Zeke Zooter - Chapter 2

My dad’s Irish ancestors immigrated to America back in the 1800s. But Grandma Deirdre Sullivan, my mom’s mom, was a first-generation Irish American. She crossed the ocean with her father just before World War II, and even though she was a little girl at the time, she never lost her Irish accent.

She had been living in our house for eight years, ever since Grandpa died.
Most kids I know call their grandparents by their last names, as in “Grandpa Jones” or “Grandma Dixon.” But my grandma never let us call her Grandma Sullivan. “It makes me feel old,” she’d say. “When the young ones say my name, I feel young again, too.”

Grandma Deirdre was 83 years old and frail, but the sparkle in her eye and her constant chattering proved that she was sharper than your average old lady. In fact, she was sharper than your average lady, period. She was a young girl trapped in an old body, except she didn’t mind the wrinkles.

I could talk to Grandma Deidre about anything and I knew she’d listen. She never told me how to think or act, the way most grownups do. So I decided to tell her about this weird wish thing. I was pretty sure she’d believe me. “There’s more truth in stories and legend than in the newspapers,” she often said.

I decided to approach her at night, after she finished telling bedtime stories to my little sister, Janie. Grandma tells amazing stories. I think she knows at least a thousand of them; she never runs out! Now and then she repeats a favorite tale, but she’s always adding more interesting details. Of course, I’m getting too old for bedtime stories, but sometimes I can’t help hearing them. (Can I help it if Janie’s room is right next to mine and my bedroom door doesn’t like to stay shut?)

I sneaked into the hallway and peeked into Janie’s room through the opening between the door and the wall. Grandma was telling Janie one of the classics tonight. I recognized most of it, but as usual, she was adding more interesting details. And when she tells stories, her old Irish brogue comes back in full force.

“Long ago, Janie,” she was saying, “ever so long ago, when the world was new, a race of proud and noble creatures—magical creatures— came to Ireland. They were good and fair folk, and they loved the Emerald Isle at once for its beauty and its many enchantments. They were called the Tuatha de Danaan, after their first mother, Danu.

“But Ireland wasn’t empty when they came. It was ruled by a race of hideous giants called the Fomors. A very powerful but very proud and cruel lot they were. They didn’t love Ireland for its beauty and grace, and they didn’t care for it like they should. You see, Janie, they didn’t understand the true magic of the land. They just knew it was powerful and they abused it to draw their strength.”

“What did they do when the Tua…Tua… when the good people came, Grandma Deidre?” Janie asked.

“Well, there was a tremendous battle, and the Tuatha de Danaan overthrew the Fomors and exiled them to the sea. But that wasn’t the end of the giants, ah no, they lived on. They hid in the deep valleys and caverns of the sea, and they watched and waited, plotting their revenge against the Tuatha.

“Many years passed, and at last the Fomors saw their chance to strike back. You see, the Tuatha de Danaan had a new king, and they’d grown careless. Meanwhile, the Fomors had grown in strength and numbers. They had many fierce and terrible warriors, but their king, Balor the One-Eyed, was the darkest and the deadliest of them all.”

“How come he just had one eye?” Janie asked, her voice quivering.

“A clever question, love,” said Grandma Deidre. “He really did have two eyes, but you see, one of them had been bewitched with a terrible curse. All who looked into his one, terrible eye withered like a grape in the desert sun, only much, much quicker. Ay, it was a great, enlarged eye, swollen with the poison that had fouled it since Balor’s youth. But you see, it was difficult to open, for it had a great, heavy lid. It took two of Balor’s servants just to open it. But once they did, anyone in the sight of his gaze died instantly.

“Finally, the day came when the Fomorian army marched against the Tuatha de Danaan to reclaim Ireland. They came in strength and numbers, and despite the magic of the Tuatha, the Good Folk began to fall before the giants. If not for the bravery of one, all might have been lost. Ay, the Tuatha were saved that day by their champion, Lugh the Long-handed. They called him the sun-god, for he was golden haired and good, and his face shone with the radiance of the rising sun. His arm was mighty and his stroke was fierce, and the Tuatha rallied around him.

