Salmon

By Morgan Legg

The strong winds whistled around the cliffs of Donegal, as they so often did in October. The waves crashed against the rocks, keeping strange rhythm with the wind. One could almost see the shrill southeasterly make its way across the rocks and up the cliff head. It blew through the grass before reaching a white house perched precariously on the edge of the rock face.

The cottage was very small, yet its white brick and plaster walls shone brightly when there was sun. The sky was grey now and the cottage windows rattled in the wind, encrusted with decades of salt. A woman shivered as she stood in the doorway, hugging her thin arms tightly around herself and shrugging her shoulders. Ava Callaghan pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and squinted against the wind. She did not pause to look as yet another grey hair pulled loose from its bun. It was not hard to see, nor hard to believe, that a storm was brewing on the horizon. The clouds rolled towards the cliffs but the thunder was still soft; it did not hurt Avas ears yet. She glanced over her shoulder into the small, one-roomed cottage. It was split into a living area and a bedroom by a simple cream screen. It was large enough for just two people, and was often ample space for one. She did not need much more room than that. Ava never had guests. Ava remembered the words cozy and quiet being used by the real estate agent. That was back when Mrs. Garvin Callaghans hair was still a bright red, and the lines around her eyes had been from laughing, not from worry. Now she would rather use the words cramped and remote.

She did not bother to close the front door, as the strong wind would save her having to blow out the furnace, on top of which dinner for two lay uneaten. She wrapped her raincoat around her dress as she started down the steep rocky pathway towards the wharf. The floral pattern had seemed out of place when she had caught her reflection in the small hallway mirror earlier. Now though, against the darkened grey sky, it seemed to brighten to match the cushion-like clumps of pink thrift that covered the cliff. Ava winced as she slipped on a particularly large wet rock; her gammy knee throbbed painfully but she took care not to fall over. Soon she reached the wharf where the little fishing shed stood next to the shore. Ava smiled a little as she stuck the brass key into the door. She remembered the day when she and a young, happy man had stood there together and carved their name into the door. Callaghan in large, chipped out letters stood forever in the wood. Ava stepped carefully into the dark, damp shed. She took care not to step on any of the boxes, not to disturb the dust more than she needed for fear of being caught, and punished. Scanning the shelves quickly, Ava wrapped her long fingers around a fishing rod and the metal handle of an old tackle box. She glanced around the dilapidated shed once more and grabbed a tweed flat cap from the hook on the wall. It was slightly too big for her, but it would guard her face from the rain. Ava inhaled the comforting smell of sea salt and alder wood one last time before closing the door. It was stormy, and starting to get wet. The sea was dangerous, but the sheltered river would be calm. It was the perfect day. Ava checked she had everything before heading up the path again, this time towards the river.

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Ava was puffing and her cheeks were raw from the wind by the time she reached her destination. The walk was not hard, but staying cooped in the house for so long had not done much for her body. Upon reaching the river, she put down her tackle box and leant down next to it. Her fingers were nimble, despite the cold, as they threaded the fly onto the line. Ava closed the box and waded into the water, quietly, carefully. She had not had much idea what to do the first time she had come to the river, she only knew what her father had taught her as a child. There had been no chance of asking someone else for help either, not unless she wanted to be laughed out of the tackle store. Over ten months, though, one could teach themselves anything. The few coins allowance from her husband would not have been enough to buy her supplies either, hence the need to steal from his shed. Time was running out. Ava had already missed the silver Springers of January as well as the big run of summer salmon, and the run that came with the first autumn rain had been and gone. At this time, the end of October, the salmon season was coming to a close. It was now or never. Her chances were severely lessened, but Ava did not let this dampen her spirits. She had so much more to prove, and so much more to gain. She cast the line, and stood quietly and still in the middle of the river. The water was calm enough that Ava could see her reflection. It was not clear, but Ava knew what she would see, it was always the same. There was always a mark for her mistakes. Even so, years of looking in mirrors could not stop the woman cringing a little at the sight of the purple bruises around her eye and across her cheek. Ava jumped as her reflection was disturbed and there was a sudden tug on her line. She looked up to see the fish flying out of the water, jumping for its life. It was bigger than she thought.

