The Bell Tower

The boy looked again over to where the thing lay glistening in the sun. He scrunched up his eyes into narrow slits but he could still not make out what it was. Lazily he stretched out his hand as if to grasp the object, but he knew it was outside his reach. Only paper foil or some such rubbish he thought and rolled over again on his back.

The last heat of the summer’s day was ebbing away slowly. Over his head a bird flew high, high in the sky, tracing slow circles of infinite care. On either side of his head, long grasses swayed to and fro and back and forth in small movements. Here and there sticky insects laboured up and down grass stalks, sometimes crossing each other politely but firmly, the small clambering over the large in the reverse of life.

The boy spun his arm out and grasped a bunch of stalks, before siphoning and pulling them through his fingers. When only one remained, he pulled sharply and tore it from the ground. Tearing off the thin earthy root, he sucked the stem, and then chewed it quietly.

Closing his eyes, he listened to the far off drone of the waterfall. Hidden down the side of the hill and overgrown with heavy bushes and

thick trees, the water gushed with a steady purpose with no one to witness if it slowed or quickened on its way. With his eyes open he could not hear the sound. With his eyes closed, it seemed magnified and huge.

He opened his eyes and stretched up onto his side. He looked again at the shiny object and then reluctantly pulled himself up onto his knees. Clumsily he moved forward until knee-step by knee-step he reached the object. But what was it? Peering more closely it looked like a coin. He pulled it from the earth and peering up at it, blinked into the strong sunshine. It was definitely a coin. However, what kind of coin was unclear. It wasn’t a Euro coin - at least nothing he recognised. It wasn’t a foreign coin either, like a dollar or ruble. It didn’t seem Roman - but then what did he know about Roman coins? ‘What is it Johnny?’ he said aloud. ‘What on earth is it?’ And then he bit it.

When he came to some time later, his head throbbed. ‘Oh,’ he groaned and he clutched his temples in agony. ‘Breathe, slowly, slowly.’ He counted his breaths in and out. ‘Slowly, slowly does it boy,’ he said again

to himself. He did not know how long it took, only that it took too long. Before his vision cleared and his head grew less confused he counted breaths. At least now he could stop talking himself through the pain. His temples subsided and slowly joined the rest of his face again. He exhaled long and loudly.

Johnny slowly got to his feet and looked around. The day has passed from direct sunshine into that hazy cloud that comes at the end of a hot afternoon. Nothing seemed different although he could not be sure how long he had lain on the ground. He looked down at his arms that had held his head. There were indents in his flesh from the grasses so he surmised he must have been unconscious for at least an hour. He rubbed his arms and saw, still, the coin glinting in the grass. This time he picked it up and put it directly into his pocket. ‘I’m not taking a bite of you again’ he thought and turned to go home.

When he turned into the old entrance at the side of Rathgorm Cottage, his grandfather was sitting in a chair reading the paper. Or, he had been

reading the paper but must have fallen asleep. For as Johnny came closer, he sat up, pushed his glasses up his nose and shook the paper.

‘Good afternoon then son?’ he asked.

’Not bad, except I fell asleep in the top field and now my head

aches.’

‘Young people – always falling asleep!’ winked his grandfather. ‘We were always on the go in my time. Never time for sleep’

Johnny smiled and went inside. There his grandmother was laying the table for tea. The oiled tablecloth was over the small kitchen table and she busied herself laying the table and preparing the tea.

‘Ah Johnny, the very man,’ she smiled as he walked in. ‘You can shake the lettuce in the garden.’

Johnny took the tea towel filled with the wet and washed lettuce and brought it out into the garden. He shook it and spun round and round so that drops wet his grandfather’s paper. His grandfather merely looked at him and shook the paper again, pretending to look into the clear sky for clouds.

‘Come on then,’ called his grandmother from inside the cottage. ‘Tea is ready.’

There was silence as the three of them sat down to tea. Mrs Byrne expertly flicked the now dry lettuce into a bowl and covered it with sliced tomatoes and scallions. Then she poured the tea, while Mr Byrne cut the bread.

Mr Byrne broke the silence after a bit. ‘We can ring your father this evening if you like?’ He looked questioningly at Johnny. ‘You bet,’ said Johnny with a grin from ear to ear. ‘Dad will have arrived at his hotel by now and I want to hear about his new project. I think there are over a hundred men under him now!’

’Yes, it’s nice that he can take this project and we are very happy to have you here for the summer,” said Mrs Byrne. Her eyes misted slightly as she looked at Johnny. ‘A change is as good as rest, they say.’

Later when Johnny went into the tiny sitting room to make the call, his grandparents looked at each other. ‘Poor mite,’ said Mrs Byrne. ‘First he loses his mother, and then Peter gets a job half way round the world. I think this is going to be a very long and quiet summer for Johnny. I only hope he doesn’t get bored.’