THE TWO BEST DAYS OF YOUR LIFE.
STORY
Reilly’s uncle Stiofáin had a great saying:
“The two best days in your life are the day you buy a boat and the day you sell it.”
Reilly rocked up to Il Fortino beach in Sperlonga on Monday morning just as Wifey was delivering the holiday ultimatum.
“Now, Reilly, it’s going to be like this for the next four days. No Smácht sessions. No scrolling through emails. No jumping on Zoom calls to sort out issues. No devices. No complaints. No writing blogs. Lie down on that sunbed and relax like every other normal person on the beach.”
The problem was that Reilly isn’t normal.
To Reilly’s ADHD brain ten minutes on a sunbed is tantamount to imprisonment.
He lasted all of ten minutes before he began experiencing one of his entrepreneurial seizures.
Off he went down the beach in search of action.
On almost every beach in the world you’ll find someone practising one of the oldest professions in the world: selling.
Some people pejoratively call these beach traders “Lucky Luckys.”
Not Reilly.
Reilly sees them as kindred spirits: actors, competitors, influencers and performers. As he often reminds his friends in Smácht – nothing happens anywhere in the world until a sale is made. He loves nothing more than a good haggle with a Lucky Lucky.
He approached a cart laden with plastic swimming rings, inflatable dolphins and a myriad of other beach toys. Perched on top of the pile was what appeared to be a small inflatable boat.
Reilly dramatically pulled it down, threw it onto the sand and asked in his loudest voice:
“How much?”
Now, by way of context, Reilly hadn’t a word of Italian and Lucky Lucky hadn’t a word of English.
It didn’t matter a damn. The language of business is universal.
Lucky Lucky scribbled 50 in the sand.
Reilly crossed it out and countered with 10. A small crowd of kids and their parents convened to watch the game. The boyos had an audience.
The drama continued for a full five minutes before they eventually agreed upon the figure of €25.
Reilly was ecstatic.
He was now a proud boat owner on the Mediterranean.
The new boat was every bit of 1.3 metres from bow to stern and a good metre across the transom. She had two solid plastic tubes on either side and was adorned with a length of cord around the gunwale.
Like a new puppy, the first thing you do with a new boat is give it a name.
After a few moments of solemn reflection, Reilly ceremoniously christened her Báidín Sperlonga and launched her without further ado.
They made a good team.
Báidín was frisky and frolicsome on the water, while Reilly was wily and wise in the ways of the waves. Together, they had the finest of times on the water.
Reilly couldn’t wait to show her off to Wifey.
“I’ll tell you one thing now about Báidín,” Wifey declared authoritatively. “You can do what you like with Báidín Bídeach while you’re here, but she’s not coming home on the plane. I don’t intend paying Michael O’Leary one euro more for baggage than I have to.”
The following day, Reilly and Báidín ventured beyond the perimeter buoys protecting the swimmers.
Báidín mightn’t have had an engine, a sail, a rudder or even a compass, but out there on the deep blue Mediterranean, she and Reilly were doing exactly what all the big boats were doing.
Floating on water.
It was magical.
On the third morning, they ventured out once again, this time veering towards the headland that houses the Grotto of Tiberius.
The grotto is a magnificent natural sea cave transformed by the Roman Emperor Tiberius in the first century AD into an opulent seaside dining room and luxury nymphaeum.
The cave glistened wet and moist in the early morning sun.
There were archaeological renovations being conducted at the site and any amount of signs prohibiting entry.
Reilly knew they probably shouldn’t enter and put the matter to Báidín.
“As you said yourself, Reilly,” she replied, “I have no baggage. I can bring you places no one else can.”
As they sat contemplating, that tide in the affairs of man that the Bard spoke carried them naturally inside.
It’s what keeps the world going, really.
On the morning of their departure, Wifey insisted that Reilly take the boat down to the beach and see if he could get anything for her.
At that early hour, there was nobody around. No lifeguards. No rescue boats. Hardly another soul on the water.
They decided to have one final fling together.
The morning was blustery, with a strong offshore breeze, and Reilly was quickly induced into a deep, hypnotic trance by the rhythm of the waves.
Otherwise, he might never have heard the screams.
He looked back towards the beach and saw a young girl astride a plastic paddleboard. The wind had caught her and was carrying her rapidly out to sea. She was desperately trying, and failing, to make her way back.
Reilly and Báidín reached her in jig time.
The poor girl was almost catatonic with panic. Reilly knew that if they had any chance of rescuing her, he first had to win her trust.
Whatever about adults, dogs and children have always trusted Reilly.
“Luveen,” he said as he untied the cord from around Báidín’s tubes, “I’m going to attach this rope to your board. It will take us a little time, but we will get you safely back to the beach. All you have to do is stay calm and remain in the centre of the board.”
And she did.
Yard by yard, Reilly pulled while Báidín kept him afloat.
Slowly, painstakingly, they made their way towards the shore, where a small crowd had gathered and were now squawking like seagulls.
Eventually, they reached shallow water and were escorted ashore, surrounded by the girl’s frantic family.
As they arrived on the beach, the crowd parted.
An elderly man with enormous presence stepped forward. The little girl ran into his arms, crying:
“Papa!”
After holding her for several moments, he addressed Reilly sternly in Italian. One of his sons translated.
“Don Papa is deeply grateful that you saved his granddaughter’s life. In return, he would like to buy your boat. He believes she carries great providence. He wants to know how much you would accept for her.”
Reilly wrote the number 25 in the sand and explained that this was what he had paid for Báidín on Monday.
Then he thought of the three wonderful days they had spent together.
He crossed out the 25 and wrote 5.
The patriarch issued a sharp command and one of his sons was dispatched to fetch the money.
Reilly rested his hand gently on Báidín’s firm tube and explained that the time had come for them to part.
He told her that while the ending of a first love is always painful, it’s first love that opens the heart and prepares it to love even more deeply in the future.
There wasn’t a dry eye on the beach.
It was only later, in the car, that Reilly opened the envelope the patriarch’s son had handed him.
He couldn’t believe his eyes.
Inside was €500.
“What did you get for Báidín Bocht? Wifey asked with a snigger..
“5,” said Reilly.
QUOTE.
’Boats are safe enough in harbour, but that’s not what boats are built for.’ John A Shedd
POSTSCRIPT
The true value of anything lies not in what it costs, but in what it makes possible.
Not for the first time, Reilly reflected on the wisdom of uncle Stiofáin. The two best days in your life are the day you buy a boat and the day you sell it.
As Reilly is still in Italy there will be no Smácht this week.