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Ava felt like Finneigeas when he finally saw the Salmon of Knowledge after years and years of searching for it. The time was now. She had no idea how long she struggled with the mammoth salmon, but eventually she pulled it out of the water and launched it onto the grass beside the river. Her heart was beating heavily in her chest, and she threw the rod onto the ground as soon as she reached the shore. There it was, huge and silver, flapping on the grass. Ava could do nothing but pant, watch and hold her hand to her chest in an attempt to slow her hearts beating. Finally , the salmon flapped one last time and stopped.

Ava laughed. She laughed high, and loud, and free. She shouted. She shouted at the top of her voice. Ava sung. Ava sung so her song would reach across Ireland. And she danced. Ava danced like she had never danced before. She danced through the grass and the water. She picked up the fish and she kissed it on its large lips. She did all this with no other reason but that she was happy. There was no thought in the action, no inhibition. The goal she had been working towards for years was finally achieved. There was an immense feeling of strength that came when she has pulled that fish out of the water. A strength that she had not felt in a long time and that she had thought she had lost for good, stolen from her. It seemed as if the whole world was open to her and as if she knew everything she ever needed to know. She knew that there were no more chains holding her down. She knew that the cliffs were no longer a cold prison, but hers to own. She was weak no more.

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Most importantly, in those precious moments, or minutes, or hours, that Ava laughed and shouted and sang and danced, she was free. She was free from reality and whatever awaited her at home.

Ava grabbed the two plates of dinner, now cold, that had been sitting on top of the furnace and scraped them into the bin. Turning on the old stove, she searched through the cupboards for a pan big enough to fry her salmon. It had pained her to gut and cut up such a noble creature, and she almost wished she had thrown the poor thing back. But that would be a waste of her efforts, and Ava had been taught never to be wasteful. She looked up from the stove when she heard large footsteps over the sizzling of the oil. The door banged open to reveal the large figure of her husband, hunched over to guard against the rain. Garvin stepped inside, took off his boots and placed them outside. At least ten minutes passed before he acknowledged his wife standing over the stove. Youve only just started cooking? Garvins booming voice, with its thick Irish accent, seemed to be the force that shook the small cottage and everything in it rather than the storm outside. He stomped over to Ava, leaning over her shoulder menacingly to look at what was in the pan. The smell of whiskey on his breath overwhelmed her with its strength. Where you be getting that fish, anyway? You walking all the way into town to get it, did you?

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Avas husband picked up a lock of her damp hair with his large fingers while he asked this. He scrutinised its wetness and smelled the faint scent of sea salt and fish before dropping it carelessly. He lumbered over to his recliner and flopped into it, resting his large head on the back of the seat. What did I tell you about going to town? Is there not enough fecking food in the house already? Be I not providing for you? Garvin leered at his wife again, letting a small smirk creep across his face. Mind you, you could be after using some exercise. The girls at McGrorys could be teaching you how to look after yourself. Ava smiled brightly at Garvin, as she moved to cut up some potatoes to go with the meal. I caught it. No need to go to the store. Garvin raised his head and narrowed his dark eyes at Ava. He sat like this for a moment before bursting into loud, booming laughter. It was not a jolly sort of laughter, but a harsh sound full of disbelief and mockery. Next youre going to tell me its the bleeding Salmon of Knowledge! He laughed harder now, leaning forward in his chair and wiping spit from his grey beard. Ava waited patiently for him to stop. Her stance was relaxed and there was no crease in her brow or timidity in her smile. Garvin noticed this quickly and his laughter began to slow down the longer he looked at the woman he knew as his wife.

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She waited for the potatoes to boil with patience and silence. By the time Ava dished up the fish and vegetables and brought the plate over to Garvin his laughter had subsided to a nervous coughing sound. Ava smiled as she set the plate down on her husbands lap. You never know. Better be eating it though, just in case. Garvin looked down at the plate for a moment before glancing up at Ava, looking for a second plate. She sat down in the other chair and looked at him for a moment before she realised what he was searching for. She smiled at him. Oh, you have all of it, Mo Ghr1. Ive already got everything I need out of that fish. Ava smiled contentedly as she watched her husband eat his dinner. It would be the last time she let him put her down, because now she had strength.

Celtic: (pronounced muh hraw) My Love

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