“Yet even with Lugh, the Tuatha fell before the power and poison of Balor’s eye, for none could withstand it. At last Lugh and Balor faced each other across a narrow valley, and Lugh raised his spear in challenge. Balor had no desire to face the mighty sun-god in hand-to-hand combat, so he signaled for his servants, who came to his side and began to lift the heavy lid of his poisoned eye. All might have been lost at that moment, but quicker-than-thought, Lugh produced a remarkable weapon called the Tathlum, which he cast at Balor with all his might. Before Balor’s eyelid was half-open, the Tathlum struck it with such force that the eye went through the back of his head and landed on the ground behind him, where it gazed at the Fomorian army and wiped out nearly all of them.

Janie sat solemnly on her bed, staring straight ahead. Grandma Deidre sat calmly rocking in her chair. I could hear the clock down the hall ticking its way toward nine.

“Grandma?” Janie finally asked.

“Yes, dearie?”

“How did the evil giant king get his horrible eye? Was he borned that way?”

“Nay, Balor warn’t born with such an eye as that. It happened like this. When Balor was young, he crept into the dungeons of his father’s evil sorcerers. He wanted to spy upon their work as they concocted poisonous draughts in great cauldrons of stone. Balor was strictly forbidden from entering the dungeons, but he went just the same and spied, as young lads often do (she cleared her throat), and peered over a ledge into a dark chamber where the sorcerers were at work.

“There was deep, wicked magic in the brew the sorcerers were preparing that day. But you see, magic has a life of its own, and it sensed treachery when Balor looked upon it. The poison bubbled, hissed and spit in a sudden rage, and it flew across the room to where Balor was hiding. He tried to duck, but some of the evil concoction lit in his eye, and there it festered and grew more terrible. The eye, you see, is a window to the soul, and Balor had one of the most wicked souls there ever has been. And so the poison’s magic bonded with the evil of Balor’s soul and it festered and cankered in his eye, until it swelled three times the normal size and became an enlarged, grotesque weapon of putrid power! None could stand before his gaze, and many’s the god and mortal that have since fallen before it.”

By this time, Janie had hid her face behind her pillow, but grandma didn’t seem to notice, and she added cheerfully, “Did you know that is where we got the expression, ‘the evil eye’?”

Janie shook her head behind her pillow.

“Ay, ‘tis! So just remember, the next time someone gives you the evil eye, at least it’s not the eye of Balor!” She cackled to herself.

“He shouldn’t have snuck in there and spied!” Janie mourned into her pillow.

“Ay, such is what happens to young lads who spy and don’t state their business openly.” Grandma Deirdre cleared her throat again, loudly.

“Well, I think that’ll do for one night, little Janie.” said grandma, as she stood up. “Sweet dreams then,” she added, stooping to pull the pillow off Janie’s face and give her a kiss.

Janie nodded, trembling -- her own eyes wider than Frisbees.

Grandma wrinkled her eyebrows.

“Oh, for goodness sake, what’s the matter with me? I nearly forgot to sing you to sleep, poor dearie. Right, then,” she said, sitting down in the rocker again, “The song of the Irish Blessing, ‘tis.”

With that, grandma began to sing Janie the lullaby I had fallen asleep to hundreds of times. It was based on an old, familiar Irish blessing. I wish I could write the tune, but as far as I know nobody’s ever invented a way to write a melody with words. You’ll just have to believe me when I say it was beautiful and haunting and peaceful all at the same time:

May the road rise to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face.
And rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the hollow of His hand.

May the Irish hills caress you.
May her lakes and rivers bless you.
May the luck of the Irish enfold you.
May the blessings of Saint Patrick behold you.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the hollow of His hand.

Janie had fallen asleep by the time grandma finished, and even I found myself yawning. Grandma continued to rock in the chair for a moment, then whispered, “Janie’s asleep now, Ezekiel. You can come in then, if you wanted to see me.”

“Aww, Grandma Deirdre, how did you know I was there?” I asked, stepping into the doorway.

“Why, that’s no trick ‘t’all. You breathe louder than a raspy-toothed pooka with a chest cold. Come in then, child.”

Grinning in spite of myself, I walked into the room and sat down on the floor in front of her.

“What’s ailin’ you, lad? It’s a shame you won’t come listen to the stories these days.”

“Aww, I’m getting too old for fairy tales,” I said, pulling absently on the shaggy carpet.

“I don’t tell fairy tales,” she huffed. “Leastways not the kind you Yankees think of when you hear the word ‘fairy.’ You’ve heard the stories since you were smaller than a new potato, Ezekiel. You should know better. Fairy tales, indeed! What I tell is ancient Irish history.”

I grinned. “And legend.”

