Whose Irish Eyes Be Smiling? 9

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Whose Irish Eyes Be Smiling?
by
Anam Chara


New talent is sought, while an abandoned talent is encouraged once again. Fathers talk about their sons—and daughters?—pondering their futures. The bandleader follows the band. An exhausted neighbor sleeps blissfully in the night.

IX


For the springtime of life is the sweetest of all,
There is ne’er a real care or regret.

—Chauncey Olcott & George Graff, Jr.

Paolo Cassini sat at his desk, poring again over the photographs of Kelly FitzPatrick. Any of them looked like Sína O’Donnelly could have posed for them. The girls looked just like twins to Paolo. It really didn’t matter too much whether they were actual twins, merely sisters, or even cousins, the fact that they looked identical was enough to make them a high-profile and highly sought asset for his firm. Sína may be reluctant, but he’d bring her on board somehow. Kelly could probably do it. She was, after all, loaded with charm. Paolo imagined that she’d been talking Sína into various activities for years.

Everything depended on Kelly’s recovery from that accident, though. Paolo felt frustrated. The girl had so much talent, but she was as fragile as anyone else. They had models who were injured before, but Kelly’s accident happened just as she was about to get started in the business. If she didn’t recover soon, it could end her chances of—no! Maybe he could convince Sína to take Kelly’s place briefly? He opened his agenda to the entry for Sína. He had not acquired a telephone number for her. But wait! Perhaps David had it. So he picked up the handset for his interoffice telephone and pressed the button for his intern’s extension.

“Yes, Mister—I mean Paul?” the intern answered nervously. “Can I help you?…”

“David, do you have a ’phone number for Kelly’s cousin Sína?…”

“No, but I do have one for her cousin Sean, if that helps…”

Paolo considered it a moment. He wondered, if Sean were Sína’s brother or if they were cousins by different parents? But in either case, Sean might be able to put him in touch with Sína.

“Well, it might. Could you give me the number?…” asked Paolo.

“Sure!…” David answered. He picked up his smartphone and pushed a few keys. “I just sent it to your cellphone by text message.…”

“Thanks, David!…”

☆ ☆ ☆

Aboard an aircraft carrier in the Persian Gulf, a Navy commander and a Marine major dine across a table from one another in the Ship’s Galley during Officers’ Mess.

“I’m sorry ’bout Kelly, Seamus,” Malcolm consoled his longtime buddy. “I wish there was more I c’ do.”

“Believe ’t or not, Colm, I’m not as worried ’bout her as I am Mike,” the Marine officer admitted to his best friend. “Kelly’s a strong girl, like ’er Ma, an’ she takes more after me than does ’er brother. She’ll make it through this, mark me words. No, ’tis me boy. I dunno if he’s gonna make it through life.”

“A big ’n’ strong young man like Mike? Wha’ c’ be wrong with ’im?”

“We both know what’s wrong with ’im, Colm. You twigged to it ’fore I did years ago. Remember?”

“Aye!” Malcolm’s voice emitted in a loud whisper, and then lower, “The dress thing—it still bothers ’im? An’ after all these years?”

“It does, me brother,” Seamus confirmed. “Sometimes I wonder if ’is soul be more a daughter than a son.”

“So how’d y’ feel ’bout that?”

“Oh, I hope not. If so, then I’ve lost both the man ’e is an’ the daughter ’e shoulda been.”

“No need t’ be doubly disappointed, Seamus. Talk t’ im. If it still vex ’im, he’ll be happy t’ find ’is Da can talk t’ im ’bout it.”

“Afraid ’tis this damn war,” the major admitted. “I’m only a reserve officer, but I’ve been on active duty e’er since Nine-Eleven. That’s been so long, I mus’ seem like a career Marine t’ me kids.”

“It’s kinda happened t’ me, too,” the commander answered. “I’m too good ’t what I do for the Navy t’ send me home ’til we pull out of this theater of operations.”

“At least we’re windin’ it down,” said Maj FitzPatrick wearily. “Can’t pull out fast enough f’r me. I’m hopin’ t’ get back t’ me family an’ the business as soon ’s I can. You still ha’ y’r chair ’t the university?”

“Aye! They’ve been more than happy t’ keep ’t open for me since I already ha’ me tenure. S’ long ’s I’m o’er here, they c’n pay a new kid who just got ’is Pee-aitch-Dee only half me sal’ry. So they keep fillin’ me chair wi’ visitin’ professors an’ adjuncts. But once I’m back, they gotta pay up in full!”

