Learning to Swim by Annie Cosby Page A

old woman seemed nervous and fidgety today, at least more so than usual. “He’s getting so old. So much older than a boy of his age should be.”
    I didn’t even try to unravel that logic.
    “He’ll be starting on the house now,” she went on. “There’s so much my husband left sitting around. One can’t find a thing in all of it.”
    I nodded absently, silently grateful I’d still see Rory, however distantly.
    “He was a messy man, my Seamus. But I wouldn’t have had him any other way.”
    “Are you cleaning the house up for something, Mrs. O’Leary?” I asked. I had been wondering where this project was leading, what would become of the old woman when her handyman went off to Europe as he was scheduled to do in the fall. She mentioned his leaving sometimes, but only in passing.
    Whatever her motive, Mrs. O’Leary wasn’t letting me in on it. “Things belong in a place,” she said cryptically. “You have to let things go to their places.”
    I nodded as if I had any inkling of her meaning.
    “Yes, I do think everything has a place,” she went on. “Yourself included.”
    Huh? This had to be one of those life-direction lectures that had permeated my life all of the last year of high school via teachers and my parents and Rosie’s parents. But for some reason, the looming lecture coming from this frail old woman didn’t sound threatening or even boring. In any event, my intuition was completely wrong. Because next she said, “Have you heard of selkies, dear?”
    The word was buried somewhere in the recesses of my memory where old stories and childhood books lay.
    “I’m not sure,” I said.
    “Have you seen the seals around here?”
    I nodded slowly, remembering that night at the pier. When Princess and I had come face-to-face with a seal.
    “Well, selkies. They are—they are creatures of land and sea. It’s a rare thing, much like the human being. Proficient in water and out.” She spoke rather hurriedly—at least quicker than her normal speech. And her eyes tripped back and forth along the horizon much faster than usual. It was as if she was trying to get the words out before being interrupted. I didn’t know what was so special about this story above the others, which always stumbled from her thin lips in slow tangled masses.
    “But selkies are slightly different. While humans start on land and learn to navigate water, selkies are born to the water and learn to navigate land. They’re creatures that can turn from their seal form to human form at will.”
    “Is this your … your favorite story?” I asked carefully. I had long been convinced that the old woman believed each of the stories she told. Of course I did not believe in them, but I also didn’t want her to know that.
    Mrs. O’Leary stopped her rocking chair, and I noticed a glimmer in her eyes. Was it the sparkle of excitement—or the trace of a tear? I couldn’t be sure. But she appeared troubled by my question and I felt guilty. I gently prodded her to continue. “So, selkies. They’re sea lions?”
    She shook her head and recommenced the rocking. “Seals,” she corrected.
    I nodded. I’d previously thought the two were interchangeable.
    “They can shed their sealskins in order to take to the land and live with their human … their human lovers. But only at spring tide. They can only change at spring tide. Beautiful creatures, the selkie women.” She touched a crumpled hand to her papery face, and I couldn’t help imagining that Mrs. O’Leary would have been a beautiful young woman. Her skin was dark, hinting at a beautiful complexion. And the hair that slipped in wisps out from under her silk scarf was unnaturally dark, even at her age, which I couldn’t imagine was any less than seventy-five or eighty.
    “The man who captures a selkie, he becomes her husband. But they’re usually only in contact for a short time. It is unusual for a selkie to be among humans for a long time. Highly unusual. It is a great