Chapter 158: The Mark That Stayed

The box was iron and it was about the size of a man's two hands and it had a lock on it and a brass plate on the lid with a name cut into it. Ahern.

We put it on the long table in the hall and the whole of the pack was in the hall and the whole of the nine was behind the table and the whole of the co-op was in the gallery.

Arthur came down the floor with a ring of keys in his hand.

"There is a thing about a lock," he said, "that I have been the cooper of this co-op for sixty years and that I have a ring of keys that has every lock in this village on it. And there is a thing about the press behind the frame. It has a lock that a key from this ring opens and it has a second lock that a key from Galway opens and there is not a wolf in this village who has ever seen the second one." He put a key in the lock and turned it and the lid came up. "And there is a thing about a box in a press that has a second lock on it. It has been in this hall since 1901 and there is not a wolf in this village who has been able to open it."

The whole of the hall was silent.

There were three things in the box.

There was a bundle of papers tied with string and there was a small leather bag with a drawstring and there was a key. It was a brass key and it was about the length of a man's finger and it had a tag on it and the tag had a word on it in ink that had gone brown.

The word was "Galway."

"There is a thing about a key," I said, "that has a tag on it and the tag says Galway. It is the key to a room in Galway and the room in Galway is the office of the Keeper of the Rolls and the Keeper of the Rolls is in a room in Dublin." I picked it up. "And there is a thing about a room in Galway that has been locked since 1901 and that a pack has been paying the tenth to for a hundred years. It is a room that a pack has never been in."

The whole of the hall was silent.

The bundle of papers was a record of every tenth paid out of Dún Aonghasa since 1901 and the whole of it was in the hand of a cooper and the whole of it had dates on it and sums. The leather bag had coins in it and the coins were old and one of them was gold.

And there was a letter at the bottom of the bundle that was not a record.

It was in a hand I did not know and it was dated 1901 and it was addressed to the wolves of Dún Aonghasa.

"There is a thing about this letter," I said, "that the whole of this hall is going to hear and then the whole of it is going to be in a file in Galway before the evening. It is a letter from a wolf who was the cooper of this co-op in 1901 and it says, the Council has taken a tenth of this pack since 1890 and the tenth is not lawful and the co-op has voted against it and the Council has said the vote does not matter. So the co-op is going to keep a record and the record is going to be in a box in a press behind the frame and it is going to be in the hand of a cooper and it is going to be kept until there is a wolf in this village who can take it to a court. And there is a thing about a letter like that. It has been in this press for ninety six years."

The whole of the hall was silent.

And then the woman with black hair put her hand on the table.

"There is a thing about this morning," she said, "that the whole of this hall is going to hear and then the court is going to do the thing that a court does. The box has a letter in it that is dated 1901 and a record of every tenth since 1890 and a key to a room in Galway and a bag of coins. And there is a thing about a pack that has kept a record in a box for ninety six years. It is a pack that has not been a thing that a Council has been able to lie to. It has been a thing that has been waiting." She put her hand out. "The Court of Alphas has heard the whole of it and the whole of it is going to be in a file and the whole of it is going to be in a court in London before the year is out. And there is a thing about a court in London. It is not going to be able to say the tenth was lawful."

The whole of the hall went up.

And then the whole of the nine went out and the whole of the gallery emptied and the whole of the pack was in the hall with the table on its legs and the lamp on it and the fire going.

It was nine o'clock at night.

Declan came and sat down beside me on the bench at the back of the hall with his coat over his arm and his auburn hair flat from the rain and his grey eyes on the fire.

"There is a thing about the whole of it," he said, "that I have been trying to say since the ridge and that I am going to say now because there is a fire and a lamp and a hall and nobody in it but the two of us. The whole of it has been in a file and a court and a box and a slip and the whole of it is over. And there is a thing about a thing that is over. It is not over. There is a village that is split and a pack that is not a co-op and a hall with a table that has been on its side and a wolf in a chair who has been in the village for a month." He put his hand on mine. "And there is a thing about a wolf in a chair who has been in the village for a month. She is going to have to learn how to be a wolf who is not in a fight."

I turned round and looked at him.

"There is a thing about the mark," I said. "It has been on my throat since June and it has flared under every moon and it has been thin and it has been warm and it has been the whole of it. And there is a thing about a mark that has been on a throat for a month. It is not a thing that the moon does and it is not a thing that a woman in a good coat made. It is a thing that we made. Every day. Every hour." I put my hand on his jaw. "And there is a thing about the fourteenth of July that I have been thinking about since the slip. It is over. The file is in Galway and the ring is on my finger and the pack is in this hall and there is not a thing in the world that is going to be able to say the whole of it was not lawful."

