The Bundle
The red rag
lying on the grey stones caught her eye. It was cherry red like the cardigan
she had worn when she was a girl. It seemed to Becky that someone had gone to a
lot of bother to tuck the red rag carefully around the bundle.
No one else
seemed to notice it. Apart from some people now strolling further along the
beach; Bray Prom seemed to be deserted that morning. Becky leaned against the
iron railings and pretended to scan the horizon. The bundle lay only a few feet
away. Becky thought she saw the red rag shift as if something was stirring
beneath it.
Looking
around again she established that most of the walkers were regulars, sea
junkies like her. The ex-shopkeeper belted past, stop watch bleeping, arms
flailing, power- walking they called it. He had once run a successful news agency
at the top of the town. Now he walked. He was so absorbed in clocking up miles
he wouldn’t see a dead dog lying at his feet.
Becky stole
another glance at the red bundle. It seemed to have edged closer to the steps
that led from the prom to the shingle beach. Further up the prom towards the
aquarium she could see Sean pacing up and down. He would be muttering to
himself as usual, waving his arms frantically from time to time, as if engaged
in some heated debate. Then suddenly he
would thrust his hands deep into his pockets and his chin would sink into his
chest. Mothers
always warned their children to ignore Sean. “Not the full shilling” they would
whisper. And the children would grapple with this. And stare harder. But it was
Sean, the ex-schoolteacher who ignored them. Sean would not see a red bundle if
it tripped him up.
A corner of
the red rag had become undone and was beginning to flap about in the November
wind. Becky moved closer. Then she noticed him. He was not watching her, but
something in his stance fixed her to the railings. He stood at right angles to
a group on the beach, his stillness contrasting with their fluidity. Becky
followed his gaze and looked at the group more closely.
There were
ten or more of them ambling near the water’s edge. Each moved in his own
pattern, different from and yet connected to the whole. The whole seemed to
Becky lie a loosely woven garment. They reminded her of dancers, limbering up.
Like a Greek chorus before the performance begins. Then Becky spotted the girl.
She was about sixteen and Becky had often noticed her about the town where she would
scurry along the pavements and then stop mid stride. She would hold that pose right in
the middle of Main Street
They were
all here today- inpatients from the clinic, institute… whatever they called it.
She watched them weaving their strange pattern on the sand and feared for the
red bundle. What if the Greek Chorus should find it?
The chorus
edged its way closer to the bundle and the red rag flapped and loosened in the
wind.
Becky moved
closer to it and sat on a nearby rock ledge. She was aware that the man was
now watching her so she began to pick up stones, appearing to examine them. She had
once kept a whole collection of these beach stones and placed them on the
mantle place and on a window ledge. She recalled now the different sizes and
shapes and colours. They had all reminded her of hearts. Broken hearts, chipped
hearts, hearts with deep scars and some with crystals. She would run her finger
along the scars and say, “That’s life. That’s how it is.”
On the edge
of her vision she could see the chorus creeping towards her.
In a
laneway that ran the length of high stone convent walls Becky was pushing a
baby in a fold up buggy. The newborn was wrapped in a red cardigan. The baby
cried when Becky stopped at the convent gate, but Becky let go of the pram and
walked away.
The chorus
encircled her now and the girl was gliding towards the red bundle. She stood
poised over it and then she swooped.
“No!”
shrieked Becky. “It’s mine!”
She was too
late. The girl had whisked away the rag to expose a pile of stones carefully
mounted beneath it.
“Give it
back to her Molly. Give Becky the scarf!” commanded the man from behind her.
The girl dropped the cloth and flung herself down the beach, arms extended in
full flight mode.
“I think
it’s time we went back everyone,” said the man. There were grumbles of dissent
from the group. “Can somebody tell Sean; he’s drifted off a bit. Becky, it’s
probably dirty now but if you still want it?”
Becky
picked up the scarf from the sand where the girl had discarded it. Slowly,
carefully she tucked it around the pile of stone hearts.
“I don’t
want it,” she said and walked away.
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Beautiful story. I like how you built up the suspense about what's inside the bundle!
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