Seamus laughed along with Malcolm at that. They were both reserve officers who’d been pulled away from their civilian employment and activated for the Second Gulf War. Seamus worked in his family’s construction business, while Malcolm had received his tenure and then promoted to be associate professor of engineering at a university just before Nine-Eleven. The politics and economics of college teaching had, strangely enough, caused his long deployment to work in his favor, while Seamus could always count on working for the family business. And then Malcolm, too, had worked for his best friend’s father right after he received his bachelor’s degree.

“Seriously, Colm, wha’ d’ I tell Mikey?” Seamus asked his buddy, almost pleading. “I don’ e’en know how t’ bring ’t up with ’im.”

“Tell ’im the truth,” advised Malcolm. “Be honest wi’ Mikey ’bout wha’ y’ know an’ how y’ feel. An’ more than that, be honest wi’ y’rself about ’t all.”

“But I’m not sure how I feel, Colm.”

“Y’ know, when y’r out on the high seas and there’s nothin’ t’ be seen f’r miles aroun’, navigation starts wi’ gettin’ a fix on where y’ are. Whether by direction an’ distance from y’r previous position, reducin’ a sight by sextant, or a hyperbolic fix by ’lectronics, or these days by Gee-Pee-Ess, y’ can’t plot y’r course t’ elsewhere ’til y’ know where y’ already are. So I guess what I’m sayin’ is look ’t wha’ y’ know an’ think ’bout how y’ feel. An’ give y’rself permission t’ feel howe’er y’ feel. Not ’til then’ll y’ be ready to talk t’ Mike.

“Howe’er y’ feel, that’s y’r truth. An’ if y’ don’ ha’ the courage to tell ’im y’r truth, how c’n y’ expect ’im t’ have it to tell ye ’is?

“An’ as f’r m’self? If Mike come out t’ ye, I’d say that takes a soldier’s battlefield courage.”

“I guess we’ll see when I get back home.”

☆ ☆ ☆

“Well, I dunno what happened,” Sean told his sister. “I really don’t. This mornin’ I, like, woke up on a sofa in Café Tír na n-Óg wearin’ Kelly’s cheerleadin’ uniform, but I have no idea how, ’cept that Sandra found me outside on the patio sleepin’ on a picnic bench in the cold drizzle. So she dragged me inside, put me on the sofa, and threw a blanket o’er me.”

Morgan wondered just how much her brother’s experience in the morning were like her own. “Did anyone else, like, see you?”

“Oh, yeah! Before long everyone who came in saw me dressed up,” Sean continued. When I woke up, there I was, at workplace, on a sofa, wrapped in a blanket, dressed like a girl in Kelly’s cheer uniform.”

“Omigosh!” Morgan squealed at her brother’s revelation. “In front of everyone?”

“More than that,” he continued. “We were busier than normal at the coffee shop this mornin’, so Sandra put me to work just as soon as I was awake.”

“Wearing Kelly’s cheer uniform?”

“Yeah.”

“That had to be a riot!” Morgan surmised, giggling as she tried to imagine the scene in her mind’s eye.

“Well, it was mostly low key—lower than you might think, anyway—until Kelly’s bandmate Fiona came in lookin’ for me. But Kat an’ Shelley warned me, so I hid in the office. Since my bike wasn’t in the rack, Sandra told Fiona I was out on a delivery.”

“I know Sandra’s your boss, but who are Kat and Shelley?”

“Kat usually works the mornin’ shift with me. Shelley works weekends mostly, but is takin’ my mornin’ shift while I cover Kelly’s in the afternoon. Anyway, everyone already thought I was Kelly, so I just introduced myself as Sína. There was this one guy from a talent agency who came in lookin’ for her an’ wanted t’ know if I was a model like Kelly.”

“So Kelly’s been modeling?”

“She must have some kind of deal with him for it.”

“She never told me!” Morgan whined indignantly.

“Actually, I think we’re all outta the loop on this one. Mikey an’ Aunt Kathleen didn’ even know ’bout it. Some big important envelope came for her in the mail Monday but I didn’ have any idea what it was ’til today. She must have a lot goin’ on.”

“She usually tells us what she’s up to, though.”

“Aye, she does. But I think both the modelin’ and ’er band are kinda new. She simply may not’ve had the chance to talk ’bout it yet. You’re right that she likes to discuss important things with us. I was surprised t’ find out ’bout the Daughters of Danaan, myself.”

