Song Of The Irish 1
Stormy Seas
Dylan stared blankly and blinked at the ruins of the town and the bodies left behind. Reminiscent of the latest cat attack. The mice were digging out survivors, mourning lost loved ones. "This is only anothair setback," the mayor declared. "Rest assured, these cats will not break us. We will rebuild like always." The other mice muttered in agreement, but he just stared. Then all at once he turned his back on them and began walking away, far away.
"Dylan, where are ya goin' lad?" some of the mice were calling to him. He wouldn't reply. He broke into a run. "Dylan, wait!" voices called. "Dylan!" He didn't look back, just shook his head violently, trying to erase the images. They would rebuild as always, but this time they would do it without him. He had to go. He had to get out of this country. But oh how he loved Ireland, his home… Yet what life could there be here? Did he really care about life anymore? No, he didn't, but it didn't stop him from leaving behind his security.
And the minstrel ran and ran until he reached the docks. He clambered onto the first boat he saw, bound for Germany for some reason, completely bypassing Britain. And in Hamburg he didn't stop. He walked the docks until he saw scores of mice climbing aboard a boat bound for America. He'd heard of America, land of opportunity. Not for a moment did he believe it. Yet mice were talking of streets paved with cheese, saying there were no cats and that opportunity abounded there. Perhaps he would take a chance. And if it were a disappointment, it would be nothing new. He would live with his mistake as he now lived with every other error he'd ever made in his life. He found himself cradling her flower, stroking the petals. He closed his eyes tightly and replaced it. Quickly he used what little money he had to board the boat. Swiftly he climbed aboard. America, land of opportunity. Hah! America, far from Ireland and far from his pained memories. That he could live with.
AAT
A violent storm had blown up. The boat creaked and groaned, tossed side to side. Lightning flashed and rain poured inside as the windows banged. He watched the young mouse girl shivering and determined now was as good a time as any to end their lesson. "That's all far today, lass, ya'd best be gettin' back ta yer parents."
She beamed at him and answered, "Thank you Dylan, thank you so much." Quickly she raced off to tell her parents about her new teacher. He guessed as much when the couple kept looking over at him. Suspicion fell to approval, he noted, as papa recognized him as the Irish mouse who had sung with such emotion. They nodded and looked away, and that was that. He curled up in a corner trying to preserve body heat. He watched as the water in the hold soaked luggage and mice alike. He watched the three mice in the tin can floating back and forth and looking greener by the second. They finally threw up when a chubby mouse child offered them a bite of his snack. Dylan shook his head and looked around. A depressing scene, really.
He noticed Fievel, as Tanya had told him her brother was named, float into the hold on a bar of soap, caught in a bubble. He hadn't even noticed the child had left. It slightly concerned him. A boy that slippery, no pun intended, would only cause grief for his parents and himself. "Fievel, come sit next to us by the fire," Papa Mousekewitz said.
"Yes papa," Fievel replied. The ship tilted, though, and Fievel was swept out of the hold. Dylan stood straight, slightly concerned. The boy had been moving fast. Very fast. Apparently his father sensed it as well, and the rest of his family. Papa rose and immediately went after the boy. Tanya looked concerned. She met his eyes and for a moment her expression looked pleading. Given the chance he knew what she would ask of him. So he would oblige. He followed papa out of the hold and into the main part of the ship.
"Fievel, Fievel my son, come back!" he heard papa screaming. Dylan stiffened and frowned. Immediately he began to run. That didn't sound good at all.
He slid around a corner and gasped as the boy called back to his father, "I'm getting my hat!" Dylan looked sharply up at the door and paled. If the child went out in that storm, he'd never come back! He saw the live fish that had been swept in with the last wave. The child was foolish and careless, reckless and slippery. His father desperately climbed after him, but the man was too slow. Dylan raced forward. All at once, with a terrifying shriek the child was swept out the door!
AAT
"Fievel!" Papa cried in terror. Hurriedly Papa disappeared as well. Dylan shot up the ropes and burst out onto the deck looking quickly around. Where were they?
"Papa! Papa, help!" he heard Fievel screaming. He looked sharply up and gasped. How had the child gotten up onto the mast?!
"Fievel, my son! Fievel!" Papa shrieked desperately. Dylan raced ahead, but all at once a particularly violent wave struck the ship! Dylan cried out in pain and fear as it pulled him towards the edge! Gasping he grabbed onto some rope and wrapped it around his wrist. If he let go, the rope would still hold him. He heard the shriek, though, and looked up. Fievel had let go and the wave was carrying him out to sea! Papa was ensnared in ropes, shrieking and calling desperately to his son, struggling to get free and sobbing uncontrollably. Dylan gritted his teeth. If he didn't get the man out of that net, both father and son would be swept away leaving only the mother as provider. He let go and scampered towards the Russian mouse.
"Papa Mousekewitz!" he called.
Papa looked down in shock and screamed, "Dylan, help me, get me down! I must go after Fievel!" Dylan almost laughed. The mouse wouldn't reach his son now. Nonetheless he scampered up and quickly untied Papa.