“History, legend—what’s the difference, lad? Legend is nothing more than history folks don’t mind hearing a second time.”

(It was hard to argue with her when I thought about Janowski’s lectures.)

“But grandma, your stories are full of magic and giants and fairies—so they’re fairy tales.”

“Ezekiel…”

“Grandma Sullivan,” I cut her off, intentionally leaving out ‘Deirdre.’ “I thought we had a deal. I call you Grandma Deirdre and you call me Zeke.”

“So we did,” she sighed. “Zeke, lad, you ought to know the difference between the Little People and what most ignorant folk know as fairies. You Yankees and the English—someone says “fairy” and the first thing that pops into your head is an overgrown dragonfly flitting about in a miniskirt!”

I laughed.

“Real fairies,” she said, “are the descendants of the Tuatha de Danaan and the other ancient Irish magical creatures.”

“But where did they come from?”

“Haven’t you read the Bible, lad?” she asked sternly.

“The Bible? Come on—there’s no fairies in there.”

“The Bible says there was war in heaven, ever so long ago, and many of the angels were cast out. Well, some of those angels weren’t good enough to stay, but they weren’t bad enough to be sent to, ahem, the other place. So they came here. Most of them settled in the place that most reminded them of heaven, and of course, the most magical place on Earth.”

“They settled in Disney World?” I teased.

“Disney…!” she began, but then she saw the twinkle in my eye. “Oh, but you’re a clever one, you always wair!” she laughed. “So. What was’t you wanted to see me for?”
I didn’t know how to begin, so I just plunged in.

“Grandma Deidre, strange things have been happening to me.” I said.

“Indeed? What then?”

I hesitated. There was no way to say without sounding crazy, so I just plunged right in.

“My wishes are coming true.”

She blinked.

That’s it? I thought. A blink? I’d thought I was finally going to catch grandma off guard with that one, but no, she just sat there rocking and looking at me thoughtfully.

Finally she said, “Well, I see you’re serious. Tell me now, what sort o’ wishes are coming true for you?”

“Uh, well, sort of… unexpected ones.”

“Go on.”

“I mean, I didn’t really get it at first because it seemed like weird things were happening kind of unexpectedly and I didn’t make the connection right away and…”

“Zeke.” She stopped rocking and leaned forward. “Tell me what happened.”

“OK.” I took a deep breath. “You know how I came home sick a couple of weeks ago, puking my guts out?”

“Ay, your mother told me.”

“Well, I, uh, wished for that.”

Coming out of my mouth, that sounded like the stupidest sentence I’d ever said. I thought grandma was going to tell me I was still sick, but again she surprised me.

“Seems a mite strange thing to wish for, lad,” she said finally.

“I know but I wanted to miss a test and, well, that’s not all.”

I could really start to feel my face get warm as I described the incident with Melinda Rosengloss at school and her strange reaction. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I caught the faintest trace of smile flirting with the corners of grandma’s mouth as I finished that tale. The next moment, though, the smile was gone.

“And I didn’t remember until later but I’d wished for Melinda to notice me right before that, too,” I concluded.

“You’re sure it wasn’t just your devlish good looks cast a sudden spell on her, now?” she teased.

“Grandma!” I pleaded.

“I’m sorry, Zeke. But I do say you’re as handsome as ever there was a Zooter.”

“Thanks,” I said, unenthusiastically.

“So first you get sick and then the girl of your dreams walks up and tells you your legs are a mite long for your trousers,” she mused. “Now where did you misplace our Irish luck, my boy? No, no—don’t mind me because I believe you, lad. Stranger things have happened in this family, believe me.”

“I do, grandma, because the strangest of them all happened today,” I replied.

I told her about being in class that morning—well, Wednesday morning—and how the next thing I knew it had gone instantly from sunshine to rain and it was Friday. I also told her about my conversation with Dex and how I’d proved to him that Thursday never happened for me. (I left out the part about being caught with my pants down by Barthorn.)

“And look,” I whispered excitedly, rolling up the leg of my pajamas, “here’s where there’s no scar on my knee! Doesn’t that just blow you away?”

Grandma leaned over, pushed her spectacles closer to her eyes, and examined my knee carefully.

“Well, I’ll be a dried-out merrow,” she exclaimed. “It’s as whole as it must have been on Wednesday! Whoever would’ve believed it?”

I caught the laughter in her voice.

“You don’t believe me!” I said, a little too loudly. Janie rolled over in her sleep.