“What’s happening to us, Sean?” Morgan asked her brother, almost pleading. “We used to be so close we all knew what any one of us was thinking about at any time.”

“I guess that’s changed. We’re in differ’nt places in life. Differ’nt schools, differ’nt jobs, differ’nt purposes. I thought I’d be at Curtis but I’m not. I always thought I’d be a violinist, so I don’ even know what I wanna do now.”

“You don’t even, like, play your violin anymore.”

“I know. But I’ve gone as far with it as I can. There’s no more challenge.”

“But do you gotta go to Curtis?”

“It’s the only way I can stay in Philly. Don’ wanna go anywhere else.”

“I wish I could do something to help you get in.”

“That’s okay, Morgan,” he absolved his sister. “No one can really help me get in there. It’s not the nature of the place. I’d really hafta get in there on my own.”

“Tell me, brother,” she said looking him in the eye. “Is doing a degree in computer and information science, like, what you really want?”

Sean looked at Morgan a moment, then answered, “I’m good enough at it to have a successful career.”

“But you didn’t answer my question,” she persisted, maintaining eye contact. “Is that what you really want?

Fragments of the music that he’d played since he’d first picked up a violin until he had achieved his pinnacle filled his mind, his inner ear. Then the agony of loss hit him right in the solar plexus. Sean broke the eye contact with Morgan and looked down. “No,” he sighed. “It’s not mine. But what else can I do?”

“Brother, you already know what you can do,” said Morgan reaching out to hold his hands. “Why don’t you, like, just go and do it?”

☆ ☆ ☆

Seamus waited with Malcolm as the mechanics continued their pre-flight check of the naval jet. While the two officers waited, LCDR Barrett, as the OOD, escorted two other men, one wearing a flight suit, toward them.

“Captain, I should allow Commander O’Donnelly to introduce his guest,” LCDR Barrett deferred to the ship’s chief engineer.

“Captain, this is my best friend, Major Seamus FitzPatrick of our own Marine Corps,” Malcolm introduced his buddy to his own commanding officer (CO). “Seamus, this Captain Jeremiah Randall Wilson, skipper of our carrier.” The major saluted the captain who returned it, then the two warmly shook hands.

“Pleased to meet you, Captain,” Seamus greeted his best friend’s CO.

“Likewise, Major,” CAPT Wilson said, then inquired, “So how did you and Mac get to know each other?

“We were next-door neighbors growing up,” answered Seamus. “How old were we when met, Colm?”

“Oh gosh! I’m not exactly sure,” he apologized. “Just three or four years old, I think.”

“Certainly no later than that,” the major confirmed. “And then, Captain, we married the twin sisters across the street from us, so we’re also related by marriage.”

“Aye! Our kids’ve all grown up together, almost like one set of siblings,” the chief engineer added.

“Well, anyway, I’m glad that I could meet you before you had to fly off, Major,” said CAPT Wilson. “Let me introduce you to Lieutenant Commander Thomas Mayfield, your pilot. He’ll be flying you to Ramstein. From there, you can get your flight stateside.”

“Nice to meet you, Lieutenant Commander,” Maj FitzPatrick greeted him. “I look forward to flying with you.”

“I’m happy to meet you, too, Major,” LCDR Mayfield reciprocated. “I need to embark and go through my pre-flight checklist. We’ll have enough time during our flight to get acquainted.”

“I can appreciate that,” concealed the major. “This’ll be the first flight that I’ll ’ve taken by a fixed-wing aircraft in a few months.”

“Major, I can promise you a smooth flight from here to Germany,” the naval pilot bragged. “After this, you’re motto will be “‘Fly Navy!’”

“Now wait a minute, Commander!” Maj FitzPatrick retorted jovially. “We have our own jets and pilots.”

“Not right here, right now, you don’t!” LCDR Mayfield teased him.

“No, I guess not, Commander!” Seamus retorted with a chuckle.

“Yeoman Briggs!” Malcolm addressed an enlisted man carrying a canvas bag. “Over here!”

“Aye aye, sir!” replied the yeoman.

MalMal took the bag from the youth and zipped it open. The commander carefully examined its contents and smiled at Seamus. I’ve put gifts in there for my wife and kids, your wife and kids, and for you, too. There’s something for Colonel Jerry and Father Tim as well.” He gave the bag to his buddy.

