Song Of The Irish 1
America
It was silent in the hold; almost unbearably so. Dylan sat across from Tanya teaching her some tips. She wasn't completely in it, he knew. After all, she'd just lost her little brother. This was the closest thing to a respite she had. "Lass, 'ave ya tried song writin'?" he finally asked.
"Huh?" she asked, coming back to herself rather suddenly from singing a simple hymn he'd taught her, using the proper tones and staying in key.
"Song writin'," he repeated.
"You mean coming up with my own music?" she asked, eyes wide. He smirked and nodded. "W-well, I guess, kind of. But-but no one likes them. At least I don't think so. Mama and papa pretend they do, but someone told me once they weren't very good."
"Show me," Dylan simply said.
"You mean it?" she asked.
"Aye," he confirmed.
She looked like she was pondering it. He could sense she wanted to, but she was probably afraid of what he'd say. She didn't want her little heart, broken again. "Okay, but promise you won't be mean and tell me to give up," she said.
"The one who told ya such a thing, lass, did no' know what 'e was talkin' about," Dylan said firmly. Tanya looked unconvinced. Nonetheless she raced back to her family and pulled some things from her small bag.
Quickly she returned to him and handed them over blushing in embarrassment. He took them and looked over the words. Pity there was no musical notes above it so he could see where she was going with it tune wise. "Well?" she asked hopefully.
"The words are interestin' lass. Mature far a girl yer age, but good. Pity ya 'ave no music ta go along with it. Sing a bit to me, Tanya. I can teach ya how ta write it down," he said. Theory would give her a break from singing, something she obviously wasn't into at this point in time.
"I-I don't know," she replied. "What if no one likes it?"
"Tanya, I can guarantee ya most o' these mice don't know the first thing about music. They are broken, holding on ta one dream. Anythin' would be welcomed now," Dylan assured.
AAT
Tanya looked around nervously. Nonetheless, she wanted to do this. Besides, Dylan was there to defend her. Biting her lower lip uncertainly she nodded timidly. He smiled and ruffled her hair playfully. She smirked and took a deep breath, singing, "Do you ever miss, the girl you left behind?" He shuddered at the words. If not for the fact she'd started it out relatively happy sounding, he would have ended up in a depressive funk again. He had an answer to that one.
Her family sharply looked over. "Oh no, she's going to sing, papa! What if they make fun of our baby?" Mama fearfully asked.
"She is good, Mama. Dylan acknowledged it himself," Papa assured. Nonetheless he looked nervous. She'd never been trained before. Tanya continued, singing:
Is the girl you left behind out there tonight romancin'?
Makin' eyes at someone else and singin', or is she dancin'?
Only the girl you left behind you dream her when you're sleepin'.
Puts the teardrops in your eyes from secrets she is keepin'.
Happy just playin' a tune and dance the whole night away.
Hope the girl you left behind will be there for you someday.
Lonely is the wind that blows, you know you'll always miss her.
Lonely is a lover's heart if only you could, kiss her, kiss her, kiss her.
All the girls y'all leave behind could fill up California.
Just don't leave them too darn long, I think I outta warn ya.
Absence makes the heart go cold and makes a heart to wander.
If you stay there by their sides you'll feel their hearts grow fonder.
Dylan caught on instantly to the duet format she'd lain out as she cued him. His eyes widened. He had no time to refuse, and he desperately wanted to, but his student was relying on him. Immediately he took up the cue, singing:
Hope to see her someday, hope I find my way, back to the girl I left behind.
Tanya beamed excitedly, grinning. He had hit exactly what she'd had in mind! Immediately she continued:
So tell me you will never roam!
He repeated, "We swear we won't go roaming."
She sang, "You'll be by your fireside!"
He replied, "We'll all be home sweet home and kiss her, kiss her, kiss her."
Tanya laughed excitedly. The other mice had joined in also as she danced and spun around the hold, pulling Dylan with her. He began to laugh and she grew more excited. It was the first time she'd ever heard him full out laugh! And his ears, they had almost perked all the way. Not quite, but almost. Quickly she continued, "So where's the girl you left behind?!"
Dylan and the other mice sang, "She's waitin' for her sister.
We won't stop until we're home we'll hug and hug and kiss her.
I'll find the girl, I'll find the girl, I'll find the girl, I'll find the girl.
Go find the girl you (I) left behind,
Tonight, tonight, tonight, that's right, alright!
AAT
Everyone burst into applause for Tanya. Tanya grinned excitedly up at Dylan. Quickly they retreated. "Lass, that was wonderful!" he exclaimed. "Of course it'll only improve as yer voice does."
