The Fire-Eaters by David Almond Read Free Book Online

your money out and pay.”
    He swallowed the flames and put the torches out. He pushed his stick and sack at the crowd. Many dropped coins in, many backed away. Many sniggered and twisted their faces and shook their heads.
    “What's next?” he called. “The chains or the needles? More fire? Are we ready for more fire?”
    He saw me, perched there over Dad's shoulder. He narrowed his eyes, pondered, as if trying to remember me. He pushed his way toward us, demanding and gatheringcoins. He shoved the sack at us. Dad dropped a coin in. I slithered down from Dad's shoulder.
    “Hello, bonny,” said McNulty.
    “Hello,” I softly said. “There was an angel at your side,” he said. “I remember. All done up in red.”
    “Me mam. She's at home.”
    “That's good. Me mam wrapped up safe and warm at home,” he said. He looked at Dad, looked away. He hugged himself. “These is days of bitter cold. You noticed that, my bonny?”
    “Aye.”
    “You hear the whispers on the water?” he said. “You hear the thunder in the skies?”
    I shook my head.
    “Then it's mebbes nowt. Just McNulty and his great bamboozlement.”
    He leaned close to my ear. He cupped his hand about my shoulder. Dad held me too, and others gathered close, trying to listen to this meeting between the fireeater and the boy, but it was as if there were just the two of us lost together there on the quay.
    “Oh, bonny,” he whispered. “Just watch and listen and hear the slapping of the water and the tolling of the bell.”
    “It's just the river and the mist and a warning bell.”
    “Hear the thundering deep inside the clouds.”
    “It's just an airplane, Mr. McNulty.”
    He caught his breath, closed his eyes, tilted his head, peeped out again. He leaned close, as if I could listen to the noises in his head.
    “Hear the yelling and rampaging deep inside my skull.”
    “I hear nothing, Mr. McNulty.”
    “Is that true? There's nowt outside? Just peace and quiet? Mebbe it's so. Mebbe McNulty's just too much alone, my bonny boy, and he needs a lad like you to be beside him. Come and help us, bonny. Come and open that box for us again.”
    “McNulty,” said Dad.
    McNulty's eyes swiveled toward him.
    “Do you remember me?” said Dad.
    No answer.
    “We were in Burma, McNulty,” he said. “We came back on the boat together.”
    “I remember nowt,” said McNulty. “I remember that days is light and nights is dark and that the year turns round us like a wheel.” He jabbed his sack at Dad's chest. “Money out and pay.”
    Dad dropped a coin into the sack.
    “We were in Burma,” he said. “We were in the war, McNulty. When we went out, we were hardly more than lads. When we came back—”
    “I remember nowt. There was days of fiery heat and now there's days of icy cold. I was young and now I'mold. I remember this boy was a help to me and there was an angel at his side and I hear the booming and the thundering in the skies. Help us again, bonny?”
    “I helped you,” said Dad. “Remember? You were on the stairs. They'd beaten you.”
    “Look at this one,” said McNulty.
    He ran his hand across the picture of a woman tattooed on his upper arm.
    THERESA was written under it. TRUE FOREVER.
    “Who's this?” he hissed. “I look at her and look at her and get no answer.” He rubbed the ink as if trying to rub it away. “Who's this? How did this get on us?” He touched the other tattoos. “And this one, and this one. Where did these come from?”
    He reached to me again. He cupped my face in his fingers. His body stank of kerosene and fire.
    “I'm like a little bairn. I remember nowt. I know that you were here with us before, and there was an angel all in red, but past that there's just darkness and silence and a great nowtness, going on forever.” He sniffed. “I smell fish and salt on you, bonny.”
    “The sea. We live beside it. Keely Bay.”
    “Lucky boy. Don't get on them boats, though.”
    “And you,” said Dad. “Where do