Premier Writing showcases poetry, essays and short fiction by new and emerging Irish writers. This week’s short story is by Brenda Donoghue from Kerry.
Short story
Her Own Code
Darius stands on deck his ass cocked North by Northwest, straight into the wind. He is bending protectively over cupped hands nursing a cigarette to life. He flicks the lighter closed and straightens up un-popping the stiffness between his shoulders. He pushes his head forward out of his collar, like a turkey cock, then he rolls it left and right stretching tight muscles and sinews. He strokes the lighter up and down his thigh before finding the space in the fabric where his pocket lives.
One fag has spawned another, and he draws deep on the double. He jabs one into Liam’s mouth, his movements hard, deliberate. Liam is startled by the challenge. The ‘Blue Lily’ has her own code and eight days out things are tense. Liam’s not a smoker. Cigarettes are scarce and to spit it to the ground would irritate the other men. Darius is watching him; a smirk firmly etched on his weathered features. His face, freshly shaven this morning, is splattered with blood. His eyes are manic and in the harsh deck lights the bones in his face are pronounced, skull-like.
The heavy dull noise of the engine thrumbles into their brains. The trawler winces and moans as a fresh wave hits the prow, water seethes across the deck.
Some of the other men have stopped what they were doing to watch the mini drama unfold. Other cigarettes are lit and shared while they wait. They form a loose circle, the brotherhood of smoke. One of them laughs and shares a puff with his neighbour. Darius stands in front of Liam, a small glow tightly gripped between his lips, his hands that never stop moving, lifting, cleaning, cutting, carrying, throwing, lie silent by his sides.
Liam is not surprised by Darius’s assault. He chooses not to engage and turns to the fish in the mini- cargo box and starts sorting; his hands are shaking even though he tries to pretend it does not matter. The other men: bored by the lack of action, move away chatting amongst themselves.
Corpse-less heads roll one-eyed, staring, whooshing back and forth.
Darius grabs his knife and starts hacking fish heads off brutally. His orange plastic gloves move rhythmically, retrieving a fresh fish and quickly decapitating him. A cod jumps and tries to flee but Darius is swift and relentless. Sweat flows freely down his face. Blood drips and seeps, sliming the cutting floor.
Liam sees fish blood, but he smells human blood. It makes him nervous. Eight days of twenty-hour shifts and you see things. On the floor rolling back and forth with the fish heads Liam sees his own head.
Black night waves are visible through the open sluice. The moon is a tiny spec on the horizon so low the waves block it out again and again.
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About the author:
Brenda Donoghue is an award-winning, internationally published author in short form. She has previously had short stories published in Crannóg magazine. She read in Bantry as part of the West Cork Literary Festival. She has written plays, one of which was performed by the Cork Arts Theatre. She has performed at Seanchoiche storytelling . Brenda grew up on the north coast of the Beara Peninsula in Kerry, and now lives over the border in Co. Cork.
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