"I know I went off key sometimes," she said ruefully, but she was still smirking. "And some notes I couldn't hit."
"That'll come in time, Tanya," Dylan assured, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She beamed at him. After a time the two had penned the song down, notes and all. Tanya was brimming over with excitement on learning how to write music.
"Thank you, Dylan, thank you!" she exclaimed. Immediately she grabbed everything up and raced back to Mama and Papa Mousekewitz. Dylan smiled after her. His smile fell, though. Suddenly he felt very much alone. He looked around the hold sadly.
Just then a voice said, "Dylan, come eat with us." Dylan turned curiously. Papa and Mama Mousekewitz? Tanya, he saw, was holding Yasha and jabbering excitedly to her baby sister. Papa had spoken.
"It's all right, Mousekewitz's," he replied, smiling sadly.
"We insist, Dylan. You have brought such joy to our little nightingale," Mama insisted. "We have no money to pay you so at least let us do this for you."
"Money don't mean anythin' ta me these days," Dylan replied. "If ya don't mind, though, Papa and Mama, I would like ta be alone."
"It is not good for a young man to be isolating himself," Mama chastised, tsking him and wagging a finger. He blinked then blushed, feeling like a child again. "And look at you. It's like you haven't had a bite to eat for weeks. Come along this very instant." Not quite weeks, but still.
"Do not let sadness consume you, my boy," Papa gently remarked. Dylan's eyes widened and became slightly fearful. "Ah, see. Papa knows these things. Very, very well," he added, tears coming to his eyes. Mama closed hers tightly and leaned against her husband. Dylan looked down. "Come, young one, let us mourn together for our losses."
"There is strength in numbers," Mama added tearfully, and Dylan found he couldn't refuse. Swallowing over a lump in his throat he nodded weakly. Quietly he followed them.
AAT
Dylan was up early the next morning. Perhaps saying he was up wasn't the proper term. He'd never slept. He couldn't. He slipped out of the hold unnoticed, heading towards the fireplace. He paused in front of a coal and sat on the ground simply staring at it. He heard snickering behind him and tensed up turning quickly. There behind him stood a small group of mice. He rose slowly and faced them without a word. He didn't like the look of any of them. "Irishman, beguile us with the songs and tales of Ireland," one of the mice sang out.
He would have been flattered if not for the sarcasm and teasing lacing the tone. Another taunted him, saying, "Oh we wouldn't want to hear those, now. After all, it's been said, 'the Irish are men that God made mad. Their wars are merry, their songs are sad.'" It wasn't meant as an insult when it was originally said, Dylan knew, but this mouse was putting a whole new spin on it.
"I don't 'ave ta hear this," he said quietly, trying to walk passed them. Quickly, though, they surrounded him. He looked quickly around. "I do no' want trouble," he said softly.
"What, no merry war?" one asked.
"It is hardly a war when the sides are not evenly matched," a voice declared suddenly and dangerously. The small gang gasped and turned. There stood Papa Mousekewitz and co. Co being his family, the Sicilian mouse and his family, and a group of others. "Leave the boy alone," Papa warned.
"You're weak," one growled, roughly shoving Dylan. The mouse's eyes narrowed coldly in what he knew was one of the darkest looks he'd ever worn, and there were very, very few. When they were given, people noticed, and now was no exception. The mice surrounding him stopped chortling and looked suddenly nervous. Quickly they hurried on by. The others looked mildly surprised at this glint in his eyes. They had seemed so dead before, but now to see life in them…? It was a strange sight. As quickly as it had come it was gone, though, and he was back to lifeless.
"Thank ya," he quietly said to them all, looking down at the ground.
"Land ho!" a voice called from above. They all looked up. Immediately there were excited murmurings about the new land, and finally Dylan could slip away unnoticed.
AAT
He was packing his bags, rather very small bag, when suddenly Tanya's voice said from behind, "How can we continue my lessons now? If we can't find each other that is?"
Dylan smirked and lifted his bag. Turning he replied, "Tanya lass, do no' be gettin' discouraged yet. We'll find each other, just like you'll find yer brother."
"Where will you go?" she asked. "Can you afford a house?"
"Ave ya 'eard the tale of the travellin' minstrel?" he asked, ruefully smiling.
"No," she replied, eyes wide. It was obvious she wanted to hear the story.
He ruffled her hair and said, "Another time then, lass. 'Til then trust that I can take care o' myself, and trust we'll see each other. I'll find me own way in New York."
"Maybe you could stay with us," Tanya suggested hopefully. "Just until you find somewhere."
"I doubt it lass. Yer family will 'ave enough trouble feedin' themselves let alone an extra," Dylan replied.