“Gentlemen, we have a schedule to keep,” announced LCDR Mayfield. “I need you to embark, Major, and stowe your gear aboard.”

Seamus set the bag down on the flight deck so that he and Malcolm could hug. After that, they separated and saluted each other. Seamus then turned to face CAPT Wilson and saluted him, asking, “Request permission to disembark, Captain?”

“Permission granted, Major,” replied the captain returning the salute. With that, Maj FitzPatrick climbed the rollaway ladder to the backseat of the naval aircraft.

☆ ☆ ☆

Sean pulled closed the door of his apartment and leaned against it for a moment. The day had been so exhausting for him—and confusing. He’d gone out well before dawn that morning. He didn’t like skipping class, but he couldn’t focus tonight. So he had dropped off the assignment due for his class that evening and decided to go home.

He had met with the professor for his mythology course that afternoon to discuss what he intended for his paper. She had liked his general idea of comparing Norse myths to his own Celtic tradition, but warned him that his outline was much too broad. She suggested that he narrow the scope of his topic for his first foray into comparative mythology, maybe attempting parallel analyses of a Norse myth and a similar Celtic one. He’d have other opportunities to build on his grander ideas later in other courses.

However, what Morgan had said to him had bothered him since he had spoken with her. And he couldn’t get the music out of his mind. It had been playing in his head since she had told him that he already knew what he wanted.

His tummy growled to demand sustenance. Sean hadn’t eaten anything since lunchtime at Café Tír na n-Óg, and even that had been a light meal. Still, he was too fatigued to cook anything, so he retrieved the uneaten meal replacement bar from his backpack and went to get some milk from the refrigerator.

Sean slowly chewed the bar while trying to look over his calculus book. He was confident enough in his mathematical abilities to learn it largely on his own, yet he wasn’t in the mood for it, not quite focused on it now, especially not after talking with his sister earlier. What she had said was really bothering him now.

He slammed the textbook closed and imbibed some milk to wash down the bar he was chewing. He liked the bar. The mix of fruit and grains held together by peanut butter and chocolate was tasty, but it had no added sugars, so it wasn’t overly sweet. And it was just enough that he felt sated.

☆ ☆ ☆

The Daughters of Danaan sat around a table in Café Tír na n-Óg, discussing what to do over coffee and a light dinner.

“Look,” Morag addressed the group. “He was called into work this morning unexpectedly. Fiona, you even came here to confirm it after I told you not to. And what did you find?”

“He wasn’t here when I came in,” the bandleader more complained than recounted. “Sandra said he was ‘on a delivery,’” Fiona said gesturing quotation marks with her fingers.

Moira spoke up, “He’s promised to audition with us tomorrow night and I fully expect him to keep his word. He just seems like that kind of a guy. After all, Sean is Kelly’s cousin. Her kind of honor runs in the family. I really think that the only trouble we’d have with him now is if we keep on his case about what he’s told us he won’t do.

“Fiona, that means you shut up about him appearing on stage as a girl. He’s a guy, so the Daughters of Danaan can have a brother until Kelly’s okay.

“And Morag, you need to quit asking him to play violin again.”

“But he was so brilliant!” Morag argued wistfully.

“And that may be,” concurred Moira. “But he was heartbroken when he failed his audition at Curtis. Every time you bring it up, he only feels worse.”

“I guess I kinda forgot about that,” confessed Morag.

“We need to keep Sean’s working with us in perspective,” Molly reminded everyone there. “He’s merely agreed to audition with us to play short-term while Kelly recovers. And that’s just for keyboards and tin whistle—unless we really can use his clarinet.”

“No, I don’t think so,” opined Fiona. “The clarinet just isn’t—well—Irish!”

“Alright, Fiona,” said Morag. “Moira and I will visit Sean tomorrow morning to confirm an audition with him for the evening.”

Moira signaled for Morag to come with her to the ladies’ room. As soon as Morag was close enough, Moira whispered to her, “Have you or Fiona considered what we’ll do if Sean’s musical style doesn’t fit with ours?”

“Moira! Don’t even think that!” Morag whinged to her friend. “We don’t have anyone else right now and I don’t want you to jinx it! Besides, he and Kelly studied with the same piano teacher. It would be strange if their styles were too different.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Moira as she closed the door to the ladies’ room behind them.

☆ ☆ ☆

Sean peeked over at the clock. Miss Moon flirted back at him, displaying the time as “11:38.” He’d been in bed for more than an hour, yet couldn’t get to sleep even though he felt exhausted. So, he sat up in his bed for a moment before going for the medicine cabinet. Perhaps he could make up some sleep tonight.

