell to the floor. He grabbed it up and ripped it
to shreds. When he couldn't tear it into smaller pieces, he stood there
with his chest heaving, trying to stifle his sobs so that his parents
wouldn't hear him crying. He frantically began pushing the pieces of the
letter about and trying to flatten them and make them whole again. He cried
because there wasn't enough sellotape in the world to put the letter back
together. He cried for troubles that he couldn't solve. He cried for envy
of all the hearts in port, unperturbed by their ignorance of the winds.