"Nonesense, Dylan! Of course you would be welcome!" Papa suddenly said as he, Mama, and Yasha approached.
"Sorry, Mr. Mousekewitz, but this is an offer I'll 'ave ta decline. I do no' want ta be a burden on ya," Dylan replied, smiling.
"It is Papa and Mama to you, child, and you will be coming," Mama said, waggling her finger.
"Not this time, Mama," he answered firmly. Papa and Mama exchanged glances. He was set on not bending.
Finally they turned back. "If you ever need a place to stay, Dylan boy, you're welcome to be with us," Papa offered.
"Thank ya sir," Dylan replied, tipping his hat and nodding. They turned and hurried to get off the boat. He looked around at the now empty hold. If he left this ship there would be no turning back. He hesitated a moment then swiftly walked off.
AAT
He watched mice going through immigration with a frown. Names being changed, things being said and done, most of them obviously unfair in every way. He shook his head in disgust. Just as he suspected. America was no different than anywhere else, as much as they liked to believe otherwise. The only difference it seemed was that cats weren't the only ones that were cruel around here. The mice were the same.
He spotted the Mousekewitz's. The immigration officer asked their names. Papa told him and immediately the man changed the last name. Hah! Didn't even try to pronounce it. Really now, it wasn't that hard to say. He sadly looked down on hearing Tanya ask, "Papa, why did they change my name to Tilly?" Some questions had no answers, he knew, and here the child would quickly learn that the hard way. Papa could only shake his head. He couldn't tell his daughter why. She was too young to fully understand. In what way, shape, or form was the name Tanya hard to say?
"Name please!" the officer behind the desk repeated. Dylan sharply looked over realizing he was the one being addressed.
"Dylan," he quietly replied. They could give him another if they darn well wanted to, his name would remain the same. Not that a name really meant anything to him anymore. Like everything else in his life, nothing mattered. He was just going through it step by step.
"And last name?" the mouse asked. Dylan said nothing. It was none of his business. The mouse looked at him, annoyed, but on seeing the look in his eyes he instantly backed down and said, "Get lost." Dylan tipped his hat respectfully, not that the mouse would care, and walked quickly away.
AAT
He walked outside and looked around mouth agape. This place was huge! That was an understatement, in fact. He stared numbly at the mice getting into New York and making their way into the city to find homes. He looked over at the statue that was in the progress of being built. Lady Liberty… she was supposed to be a promise. Of what? She couldn't spin straw into gold. She couldn't make everything bad go away. He saw a pigeon flying towards the immigration office. He raised an eyebrow. Why would a pigeon be heading here?
Curiously he watched. As it neared, however, his eyes widened. Something was on her back. Was that… a mouse? But how… Wait. That blue hat. He recognized that hat! He gasped and paled. Fievel?! The pigeon landed on top of a building. Without a thought Dylan raced towards it calling, "Fievel! Fievel lad, over 'ere!" The boy gave no sign of having heard, so he assumed he was too far away. All at once the boy fell into the building! Dylan gasped and pushed through the crowds towards it. This was taking too long! It was five minutes before he was finally able to reach the building.
His heart was racing. He hoped he hadn't missed him. Cautiously he knocked. He didn't like the looks of this place. There was no answer. Senses heightened he gently pushed open the door and peeked inside. He coughed as a wave of cigar smoke hit him full on. He nearly gagged. Covering his nose and mouth in annoyance he slipped inside only to see a cricket counting money. "Excuse me," he called out.
The cricket cried out in fear and quickly looked at him. "What's that? Who's there? What do you want? I'm just the accountant!" the cricket said so quickly he could hardly understand it.
"I'm lookin' far a boy in a red shirt and blue hat. 'Is name is Fievel," Dylan replied.
The cricket looked for a moment alarmed, and Dylan knew immediately he had seen the child. "Boy, what boy, no boy here? Nope, never was," the cricket quickly said.
Dylan became nervous. Why was he denying it? "Do no' lie ta me sir. I know 'e came 'ere," Dylan said.
"Boy, oh, um, that one! Uh, th-the boss decided to help him find his family! Yes, that's it! The boss, Warren T. Ca-I mean Rat! Kid was looking for his mommy and daddy and sisters. Yep, Warren T. Rat knows everyone here!" the cricket quickly said.
Dylan didn't believe a word of it. All it served to do was make him more nervous. If this Warren was really helping the child, why hadn't he brought him out into the main immigration building to check the names of those who had disembarked from the ship? He felt like he should leave, like every moment spent here was another minute his life would be in danger. "Thank ya sir," Dylan said. Quickly he walked out of the building not daring to look back. Where would this Warren T. Rat have taken Fievel? He was by no means a detective, and he wouldn't trust the ones here for the life of him, but he couldn't stand idly by while something bad could be happening to the child. He looked back at the building. Fine, he would investigate on his own. Perhaps he could hear something of use.
