The Curran Sea

Singing Her Line

As it turned out, the gauntlet was enough to appease the old man, at least for that day. Halcyon saw the glint of metal, and it was good.
   :Now, Ibrahim Curran, you will sing the line of Mona Curran, as agreed.:
   He sat on the medical bed, emotionally drained. In the time it had taken for the old man to swim to the lab, they had had to give little Emmett more medicines and restoratives. Not so many as the day before, but enough to wear his father down.
   Saoirse was a boon, though she'd no head for science. What she did do was feed him spoonfuls of nutrient broth, while he worked.
   "You neglect yourself, Ibra. If you... we... I must learn to care for you," she'd said. "And you will eat proper food, after he is stable."
   Out of old habit, he said "yes, dear." It was... pleasant, to see her blush. Odd, that he had only said those two words to other men... some of whom were also him...
   "For clarification," he said, downing a shake she'd brought from the chute, "Do I list my own children, and do adopted children count?"
   A rumble lightly shook the lab. :Your line can wait for the morrow. Begin with the blood kin of my daughter Mona.: 
   "Okay, so leave out Mordred's twins, then."
   He spoke mostly to himself, but Nora jerked upright, and the noise that left his grandfather was... disquieting.
   "What? Twins? We've got lots of those in--"
   "Mordred is my youngest aunt."
   "Oh." He rebounded more quickly than the mer. "They must have been close. She named her second daughter after her."
   Nora's eyes misted over, but she motioned for him to continue.
   "Well, there's Marcus, as I said--"
   "He did not ask you to speak her line." Nora was quiet, yet firm.
   His jaw worked for a few moments. "I have not sung, since... I am sorry, but... When she... left us... It is too painful. She used to..." A sob interrupted his words. "She sang me to sleep, sir. I cannot." Quietly, he told the mer that he had rarely sung his own children to sleep.
   "Judah sings beautifully, but... he once said that she is 'a nice lady with no sense memory attached.' There is no grief to sully his voice."
   Saoirse put one elegant hand on his bicep, where he sat. "That was over twenty years ago. Surely, the pain has run its course."
   Tears dripped onto her hand. "Never."
   Of everything that had ever passed between them, that was what began to win his grandfather over.
   :Then say them, youngest grandson, and say them well.:
   He nodded, swallowed a few times.
   "Marcus Curran, eldest child of Mona Curren, passed away at ninety three years old. He left us with five children, eight grandchildren, and twenty great-grandchildren." When asked, he named every last descendant, but Hal's records had to help him out. There were simply too many. The mer were impressed, and this was only the first of her children!
   "Regina Curran... left us... at seventy one years old. She bore three children, who gave her five grandchildren, and fourteen great-grandchildren." Again, Hal had to help him name them all.
   "Alladar yet lives, at ninety years old. He... never found anyone he wanted to settle down with." His lips twisted. "I think the rest of us made up for it."
   The mer tittered, giving their Elder side eye, to see if he took offense.
   He did not.
   "Shoda left this world at eighty five, with two children, eight grandchildren, and fifteen great-grandchildren." Hal listed them, as it did the others. Many he'd never met, had no mental image of, which would have made him sad, if there had not been so very many Curran descendants.
   "Ryana had but one child in her seventy years, but her daughter bore her a grandson, who has given her two great-grandchildren." Those, he named from memory. The youngest of her line were the same age as Alfie and the twins.
   "Jeremiah..." His voice broke. "Was taken from us at fifty six." Softer, he said "I was only sixteen when he died. He didn't have any... kids..."
   The mer let him process grief that had not risen to the fore in some years. Perhaps it was their proximity, or the hormones from chestfeeding, but he felt the deaths more poignantly.
   He sniffled. "Robena is seventy four. Still building boats, last I heard."
   :Boats?: the old man asked.
   Ibrahim smiled sadly. "Family business. She never set foot on a single one, but she made sure we built them strong. Said if she so much as touched the wood, she would swim away forever."
   The mer almost visibly rippled with reaction.
   :Continue.: The old voice sounded older.
   "She's got five healthy children, and eleven grandchildren." Again, he needed help naming them all.
   "Adalia is seventy two. She bore two children. Only one has a child." Those names hadn't changed in many years, so he didn't need help. He didn't mention her divorce, or her children's half siblings.
   "Gerard passed at fifty seven. He never married, but he did have a daughter, who's got a daughter now." He only needed Hal to supply Meara's name. He knew Shondra's.
   "That just leaves Ben. Benjamin Curran. He's sixty seven, probably still mining, no matter what I said, with five children, and eight grandchildren." He needed help with seven of the grandchildren, as they'd been born in the last fifteen years.
   Suddenly, he missed the lot of them. His whole, huge family.
   But he was supposed to be dead. Would die again, far too soon for his liking.
   :It is well,: Halcyon rumbled. It seemed the very ocean itself felt his proclamation. :Perhaps we may not need as much from you as we thought.:
   "I beg your pardon?" He very nearly matched his grandfather, depth for depth.