never went away.
Everyone knew Michael Murphy was still in high dudgeon about it even all these years later. He was a squat little man and rich as Croesus – the very opposite of her father, who stood nearly two metres in his boots, and hadn’t a penny to his name. He was almost always in his boots too, either out in the fields shepherding his flock or in his shed carving his beloved ‘creatures’ that no one ever seemed to want to buy. He didn’t seem to mind too much, and Jessie didn’t mind at all. They were like family to her. She had given every one of them a name, and when she was little he would tell her stories about them in the dark before she went off to sleep. Her father only took his boots off in the evenings and then his dirty toes would be sticking out of his socks, and he’d be scratching them. He wasn’t perfect, but as a father he was a whole lot better than Michael Murphy would ever have been.
Jessie could picture them downstairs now as she listened to them. He’d be sitting in the rocker, Panda at his feet, and she’d be at the ironing.
‘You haven’t said much,’ she heard him saying.
‘Well, that’s because there’s not a lot to say.’
‘You got to see the minister then, at the Dáil?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well?’
‘Well, you’ll be glad to hear that he agrees with you, you and all the others, all except old Mister Barney.’
‘He said no then?’
‘No, Jimmy. He said yes. He said yes to money, yes to destruction, yes to pollution. Oh, he’s a real yes-man.’
‘Well, you did what you could. No one could’ve done more, that’s for sure. So if it’s going to happen, best just to accept it, eh?’
‘Never. Never. I’ll never accept it. I was born here, remember? I grew up on that hill. I dreamed my dreams up there. The place is in my blood. And they want to send bulldozers to cut the top off my mountain, my hill, so that Michael Murphy and his kind can dig out the gold and get rich – as if they’re not rich enough already. Well, they’ll do it over my dead body. And I mean that.’
‘Cath, for God’s sake, why do you go on so? You’ve done what you can. Everyone respects you for it. I do, that’s for sure. But this is the nineteen nineties we’re living in. A hundred and fifty years ago there were over a thousand people living here on Clare, now there’s barely a hundred and twenty. The way things are going, in ten years’ time, there’ll be half that. And why? Because there’s no work here, no money. Bed and breakfast, a few tourists in the summer, sell a lobster or two, but that’s it. There’s nothing here for the young people to stay for. I don’t like Michael Murphy any more than you do but, like him or not, at least he’s brought work to the island. That gold mine will mean work for a generation or more, and money to develop the island.’
‘Oh yes.’ Her mother’s blood was up now. ‘And at what cost? We’ll have streams of arsenic from the mine running down the hill, poisoning our children and our sheep – and that’s what the experts said, not me. They’re kicking old Mister Barney out of his shack, when the poor old man just wants to be left to finish his days in peace. And you know and I know that they won’t employ islanders in the mine. They say they will, but they won’t. People like that never do. They’ll bring in outsiders, blow-ins.’
‘I’m a blow-in, or had you forgotten?’ said her father. There was a silence. ‘Look, Cath,’ he went on, ‘in the last three years, ever since this thing started, we must have been through it a thousand times. You’ve made your point, you’ve argued your case. Your last chance was Dublin. You said so yourself, you said it was the last ditch. For goodness sake, even your own mother says you should give it up.’
‘Don’t you dare use my mother against me!’ Her voice was sharp with anger. ‘What’s happened to you? You’re supposed to be an artist, aren’t you? A thinking man? Can you not see that it’s against nature itself to cut the top off a mountain, any mountain, no matter where, just for a pot of stinking gold. All gold is fool’s gold, don’t you know that? You cut the top off the Big Hill, you dig out whatever’s inside, and you suck out the soul of this place. There’ll be nothing left. What’ll it take to make you see it, Jimmy?’ She cried then and Jessie could see in her mind’s eye her father putting his arms round her and shushing her against his shoulder. ‘I can’t let them do it, Jimmy,’ she wept. ‘I won’t.’
‘I know, I know. But whatever happens, Cath, don’t go hating me for what I think. I’ve been honest with you. I must be honest and say what I think, you know that. We’ve a whole life to lead here, Jess to look after, wood to sculpt and hundreds of silly sheep with their limping feet and their dirty little tails. We mustn’t have this thing between us.’ After that there was a lot of sniffling, and then subdued laughter.
‘And talking of honesty, Jimmy Parsons.’ It was her mother again, happier now, ‘Jess tried the Big Hill again, didn’t she? That’s how she hurt herself, isn’t it?’
‘You can’t stop her, Cath. And what’s more I don’t think we should. All right, so she fell over and hurt herself, but at least she tried. And if that’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours. You were forever telling her, remember? “You can do it,” you’d say. “You can do anything you want, if you want it badly enough. Forget about your lousy palsy.” Well, that’s just what she’s doing. She’s set her heart on reaching the top of the Big Hill. She’s a brave little heart and I’m not about to stop her from trying.’
‘How far did she get?’
‘To the top, of course. Doesn’t she always? You know Jessie and her capacity for wishful thinking, for telling stories. But I think maybe she got a lot further up this time. She was so happy, so pleased with herself. Wouldn’t it be just about the best thing in the world if she really made it, if one day she really made it right to the top of the Big Hill?’
‘There you are then, Jimmy,’ said her mother, so softly Jessie could scarcely hear, ‘another reason if you ever needed one, and maybe the best reason, why the Big Hill has to be saved. Call it holy, call it magic, call it what you will, but there is something about that mountain, Jimmy. I can’t describe it. I’ve been up there hundreds of times in my life and you know something? I’ve never once felt alone.’
Listening in her bed, turning her gold earring over and over in her hand, the indisputable evidence that she had indeed reached the summit of the Big Hill that afternoon, Jessie was tempted to go downstairs, burst into the kitchen and tell them the whole story from beginning to end: the climb, the voice, the earring, everything. She was boiling with indignation at her parents’ disbelief, at their lack of faith. Yet she knew there was no point in protesting. She had been caught out often enough before, and by both of them too. She was a good storyteller, but a bad liar because she always went too far, became too fantastical.
Yes, she could dangle the earring in their faces, but what of the rest of the story? Why should they believe her just because she’d found an earring? And were they really likely to believe she had heard a voice, and had a conversation with someone who wasn’t there? She wasn’t even sure she believed it herself. She looked down at the only solid evidence she had. The earring was still wet from Barry’s bowl, so she dried it on her nightie. Downstairs she could hear the television was on. The Big Hill argument was over, till the next time.
She climbed out of bed and sat down in front of her mirror. She held the ring up to her ear and turned sideways to look at herself in profile. She’d try it on. She’d had her ears pierced in Galway the
