第15章 The Cracks Underneath

The cracks came in the winter, and they did not come the way a table cracks, which is at the end, where the wood is thinnest and the weather reaches it, but they came at the middle, where the leaves meet the pegs, and where the grain runs the longest, and where the heaviness of the suppers and the Thursday evenings and the count of the family had gone, year after year, into the boards like a word said so many times that it is no longer a word but a groove in the floor of the mouth. The first crack was at the second peg, and Eamon saw it in the early dark when the lamp was lit and the men of the town had gone to their beds and the kitchen was empty and the grain ran the length of the boards under the light, and the crack went across the second board in a line that was not straight but was the line of the grain, which is to say that the crack had taken the grain, and the grain had given way, and the giving way had come at the place where the leaves had been longest in the house, which was to say that the table had worn at the place where it had been worked, and the working had been the suppers and the oiling and the count, and the count had worn the grain at the place where it had been longest, and the wearing had come in the winter, when the roof let in and the back room took its wetness and the lane went soft, and the table stood in the kitchen of Gort with the leaves in and the pegs turned home and the crack at the second peg, and Eamon stood at the far end of the boards with his hand on the grain and felt the crack under his hand, the way his mother had felt the mark of the boy in the end grain, the way his great-grandmother had felt the drying of the boards in the spring when the grain of the kitchen had gone slack, and the feeling was not the crack, the feeling was the place, the place where the working had been longest, the place where the keeping had worn the wood, and the wearing was the count, and the count was the family, seated and unseated, one after another, around the one long thing the house had never replaced, and the crack was the family, and the family was the table, and the table was the keeping, and the keeping was the thing, and the thing was kept, not by the family alone, because the family had made room for the town, and the town had come on its Thursday evenings to sit at the length of it, and the lamp was lit, and the blue cups were at the place, and the chipped one was at its pair, and the half-letter held the name that had never been finished, and the crack went on at the second peg, running the length of the grain, and the grain ran on to the sea, and the sea was at the far end of the boards, and the far end of the boards was the keeping, and the keeping was the thing, and the thing was kept, and the keeping went on, patient and unhurried, like a river seen from a hill, running on to the sea at the far end where the chair stood empty and the light reached it and went no further, because that is how far the grain runs, and that is how far the keeping reaches, which is to the end of the boards, and no further, and no less. He did not call the man who makes the tables in Carra, because the man who makes the tables had died in the autumn, and the man who had made the table had died before that, and there was no man who knew the table, and Eamon sat at the far end of the boards in the dark of the kitchen with the lamp low and the crack under his hand, and he thought of the thing his mother had said about the man who had made the table, that he had split the difference into three boards, and the splitting had been the making, and the making had been the keeping, because a table that is split into three boards is a table that is meant to be put back together, and the putting back together was the keeping, and the keeping had come to him, at the crack, at the second peg, at the place where the working had been longest, and he understood, sitting in the dark with the lamp low and the men of the town asleep on their beds, that the table had worn at the place where the keeping had been longest, which was to say that the keeping had worn the wood, and the wearing was the count, and the count was the family, and the family had worn the grain at the place where the suppers had been, and the suppers had been the Thursday evenings, and the Thursday evenings had been the town, and the town had come to the long bo ards and had sat at the length of it and had eaten what the tin had bought and had not asked what it had cost, and the not asking had been the keeping, and the keeping had worn the wood, and the wood had cracked at the place where the keeping had been longest, and the crack was the count, and the count was the family, and the family was the table, and the table was the keeping, and the keeping was the thing, and the thing was kept, and the keeping went on, patient and unhurried, like a river seen from a hill, running on to the sea at the far end where the chair stood empty and the light reached it and went no further, because that is how far the grain runs, and that is how far the keeping reaches, which is to the end of the boards, and no further, and no less. He did not oil the crack in the winter, because the oiling was for the grain and the crack was not the grain, and the crack was the place where the working had been longest, and he left it, and left the lamp low, and left the men of the town to their beds, and went up to the house of Gort with the tin of the Thursday evening in his hand and the money of the roof in it, and the money of the roof went to the lane the next day, and the lane went hard, and the lane went over the hill to the house of Gort, and the house of Gort held the table, and the table held the count, and the count held the family, and the family went on, which is what families do, and what tables do, and what houses do, and what the count does, which is to say, it goes on, patient and unhurried, finding its own way, like a river seen from a hill, running to the sea at the far end of the table where the chair stands empty and the grain runs on, and the crack went on at the second peg, running the length of the grain, and the grain ran on to the sea, and the sea was at the far end of the boards, and the far end of the boards was the keeping, and the keeping was the thing, and the thing was kept, and the keeping went on.