Inventory by Darran Anderson

Author:Darran Anderson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux

Storm Lantern

It is the night of April 15, 1941. Easter Tuesday. Everyone with any choice is sleeping. A cold wind is scything along the river, off Magilligan. A full moon is broken by racing clouds. Two stooped figures on board a boat. Darker silhouettes against a dark background.

“You hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Cut off the engine … and the light. Now.”

The engine wound down with a splutter. Anthony turned the switch slowly on the hurricane lamp, steadying it with his other hand. The only light was the spliced moon on the water. The waves sounded suddenly more pronounced.

“There…” His father, Dennis, pointed his finger upward. “There it is.”

Anthony paused, weighing the air.

“An airplane. The Yanks, no doubt.”

“That’s a Jerry. Listen. You hear that engine? It’s different.”

Anthony stared at his father as the boat rocked.

“The Yanks and the Brits have a constant drone. You hear that? It’s whirring.”

His father had been in the British Army for many years. He knew.

“Christ, you’re right. Where is it?”

They followed the sound echoing around the dome of the night sky. Due north, by any reckoning. It was following the coastline or the river, which meant there was one place it was bound.

“You see anything?”

“Not yet.”

The clouds seemed to accelerate.

“Maybe it’s nothing. Could just be passing. We’re too far away for—”

And then suddenly the whirring became noticeably louder. They moved to the stern of the boat, bracing themselves at the gunwale, without taking their eyes from the skies.

“It’s getting close. We should be able to see it. We should see its lights.”

“There.” Dennis pointed upward.

There were no lights, but it was there. A veil slowly consuming the moonlit clouds. It seemed to be descending and growing like black space, like a void even in the night. Before they knew it, the shape was roaring toward them, so low that they could look up, holding on to their hats as gusts rippled on the waves, and see the outlined crosses, the Balkenkreuz, on its wings. It bellowed past them and disappeared into a bank of clouds.

Anthony thought for a moment he had seen faces at the windscreen. Perhaps they had seen their faces. He would later wonder if he’d imagined it.

“It’s heading towards the city.”

“It’s trying to.”

They sat in the dark and waited. They may have blessed themselves, Anthony mimicking his father. And the seconds stretched.

The light reached them before the sound.

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