第17章 The New Mark

The new mark came the spring after the storm, and it came the way the marks had come, which was the way the family had always marked the table, one by one, in the end grain, at the place where the wood was thinnest and the grain ran to the sea. Eamon had his own mark cut, the way his mother had cut hers, the way his father had cut his, the way his great-grandmother had cut hers, and the cutting was done with the old knife that was in the drawer under the range, and the old knife had been in the drawer since the man who had made the table had died, and the man who had made the table had put the knife in the drawer the year he had died, and the knife had stood in the drawer for forty years, and the cutting had come to Eamon in the spring, and he had taken the knife from the drawer and had stood at the end grain with his mother watching him from the far end of the boards, and he had cut his own mark, and the mark had been the letter of his son, who was not yet born but would be, and the letter had been cut shallow, the way his mother had cut hers shallow, and the shallow had been the keeping, and the keeping had been the thing, and the thing had been kept, and the count had gone on in the end grain, one letter after another, patient and unhurried, the way the family had always gone on, one generation after another, around the one long thing the house had not replaced. He did not cut the mark for his son's name, because the son did not have a name, and he did not cut the mark for the child that would not be, because the child had not come, and he cut the mark for the letter of the boy who was the boy, and the boy was the son of the woman who was the woman, and the woman was the one who would be the one, and the one had not come yet, and the one who would be had not come yet, and the cutting had been the keeping, and the keeping had been the thing, and the thing had been kept, and the count had gone on in the end grain, patient and unhurried, the way the family had always gone on, one letter after another, around the one long thing the house had not replaced, and the lamp had been lit, and the blue cups had been at the place, and the chipped one had been at its pair, and the tin had been in the drawer, and the money of the roof had been in the tin, and the roof had been over the table, and the table had been in the kitchen of Gort, and the kitchen of Gort had been on the hill, and the hill had been over the valley, and the valley had been over the sea, and the sea had been at the far end of the boards, and the far end of the boards had been the keeping, and the keeping had been the thing, and the thing had been kept, and the grain had run on under the letter, to the far end where the chair stood empty, and the light had reached the chair and gone no further, because that was how far the grain ran, and that was how far the keeping reached, which was to the end of the boards, and no further, and no less. The town had come on the Thursday evening of the cutting, and the men of the lane had sat at the long boards with the new letter in the end grain, and the cutting had been the keeping, and the keeping had been the thing, and the thing had been kept, and the count had gone on in the end grain, one letter after another, patient and unhurried, the way the family had always gone on, one generation after another, around the one long thing the house had not replaced, and the lamp had been lit, and the blue cups had been at the place, and the chipped one had been at its pair, and the tin had been in the drawer, and the money of the roof had been in the tin, and the roof had been over the table, and the table had been in the kitchen of Gort, and the kitchen of Gort had been on the hill, and the hill had been over the valley, and the valley had been over the sea, and the sea had been at the far end of the boards, and the far end of the boards had been the keeping, and the keeping had been the thing, and the thing had been kept, and the grain had run on under the letter, to the far end where the chair stood empty, and the light had reached the chair and gone no further, because that was how far the grain ran, and that was how far the keeping reached. The cutting had come the spring after the storm, and it had come the way the cuts had come, which was the way the family had always cut the table, one letter at a time, in the end grain, at the place where the wood was thinnest and the grain ran to the sea. Eamon had stood at the end grain with the old knife from the drawer under the range, and the knife had been in the drawer since the man who had made the table had died, and the man who had made the table had put the knife in the drawer the year he had died, and the knife had stood in the drawer for forty years, and the cutting had come to Eamon in the spring, and he had taken the knife from the drawer and had stood at the end grain with his mother watching him from the far end of the boards, and he had cut his own letter, and the letter had been the letter of his son, who was not yet born but would be, and the cutting had been shallow, the way his mother had cut hers shallow, and the shallow had been the keeping, and the keeping had been the thing, and the thing had been kept, and the count had gone on in the end grain, one letter after another, patient and unhurried, the way the family had always gone on, one generation after another, around the one long thing the house had not replaced. And the town had come on the Thursday evening of the cutting, and the men of the lane had sat at the long boards with the new letter in the end grain, and the lamp had been lit, and the blue cups had been at the place, and the chipped one had been at its pair, and the tin had been in the drawer, and the money of the roof had been in the tin, and the roof had been over the table, and the table had been in the kitchen of Gort, and the kitchen of Gort had been on the hill, and the hill had been over the valley, and the valley had been over the sea, and the sea had been at the far end of the boards, and the far end of the boards had been the keeping, and the keeping had been the thing, and the thing had been kept, and the count had gone on in the end grain, patient and unhurried, and the half-letter had held the name that had never been finished, and the grain had run on under the new letter to the far end where the chair stood empty, and the light had reached the chair and gone no further, because that was how far the grain ran, and that was how far the keeping reached, which was to the end of the boards, and no further, and no less.