Irish Reunion

I shuddered as the wind blew in from the sea, biting my face and smelling of salt. The small town on the east coast of Ireland was nestled between the rocky crags of the Burren and the cool waters of the Atlantic Ocean. Fishing boats and small sailing vessels were docked along the pier that paralleled the road I had been walking on for several minutes.1

Up ahead, a small wisp of smoke curled from the chimney of a pub. A soft orange glow was visible through the windows and as I walked up the steps I prayed it was open. The rest of the village was dead for the night and wouldn't rise until the sun peeked over the lowest of the eastern hills.2

The heavy oak door groaned as I pushed against. Warm air rushed outside, reviving my senses and reminding me of days spent huddled around the fire with my brother and father.3

There was little life inside the pub. A fat barmaid struggled with a broom behind the bar, and an elderly man sat on a large wooden bench that faced the quiet fire. The flames flickered against the walls, casting lonely shadows on the vacant tables and empty stools.4

I signaled the barmaid for a drink and hurried to the fire. I sat on the opposite side of the bench as the old man. Out of the corner of my eye I could see white, tussled hair that hung in clumps over his long, drawn face. He sat slouched, weighed down by some unseen burden. In his weathered hands he clutched a pint of ale, and lying next to him on the bench was a tattered book with a torn cover and worn pages.5

"Yeh be from the East then? Near Dublin?"6

I was surprised by his sudden address. His voice was strong, but shook with age.7

"Yes sir. Though I was originally born near this village."8

"Aye. Yer voice gives it away."9

The barmaid waddled over with my drink and I took a sip and stared into the fire. Several minutes passed before the old man spoke again.10

"What brings you to the West?"11

"I'm looking for someone." I replied.12

"Not many folks out this time of night."13

At this I laughed.14

"It seems I had forgotten how soon the village sleeps. In the city it's quite different."15

It was the old man's turn to laugh, but it ended in a short coughing fit.16

"Aye, but you'll find more tired people in the city." He said.17

I nodded and smiled. I took another drink.18

"I'm looking for my father." I said.19

The old man sighed and looked at me for the first time. His eyes were tired and he wrinkled his brow as he stared at me.20

"I'm looking for my son." He whispered.21

I was somewhat surprised by his reply. He said it bluntly, but there was hesitation in his voice as well.22

"But you live here don't you?" I asked.23

"Lord no." He smiled and stared back into the fire. "I live up on the hill."24

"I see. So you've just returned?"25

"From where?"26

"You said you were looking for your son."27

"One doesn't have to go anywhere to look for someone."28

I shook my head.29

"How do you expect to find your son if you don't go and look for him?"30

The old man picked up the book and slid it across the bench. Confused, I picked it up gently and turned its pages. As I read the scrawled writing and looked over the faded pictures, my tongue dried up and a knot grew in my throat.31

A picture of a small family seated on the porch of a tiny house brought tears to my eyes. I moved my fingers over each face. The wife and mother sat beautiful and strong. I could smell her hair and feel her hand against my cheek. The oldest of the sons stood tall and rebellious. His voice called out over the waves, begging for me to hurry. I could see his hand disappear under the water.32

The father and husband stood with his arm around the younger son. Both were full of life and had the same crooked smile.33

I looked up at the old man on the bench and saw that crooked smile wet with tears. I shook my head in disbelief and smiled.34