Amigos

Submitted by: Niamh Donnellan (Bio at end)

Gerry strolled across the dusty building site, the Sun under his arm.  He boiled the kettle to fill his flask and pocketed a few chocolate digestives for later.  It was a bright morning, and some heat for March.  He was sweating even before he began the long climb up the ladder to his cabin.  Gerry had been a crane operator for a long time, too long.  An early retirement to Spain with Maureen ended soon after it began when their new home was destroyed in a wildfire.  Back in Ireland now, Gerry had resigned himself to five more years of work.  At least there was plenty to be got.  Cranes filled the skyline as new buildings rose across the city.

He sat in his chair and admired the view across Dublin Bay to the mountains.  All of a sudden his peace was interrupted by a huge white bird landing on the jib in front of him.  It folded its large black tipped wings, shuffled its gangly red legs and fixed a beady eye on Gerry.  Gerry stared back.  This lad was too big to be a heron, a crane maybe?  Then it came to him. A stork!  Well now.  He had seen them in Andalucia, nesting atop the belfry of their local church. He remembered Maureen pointing them out and fretting over one in particular with only one leg.  She bought worms down at the harbour and left them wriggling in a bowl on the plaza in front of the church.  She was overjoyed when the injured bird came down to feast.

‘You’re a long way from Spain buddy.’ The stork rested for a while, surveying the city.  It seemed to agree with Gerry that the view was worth some slow contemplation.  There was a steady stream of lorries to be unloaded so Gerry got back to work.  So, it seemed, did his friend.  It flew away in a slow and graceful glide across the water to Bull Island.  He was disappointed to see it go.  He had enjoyed the silent company.

Gerry smiled when the stork returned a short while later carrying a stick in its long red beak.  It flew away and came back, over and over, until Gerry had lost count and a nest had begun to take shape.  It positioned each stick with a shake of its head, observing it from all angles and constantly readjusting.  Gerry admired its craftsmanship.  It was the same care he had put into his little casa in Spain.  At six, the stork was still hard at work. Gerry nodded to his new friend as he disappeared down the ladder. ‘Adios amigo.’  The stork nodded back.

Next day, Gerry made the long climb once more and was rewarded with the sight of his new friend hard at work already.  ‘Good man yourself.’  Gerry settled into his routine too.  The walkie-talkie crackled constantly, his link to the miniature world below.  There wasn’t much conversation, just brusque orders and directions.  He missed the lads from his old job.  They had great banter, a flow of jokes and stories coming through across the airwaves all day.  He had almost been sorry to leave.  Well he was now.  One year later, back in Dublin, tail between his legs.  The old job wasn’t there anymore and he had to take this one with a different company.  To be fair, and Gerry was a fair man, it wasn’t all their fault.  He hadn’t the heart to make new friends.  Head down and get these five years over with.  Then the dream could begin anew and off he and Maureen would fly to Andalucia again.

At elevenses time Gerry poured himself a cup of tea, stirring in plenty of milk and three sugars.  He relaxed back into his chair feeling the warmth of the sun on his face. The nest was really starting to look good.  His friend looked pleased with itself and was preening its feathers contentedly.  Suddenly its head darted upwards and Gerry followed its gaze.  Silhouetted against the sun, another bird circled overhead. His friend began to clap its beak open and shut making a noise like a distant machine gun.  The other bird grew closer and landed awkwardly on the crane.  It was another stork. Gerry smiled.  ‘A lady friend. I should’ve known you weren’t going to all that bother for nothing, amigo.’  The birds nodded their heads in greeting.  The new arrival inspected the nest carefully and as she did so, Gerry noticed something that made him catch his breath.  Neither bird was graceful, but she was particularly awkward and now he saw why.  She only had one leg.  Gerry sat back and started working out the best way to get Maureen up to his cabin the next day to meet their old amigos.


By Niamh Donnellan

Niamh Donnellan is a writer from Co. Meath.  She was selected for the XBorders 2019 and 2020 projects with the Irish Writers Centre. She won the Anthology Short Story Competition 2020 and was longlisted for the Fish Short Fiction Prize 2019.
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