Declan put his forehead against mine.

"There is a thing about tonight," he said. "It is the first night in a month that there is not a thing to do. There is not a boat to catch and not a court to be in and not a slip to stand on. There is a fire and a lamp and a hall and a woman with gold hair." He put his hand on the back of my neck. "And there is a thing about a man who has been in a door for twenty years and who is sitting on a bench in a hall with the whole of it over. He does not know what to do with a night that has not a thing in it."

"Then there is a thing I can tell you," I said.

We went up the shore road to the cottage and the fire was laid and the lamp was on and the whole of it was the same as the first night and the whole of it was not the same at all.

I put the ring on the mantelpiece and the coat on the back of the chair and the whole of it was the sound of the sea and the gulls on the pier.

Declan stood in the middle of the kitchen with his hands at his sides.

"There is a thing about this kitchen," he said. "It is the first place I saw you and it is the first place I lied to you and it is the first place you put your hand on my chest and told me I was lying." He put his hand on the back of the chair. "And there is a thing about a kitchen that has the whole of it in it. It is not a kitchen that a wolf is going to be able to walk into without remembering."

"Then there is a thing we are going to do," I said. "We are going to make a different thing in it."

I went across the kitchen and put my hand flat on his chest and the spark came up through my palm and up my arm the way it had done on the first night over the weight on the table. And this time I did not pull my hand away.

He kissed me.

It was slow and it was careful and it was the whole of the last two months in a kitchen with a fire going and the rain on the window. He put his hand in my hair and the other flat on my back and I went with him and the whole of the kitchen went away.

We got up the stairs somehow. I do not remember the stairs. I remember the lamp on the landing and his coat coming off on the step and his hands on the buttons of my shirt and the way he said my name once, quietly, against my throat. I remember the bed and the cold sheets and the heat of him and the auburn hair falling across his forehead and the grey eyes very close and very steady and the mark on his throat that was dark and that had been dark since the fourteenth.

He stopped with his hand on my waist.

"There is a thing about tonight," he said. "There is not a thing to do and there is not a court and there is not a file. There is only this."

"Then there is a thing I have to say," I said. "And I am going to say it and then I am not going to say another word until the morning. I am yours. I have chosen it every day since the first night and I am going to choose it every day for the rest of my life. And there is a thing about a wolf who says that in a cottage on a shore road with a fire going and the whole of it behind her. She is not a woman from Dublin and she is not a claimant and she is not a thing that came to a village to bury a sister. She is the Alpha of this pack and she is a wolf who is in a bed with the man she has chosen."

He kissed the mark under my jaw.

And the whole of the night was the two of us and the fire going down and the sea outside.

And there was not a wolf in the world who was going to be able to say the mark had not stayed.

At about four in the morning I woke with the mark under my jaw warm and the bed cold on one side and the smell of tea coming up the stairs.

Declan was in the kitchen with his shirt on and his hair wet from the tap and two cups on the table.

"There is a thing about the morning," he said, "that I have been thinking about since the kitchen. It is the morning after the fourteenth and the whole of the pack is going to be on the shore at first light and the whole of the village is going to be on the pier and there is a thing about a run on the sand at first light." He put the cup in my hand. "It is the first thing that a pack does when it has stopped being a co-op."

The whole of the village was on the shore at half past five.

The whole of the pack was on the sand and the whole of the nine was on the pier and the whole of the co-op was on the wall and the sun came up over the headland and the whole of it was gold.

I shifted on the sand.

It was the eleventh time and it came up through me like the tide and the whole of the shore was close and warm and full of the smell of the whole of the pack. And then I was a golden wolf on the sand with the ring on my finger and the whole of the pack around me.

Declan was beside me and Cormac was beside him and Mary was beside Cormac and the whole of the eleven and the whole of the twenty and the whole of the nine were behind us.

We ran.

The sand went past under my paws and the sea was on the left and the wind was in my fur and the whole of the village was on the wall and the whole of it was one thing.

And then, from the pier, a voice said a thing that was not a word.

It was Arthur. He was standing on the wall with his stick in his hand and his old face was turned up and he was laughing.

"There is a thing about a run on the sand," he said, "that I have been in this village for ninety one years and that I have not seen since 1961. It is not a co-op. It is a pack."