50 in 50

"Although immigration is restricted, there are regulations concerning shipwreck. Until a decision has been reached in your case, you will remain here with Mr. Cohn-Greavy. Since public funds are not available for your welfare, he has volunteered to look after you for the time being. That is all."

Byrne watched the copter leave before he turned to me. "You are a kind man, Mr. Cohn-Greavy…"

"The name is Bil." I wanted no thanks for hospitality I had been ordered to extend.

"You have my thanks, Bil. And Cormac is my Christian name."

The door slid open and Kriket emerged, wearing one of my shirts with the tails knotted at her waist. "I heard the copter. What's happening?"

"Coast Guard patrol. They must have seen me dragging Cormac ashore." The first of many lies, — I did not like it. "He'll be staying with me."

"Wonderful. A new beast will liven up the neighborhood."

Cormac flushed at her words and pushed at his sodden clothing. "I beg your pardon. I'm sure I look the beast…"

He blushed harder when she laughed. "Silly man. It's just an expression. A beast is a man, any man. I could call Dads a beast and he wouldn't mind. Are you married, Cormac?"

"I am."

"Good. I like married men. Makes the chase more exciting and sexy. I'm divorced. Twice."

"You'll excuse us, Kriket," I broke in. "I'm going to show Cormac the shower and get him some dry clothes. Then we'll have breakfast out here before it gets too hot."

"Fair-diddly.” she agreed. "I'll read the paper — and don't be too long or I'll suspect buggery."

Cormac's skin was now as red as a tomato. I had the feeling that the social customs he was used to did not include the casualness of my daughter's speech. Young people today said things that would have been shocking to my generation. I led the way to the bath, then went to get him some clothes.

"Bil," he called after me. "Could I ask a favor? This shower-bath here — it doesn't have any knobs."

I tried not to smile even though I wasn't sure what knobs on a shower were.

"To turn it on just tell it to… Wait, I'll do it." I poked my head into the shower enclosure. "Thirty-five degrees, soap, on." It burst into steaming life. "After you've lathered just say 'Rinse,' then say 'Off when you are through. I'll put some clothes on the bed."

I was on my second cup of coffee when he reappeared. I had laid out a selection and he had, predictably perhaps, chosen dark trousers and a long-sleeved dark shirt.

"What's to feet?" Kriket asked, her fingers poised over the keyboard.

"Translation: 'What would you like to eat?' " I said.

"Whatever's on the fire, thank you, I'm that famished."

"I'll take care of it," Kriket said, touching the keys. I was intrigued and wanted to hear more of this place named Ireland. A fire in the kitchen! I had a vision of it crackling away in the middle of the floor, smoke curling all along the ceiling.

His plate appeared heaped with scrambled eggs, pork chops, fried potatoes, rice, and noodles. Kriket's idea of a joke. But it backfired for he tucked in and looked able to demolish the lot.

"Tell me about Ireland," Kriket said. He smiled and washed down a heroic mouthful with coffee before he spoke.

"What's to say, miss? It's the same place it has always been."

"That's what I mean. All this is strange to you. I saw you bugging your eyes at the copter. Never seen one before?"

"In God's truth, no, though certainly I've read about the creatures and seen their likeness in the books. Nor have I ever seen a fine meal like this appear steaming from a hole in the wall, or ever talked before to a shower. You live in a land of miracles, you do."

"And yourself?"

He laid his fork down and slowly sipped his coffee before he answered.

"I suppose you would think our life primitive, compared to yours, that is. But we're comfortable, well fed, and as happy as anyone is happy in this mortal sphere. The Emerald Isle has always been an underpopulated and agricultural place. When the oil ran out we never had the trouble old England had. None of the riots and shootings. We had it a bit hard at first, of course. People leaving the cities, back to the country when the electricity was turned off and the motorcars stopped running. But peat makes a good fire, and cutting it keeps you warm. A donkey cart will take you most places you want to go, there are trains twice a week now to Dublin and Cork. Fish in the ocean, cattle and sheep in the meadow, it's not a bad life, you know."

"Sounds lovely and primitive, like being back in the Stone Age living in a cave and all that."

"Don't be insulting, Kriket."

"Dads, I'm not! Did I insult you, Cormac?"

"No insult given, none taken."

"See, Dads? Now what was that you said about England? Isn't that part of Ireland?" She was never very strong on geography.