AAT
Dylan snuck back into the Immigration office and listened carefully. A new voice was there now. "What?" it asked. He was betting it was this Warren T. Rat.
"That's right boss, someone was here looking for the kid!" the cricket excitedly said.
"Great, just great. That's all we need. Trouble," Warren said as he chewed on the cigar. "Where are my people?"
"Planning something," the cricket answered.
"Good, with luck they'll get rid of the problem," Warren said.
"Did the workhouse boss pay you for the boy?" the cricket asked. Dylan caught his breath. Workhouse?! The boy was hardly five! He wouldn't last long in a place like that!
"Big time," Warren answered. "Maybe the kid will learn something there. Like what not to do when you're a kid in a city."
"Leave your parents?" the cricket asked.
"Exactly," Warren replied, tapping ash onto the little cricket's head.
AAT
Dylan silently slipped back towards the door. To be caught now would be a death sentence. He didn't intend on giving these people the satisfaction. Quickly he slipped out the door. He walked through the crowds. Someone was bound to know about this place. He didn't expect much help from the immigration officers, but then again they had no love for the immigrants. They might be all too happy to send him there. He could play the naïve and eager young man.
Quickly he went inside and saw an officer who didn't look busy. "Excuse me sir," he began. The officer looked at him and made a disgusted sound, looking away as if appalled.
"What?" he asked.
"I've 'eard of place near here lookin' far workers. I'm eager ta get ahead in this new land," he said.
The officer darkly chuckled, looking at him and smirking. "Oh sure, boy, I'll tell you where it is," he replied, suddenly very friendly. Dylan forced his growing distaste for this land and its people down. If he fell to prejudice he'd be no better than them. The officer carefully relayed instructions to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Thank ya sir," Dylan replied, plucking the hand off in distaste. This time he let it show and the officer wasn't impressed. He frowned at the man, but Dylan turned his back and walked off.
AAT
It had already been close to night when he'd learned of the location. If the 'luck o' the Irish' held out for him the owner would be asleep and the door unlocked. But then again, he hadn't been receiving any of that luck for himself lately. The mouse, or rat, would probably be wide awake and eager to snatch in some helpless fool, and that was exactly what he would be, he realized. A fool for coming here in the first place to help a family he hardly knew, and helpless because he had nothing to fight back with if anything happened.
He approached the door and hesitated. After a moment he softly knocked. No reply. He tried the door and was surprised. It was unlocked! Hmm, perhaps the luck of the Irish hadn't completely forsaken him yet. He walked inside and slipped through the shadows heading towards stairs. He heard snoring and peeked around a corner. He gasped on seeing the rodent there, lying on a chair and probably drunk. The workhouse boss was huge! He was practically the size of a cat, and obviously a rat. No mouse could hope to grow that big. Fat, sloppy, but probably abnormally strong. He shuddered on thinking how Fievel must have felt being dragged inside by that mutant. He silently continued on.
He reached a door and heard voices from inside. Hope came to his eyes. Softly he knocked and heard panicked whispers ensue. After a moment the door opened, though, and he knew immediately they'd sensed this wasn't their boss. It didn't take a genius to guess that the boss would have been bellowing or barging in, not knocking. Dylan swiftly went inside and shut the door. "Who are you?" a mouse asked.
"Me name is o' no consequence," he replied. "I'm lookin' far a little boy, blue hat red shirt."
"A little boy?" one asked.
"The new slave," another said, shaking his head.
"He's not here, and soon none of us will be. The child came up with a way to escape this nightmare! We'd thought of it before, but he… he had the hope and drive to do it. Tony went after him," a third declared. "You'd best be coming with us boy, because you'd be easy prey for the boss."
Dylan wouldn't argue that. As he gazed around the room he realized in relief that there wasn't much of a female presence. He hadn't seen one woman at all. A good thing, because he knew full well that the rat would have been… putting it mildly, 'rough' with them. He raced to the window and looked out. He couldn't see anyone nearby. In the distance, though, he heard a Brooklyn mouse who sounded slightly Italian as well, calling, "Hey Filly, Filly, where are ya!?"
Filly? Fievel? Was that possible? He gasped. That little mouse was as elusive as a serpent, and he didn't even know it. Swiftly Dylan swung out the window and clambered down. He wouldn't try his luck sneaking passed the boss again. Alighting on the ground he raced in the direction he'd heard the Brooklyn mouse call from.