Nothing But Blue Sky by Kathleen MacMahon

Author:Kathleen MacMahon [MacMahon, Kathleen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781844884773
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2020-02-04T00:00:00+00:00

11

There’s a diving board mounted to a rocky outcrop at the southern end of the beach in Aiguaclara, and from morning to night the youngsters queue up there for the chance to jump off the board into the sea. The diving board has been there ever since the first time Mary Rose and I went to Aiguaclara – and probably for many years before that – but when I went back this summer, I was shocked to see it had been cordoned off.

I was sitting on the terrace of the Hotel Aiguaclara, savouring the miraculously unchanged taste of the café con leche, when I noticed that a cat’s cradle of police tape had been used to isolate the diving board and prevent access to it. My heart sank as I contemplated the possibility that it was to be removed. All across Ireland diving boards had been removed from the old swimming places because the local authorities didn’t want to be held responsible for any accidents that might arise. It seemed to me this was most likely the reason the diving board in Aiguaclara had been cordoned off, and I was disproportionately upset at the thought of it. I took it as another step towards the obliteration of all that was good and decent in the world, and it occurred to me all of a sudden that I should not let it go without a fight, so as soon as I had finished my coffee I went over to investigate.

There were two men in worker’s overalls and high-vis jackets on the rock by the time I got there. One of them had a large bag of tools with him.

‘Hola,’ I said to them, raising one hand in greeting.

‘Hola,’ they said, without questioning my presence. The one with the tool bag laid it on the ground and bent down to unzip it. The other one took a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and went to light one.

‘Es finito?’ I asked them, jabbing my finger at the diving board.

They both stopped what they were doing to stare at me.

‘Le plongeoir,’ I said, happening upon the word for it in French, if not in Spanish. ‘Es finito?’

I was clearly not making myself understood. Frustrated by my inability to find the words I needed, I resorted to sign language, drawing my finger across my throat to indicate the demise of the diving board.

‘Tranquilo, hombre,’ said one of the men, clearly alarmed by the violence of the gesture.

It began to dawn on me that, even if I did succeed in securing confirmation that the diving board was to be removed, I would not have the power to express how I felt about it, and what I believed it signified for humanity. Exasperated by my own abject inability to communicate, I waved myself out of the conversation, retreating back over the rock and on to the steps, where I sat and watched the men work. It soon became clear to me that they were

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