Jacob's Mother—Chapter 11
Turlough Hill 1973
Jacob’s Mother is a serialized novel. Start with Chapter One.
Chapter Eleven:Turlough Hill 1973
Wicklow, Ireland 1973
Even though the weather was damp and chilly, the workers were sweating through their shirts. Craig had been shoveling debris from the blast site for six hours. He stopped, pushing his sandy blond hair out of his face, and leaned on his shovel, staring out at the worksite. This part of the tunnel would be ready for construction in a few more days. He planned to stay on the crew until then to pad his pocketbook, so he could stay a few more weeks in Ireland. He rubbed his calloused, dirty hands over the smooth handle of his shovel, then used it to stretch his back out by pushing it out in front of him and slightly to the side. The workday would be over soon, and he was exhausted.
A few of the workers were just traveling through, trying to make a quick buck, like himself, but the majority of them were weathered men, used to manual labor and a large pint at the end of the day. Craig wondered how they could live this life indefinitely. He picked up the shovel, and for the first time during his adventure around the world, he felt homesick for the crashing waves of Huntington Beach, California, his home.
So far, he had been to nine different countries and had collected over 1,000 photos for his book, American Abroad. All of the photos were waiting to be developed in black plastic film canisters in his hostel locker. He had yet to find a good darkroom, and was unsure if he would develop them here or back home. He was also unsure when he would go back home. There was still so much to see.
He stuck his shovel in the pile of rubble, small bits of blasted rock crunching as the men dug it out. Bulldozers growled in the distance taking care of the larger pieces of granite. Turlough Hill was a modern marvel, a hydro-electric plant that was powered by water. Craig thought he would like to come back and see it after it was finished. He loved the idea of whole cities being powered by water instead of coal. His shoulders ached, and he stopped again to rub them. Even though the area where Craig stood and worked was filthy and filled with rubble, he couldn’t stop looking at the surrounding Irish landscape. The picturesque Wicklow mountains called to his artistic side, so green and alive it hurt his eyes. Truly, the terrain belonged in a storybook, he wouldn’t be surprised if a woodland sprite darted across the road in front of him.
“Oy! California!”
Craig turned toward the gravely voice, shaking his hair out of his eyes.
“Stop standing there, grinning like a dead hare, and get back to work!”
Craig gave his supervisor a mock salute. He focused his attention to the rubble in front of him, and started digging. Up ahead, the tunnel loomed darkly. When they were done reinforcing the walls, it would be a thoroughfare between the two reservoirs, and the whole hydro station would be nearly invisible to the naked eye. Even though he was just scooping away rubble, Craig felt proud to be a part of this project. He dug his shovel into the debris, and as he brought it up, the sun glimmered off of something. He knelt down and picked up a small metal trinket. It was a tarnished pendant that had a loop in the top of it for a chain that was no longer there. It looked very old. He brushed off the dust and ran his fingers over the three spirals that made up the trinket. The spirals seemed to chase each other, and a dark black buildup had settled into the grooves.
“Whacha got there?” His supervisor came over.
“Some sort of pendant,” Craig said, holding the silver piece out.
The man picked it up and held it up to the sunlight. He squinted, dust filling in his crow’s feet just like the tarnish filled in the swirls. He rubbed his sideburns with his free hand. “It’s a symbol for the Trinity, I think.” He handed it back to Craig. “You know, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost?”
“Do you think it is worth anything?”
His supervisor wiped his forehead, smearing dust across his brow. “Don’t know. Could be. People have found all sorts of things in the rubble. Last week, Jameson found a human skull.”
“That’s heavy, man.”
Two days later, Craig was done with his part of the job. He had a nice little wad of cash in his pocket and a whole world to explore. He spent the morning at the coin operated laundromat, and now he stepped out on the streets of Dublin, fresh and clean. He grinned at a woman who stared at him through lowered eyelids as he crossed the street. Craig knew he was good looking, and his tan California skin and sun bleached hair was definitely a hit with the Dublin ladies. He never had trouble getting tail in the states, but here he had extra game. The woman smiled back, then looked away, blushing.
Craig hoped to stumble upon some American travelers in Dublin. He needed more subjects for his book. He was getting quite good at spotting Americans in crowds in different countries. They had a certain cockiness that he recognized. He knew he had it, too. It was the element that glued his book together.
There was an antique shop on the corner, and Craig entered. Bells on the door announced his arrival, and an old woman creaked over to the counter.
He pulled out the trinket he found, and placed it on the counter, hoping it had some value. The woman’s hands shook as she picked up the pendant. Her rheumy eyes darted from the pendant to his face. “Where did you find this?”
Continue to Chapter 12.
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Jacob’s Mother is an original publication by Laura Ellis. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law and fair use.