He filled up a glass with water and opened the cabinet to grab the amber plastic bottle of zolpidem tartrate. The instructions on the bottle read for him simply to take one or two tablets, as needed for sleep, at bedtime. He had only taken one the previous night. Maybe he should try two tonight?

So Sean took two ten-milligram tablets, drank them down, and returned to his bed, hoping for a better night’s sleep.

☆ ☆ ☆

A new mindscape emerged from the Sleeper’s other-than-conscious mind once more. The mind uses delta-waves to heal the body, but from time to time, theta-waves must emerge and exercise other aspects of thought.


Two children occupy a small room within the mindscape once again. They are the cousins with manes of long red curls, one a boy, the other a girl, yet both are attired in pretty, velvet dresses.

The boy wears a dress of navy blue velvet, nude hose, and black ballet flats with bow-tied ribbons, while standing to play a violin. The girl’s attire is similar, but her dress is of forest green, and she sits on a sofa upholstered in burgundy, listening to him play the Sarabande from Bach’s Partita for Violin № 2 in d minor

As he plays, her gaze is locked on him as she is spellbound by his music. He feels no embarrassment or discomfort with his attire, as he is happy to dress as a girl around his cousins and sister. This is simply a fun thing for them.

The Sleeper’s theta-state becomes unstable and the mindscape begins to fade. This time, however, the Sleeper does not immediately retreat to the delta-state but instead begins to generate alpha-waves, moving from mere recollection to creative meditation.

☆ ☆ ☆

The time was approaching two o’clock in the morning as Adele Bancroft wearily climbed the stairs to the second floor of her apartment building, when she heard music coming from behind the first door on the right. She stopped to listen intently to the sound of a solo violin in the night. Moreover, it wasn’t a recording, but a neighbor actually performing it, right then and there. A music student herself, she had recognized the Chaconne from Bach’s Partita for Violin № 2 in d minor. And whoever was playing it, was doing so expertly.

So, Adele took advantage of the sofa placed in the common area between the first and second doors on the right to drop her backpack at the far end of it. Then curling up in the near corner of the sofa, the weary young woman left the busy day behind as the sonorities of the Chaconne became for her a lullabye.

©2011-2014, 2017 by Anam Chara

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My life

Andrea Lena's picture

...reimagined...

As he plays, her gaze is locked on him as she is spellbound by his music. He feels no embarrassment or discomfort with his attire, as he is happy to dress as a girl around his cousins and sister. This is simply a fun thing for them.

Thank you!

  

To be alive is to be vulnerable. Madeleine L'Engle
Love, Andrea Lena

the Sleeper awakes?

if he remembers this dream when he wakes, it will be very interesting to see what he makes of it ...

DogSig.png

Or perhaps...

The Sleeper awakening is he?
Maybe the Sleeper awakening is she?
Perhaps both are true?

Anam Chara

An amazing story

I don't know where it's going, but I've definitely enjoyed the journey thus far and hope that it continues it's delightful way.

nice to see

another chapter.
thanks

An interesting chapter. I do

An interesting chapter. I do hope there will many more, as the story chapter seems to set up for that.

Fascinating.

Podracer's picture

When this latest chapter appeared I went to see the story from the start, and this one's a "keeper". I like the mystery and the dreaming set against the factual detail of the real life. But which is most real, and will it stay that way?

"Reach for the sun."

I love this story and I've missed it.

Maren Sorensen's picture

Thank you for another update of this entrancing story. You have a delightful voice and pull me right into whichever story of yours I'm reading.

Adele? Is she new? The chapters come slowly, so sometimes I forget the players. How will she fit in with Sean/Sína? I think s/he needs more than family and pushy girls with their own agendas.

'Tis a wonderful story and I hope there will be more soon. Oh, and do 'y t'ink 'y might bless us wi' a few chapters of "Debriefings"? These are two of my favorite stories, and this one reminds me of my first love, a lovely Irish lass, Eileen Alanah. I miss her still.

Maren

I am glad to have the next

I am glad to have the next part of this beautiful story.

Just read from the beginning…

Rhona McCloud's picture

… and it is a fascinating concept.
The Philadelphia Irish dialogue is a bit difficult as is the technique of scene shifting but worth the effort. I'm looking forward to the next installment

Rhona McCloud