Peeling Oranges Read Online Free Page B

story.’
    I sat up straight in the bed scarcely able to contain my excitement.
    ‘Labhras Loingseach was a king in ancient Ireland.’
    ‘Was he king of all Ireland, Mam?’
    ‘No, he was one of many kings. Listen. This king had horse’s ears.’
    I chuckled. ‘How could he have horse’s ears, Mam?’
    ‘Stop asking all the questions or I won’t tell you the story. The king had horse’s ears. Some humans had a bull’s head or a serpent’s tail. It was long, long ago. All right?’
    ‘All right, Mam.’
    ‘And every barber that cut the king’s hair was put to death so that the secret could be kept.’
    ‘But, Mam...’
    A look of exasperation. Even at that age I recognised it.
    ‘Sorry.’ I sealed my lips.
    ‘He would lose the kingship if they ever found out that he had horse’s ears. But there was one mother, a widow who had an only son.’
    ‘Like you, Mam.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘You have only one son: me, Mam, and you are a widow.’
    ‘Pay attention,’ she snapped.
    My mother looked cross. She confused me. What had I done? I tried to give my beautiful mother a hug to make up for vexing her or whatever it was I had done to her.
    She drew away. ‘Stop that. Will you listen? This widow pleaded with the king to save her son’s life.’
    ‘What’s pleaded, Mam?’
    ‘ Begged . You understand?’
    ‘Yes, Mam.’
    ‘She begged that the king would not kill her only son, and the king took pity on her, don’t you know? And he spared her son on the condition that he took an oath, made a holy promise, you understand, that he would never tell the king’s secret to anyone.’
    ‘And what...?’
    ‘And that he would hold his tongue,’ she says sharply, silencing my interjection. ‘But the barber could not keep the secret. So he went deep into the woods.’
    ‘Where the wolf is, Mam?’
    ‘No, the wolf didn’t come then. He went deeper and deeper into the dark woods and he stood in front of a tree and he told his secret to the tree.’
    ‘A tree, Mam?’ I chuckled again. This was a funny story my mother was telling me.
    ‘Yes, a tree; and he felt relieved then, don’t you know? He felt good that he didn’t have to carry a burden anymore, you understand?’
    ‘No, Mam.’
    ‘You are tormenting me.’
    ‘Sorry, Mam.’
    ‘You are a most ungrateful child. I don’t know why I’m bothering at all. Do you know the trouble you cause me. Do you have any idea?’
    ‘No, Mam.’
    ‘All these interruptions. Now listen,’ she said, and she shook me vigorously, her fingers pressing tightly into my arms, hurting me but I didn’t complain. ‘Some time later that very tree was cut down and they made a harp out of it for the king’s harpist. And when the harp was played...’
    ‘It told the secret, Mam.’
    ‘How did you know?’
    ‘I don’t know, Mam.’
    I was beaming. I was expecting my mother to pat me on the head or to tell me I was a very bright boy but she did neither.
    ‘Labhras Loingseach has horse’s ears,’ the harp sang out over and over every time the harpist plucked the strings, and the whole court knew then.’
    ‘And what happened, Mam?’
    ‘What happened? That’s what happened.’
    ‘To the king, Mam, and to the barber?’
    ‘The king lost his throne, I suppose, and the barber lost his life. So you see...’
    ‘Call me my name, Mam.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘You never say my name.’
    ‘What a strange little fellow you are.’ She looked at me. I remember that look, a look of mystification that was to be repeated many times as I grew up.
    ‘So you see what could happen if little boys ask too many questions, they wouldn’t be able to keep the secrets and they would tell the tales. You could wind up like the barber.’
    ‘But the barber wasn’t a little boy, Mam.’
    ***
    What did I do all that time when I was growing up? I have hazy images of summer holidays when I was home from boarding school being told to play outside – always distant from her. I played marbles, rolling