Papa ran for the edge and would have leapt into the ocean without a thought, but Dylan tackled him and held him down crying out, "No, sir, ya can't! It's too late far the boy! 'E's gone, papa, gone! Ya go inta that water and you'll be no bettair off!"
"No, Fievel! Let me go! Fievel!" Papa cried.
Dylan rolled him over and struck him, snapping him out of his hysterics. "It's too late, Papa. Maybe 'e's still alive, but we won't be if another wave comes. Will ya leave yer wife and daughters alone in the world?" Papa blinked, recalling the rest of his family. All at once he burst into uncontrollable tears. Nonetheless he rose and allowed the younger Irish mouse to guide him back down to safety.
AAT
The mice in the hold watched miserably as the Mousekewitz family bewailed their lost child. Tanya, however, hadn't shed a tear. She looked desperate, afraid, and she begged her father saying, "Papa, please, don't cry! Papa, Fievel's alive, I know he is. He'll make it, you'll see. We have to find him! When we reach shore, papa, we need to search for him."
"Enough!" Mama suddenly and viciously shrieked at her daughter. Tanya caught her breath and pulled back. Calming down Mama whispered harshly, "Enough. Your brother is dead. Do not make this harder than it is."
"M-mama, p-papa?" Tanya meekly asked. They didn't look at her. Tears came to her eyes and she sobbed. "He's alive, I know he is! He's alive!" she screamed. Dylan quickly brought her to the side away from her parents. She collapsed into him screaming, "My brother isn't dead, he isn't! I know it! You believe me Dylan, don't you?" she asked, pleadingly looking up at her mentor.
He blinked at her and said nothing. After a moment he answered, "Do ya feel it in yer 'eart, lass?"
Tanya swallowed then looked down, saying, "Yes."
"Then 'e's alive as long as ya feel 'e is," Dylan replied. "Don't give up on yer papa, lass. Maybe soon they'll come around as well."
"How? It's impossible. They won't believe me, and if they don't believe me we'll never find Fievel again," Tanya sadly said. "Papa could play his violin, play Fievel's song, and Fievel might hear it and find us, but he won't play it unless he believes."
"Lass, do not lose hope," Dylan gently said. He felt like a hypocrite, but just because he'd long ago given up on hope didn't mean she had to. She sniffed and smiled bravely, nodding. She hugged him tightly. He blinked blankly then finally held her back, patting her. She pulled away and went back towards Papa. But where was Mama? He had his answer quickly enough.
AAT
"How dare you," a voice lowly said.
Dylan gasped and turned. There was none other than Mama! "Mrs. Mousekewitz," he said in shock.
"You should be ashamed of yourself, putting ideas into my little angel's head. You dare to tell her not to lose hope, that her brother is alive?!" she shrieked. Now everyone was staring at them, and the eyes of the Mousekewitz's bore into his very being.
Dylan blinked. How could he respond to this? "Mama, leave him alone!" Tanya cried, scared for her teacher and worried they would forbid her from seeing him again.
"Be quiet Tanya," Papa lowly said, voice quaking with anger and hate as he rose, fists balled. Tanya held Yasha tightly, the latter of which had begun to cry on sensing her whole family balance being thrown off.
Dylan looked down sadly then back up. Firmly he replied, "I give 'er 'ope! Without 'ope, what do we have, Mousekewitz's? I should know. I long ago lost me 'ope. I 'ave nothin' left, nothin'! But gods strike me down if I take away a child's dreams from 'er. If the lass believes 'er brother is alive, then so do I. At least someone on his ship will still 'ave 'ope! Ya'd do well ta take a lesson from the innocence of a child, lest ya all farget what it was like bein' carefree. I did long ago!"
AAT
The Mousekewitz's and the ship were silent as they gazed at the young Irishman who had spoken wisely for one his age. "You are hardly a boy," Papa finally remarked. His fists were no longer balled, and all that was on his face was sympathy and pity. And Mama… she had begun to silently cry as she looked at the man, could she even call him a man, who couldn't be more than twenty if that. A boy that should still have had his hope, still have had innocence and life burning in him; but here he was, mature and bitter beyond his years, forced to become that way, but still a child. All they saw was a shell, broken and weak yet somehow strong. "Just… just a boy…" Papa repeated, tears coming to his own eyes.
Dylan felt tears burning his own. Angrily he turned and walked away, leaving the hold. He would find somewhere else to sleep until this nightmare was over with. "Dylan, wait!" he heard Mama cry after him.
He'd hoped he would be left alone, but as he lay that night shivering and cold, half awake and half asleep, he heard footsteps nearing. He couldn't find the will power to open his eyes. Let whatever it may be come, be it friend of foe. He didn't care. Then he felt a blanket softly placed over him and wrapped, warming him. "You were right, child," he heard Papa whisper quietly.
"We should bring him back into the hold where it is warm," he heard Mama mutter as her hand gently stroked his head. He tried to wake up and protest, he didn't want to go back in there, but he was through fighting to be awake. He whimpered and she soothed, "Hush young one. Papa has you." All he knew was that in the next moment he was scooped up and brought back into the hold, for that was where he woke the next morning, the Mousekewitz's close at hand.