“Ezekiel… pardon me… Zeke.” She looked at me gravely. “You may be a mischievous little jackanapes but you’re my grandson, and a Zooter, and you’re no liar. And what kind of a grandmother would I be if I didn’t trust me’ own grandson? I believe you, sure as I believe in my own immortal soul. You’re a son of the Emerald Isle, and that means you’re as likely to have magic happen to you as praties are likely to have gravy on ‘em.”

“But what should I do?” I pleaded.

She removed her spectacles, folded them, and held them like a pointer.

“Ah, that would be the question now, wouldn’t it? Many’s the lad or lass who dreamed their wishes came true. Trouble is, as you’ve found out, the things we wish upon ourselves aren’t always what’s best for us now, are they?”

“No kidding,” I said. “To tell the truth, I’m kind of scared to wish for anything now.”

“Good lad,” she said. “And so you mustn’t. For now, let’s you and I think on’t a while, then come and see me again when you’re ready. Don’t go wishin’ for anything before then. And Zeke, whatever happens, don’t tell anyone else about this. Can you trust Dexter?”

“I’ve already sworn him to secrecy.”

She nodded. “Now, come and give your grandmother a hug goodnight.”

The next morning after breakfast and my morning chores, I walked over to Dex’s house. He lived a couple of streets back, but there was a gravel alleyway that ran behind my house and connected to the back of his, so it was just a two-minute walk.

Dex thought Grandma Deirdre was the coolest because she always made a big deal about what a “fine tall and strapping lad” I had for a friend. “She’s not like other old ladies who just want to sit in those salon chairs with plastic over their blue hair and gossip,” he would say. I was sure Dex would understand that I’d let Grandma into my confidence. It was almost like we’d formed this secret club or something.

I rattled the gate on the back fence of his house as I went in, which always made Dex’s dog Angel start barking. It was how I let Dex know I was there.

Dex appeared at the back sliding door and opened it.

“What took you so long?” he said, stepping out onto the back porch. “Man, I hardly slept last night. Angel, calm down!”

“I know, me neither,” I said. “C’mon - tell your parents we’re taking Angel for a walk and let’s go somewhere we can talk.”

As soon as we were out of earshot of any houses, I told Dex that I’d talked to Grandma Deirdre about my “problem.”

“Did she believe you?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Wow, she’s such a brick! Why can’t my grandma be like that? All she does is read the horoscopes and talk about how lucky we have it these days. So anyway, what did your grandma say you should do?”

“Nothing,” I answered.

“Nothing?”

“Yep.”

Dex shook his head.

“Let me get this straight. You can have anything you wish for, just like that,” he snapped his fingers, “and you’re just gonna, gonna… not wish for anything?”

“Look,” I said. “It may sound like a dream come true, but so far it’s gotten me humiliated, sick as a dog, a week’s detention and an entire day and a half of my life wiped out.”

“But that’s just because you didn’t know what was going on!” Dex protested. “Besides, Thursday wasn’t that great,” he added.

“Yeah, but if it’s all the same I’d rather not lose any more of my life. It creeped me out. I’m just going to be careful for a while until I figure out what to do next. Maybe I’ll wish for no more wishes to come… mmmpphh…. hey!”

Dex had suddenly clamped his hands over my mouth and tried to shut me up, but I wriggled free.

“Are you nuts?” he exclaimed. “Don’t even say that before we’ve had a chance for some fun. Hey, I know! You should think of something to pay back Janowski for what she did in World History.”

I had to admit that it was a tempting notion. Half a dozen ideas for embarrassing Janowski in front of the class (with no way of tracing it back to me) suddenly flooded my brain. It was like my subconscious mind had been working on the same idea overnight. I began to chuckle as I imagined Janowski’s dentures dropping out of her mouth, coming to life and chasing her around the classroom.

“What’s so funny?” Dex asked.

“Huh? Oh nothing. C’mon let’s go to the arcade.”

Neither grandma or I said much to each other the rest of the weekend. We didn’t avoid each other, but I think we were both too excited. We had this amazing secret and it felt like if we talked too much about it, the whole adventure might fade away and we’d be left with nothing but another soggy springtime. I knew we’d talk again when the time was right, so I didn’t worry about it.

On Monday things were back to normal, except I still had detention with Dex after school. It wasn’t until Tuesday that my adventure shifted into second gear. And wouldn’t you know, it happened in World History class.