Read Not the Same Sky for Free Online

school.
    ‘Yes, yes of course, but one might have to listen more carefully to hear the exact sounds of the words.’
    ‘Do you know everything in English?’
    ‘Can we get back to our letters now.’
    ‘I mean everything you know in Irish, do you also know it in English?’
    ‘The letters and the sounds, let’s get back to those.’
    So Honora listened, gathered the sounds from the wind, hoping to recognise something. But nothing was familiar. But it didn’t matter. Everything did not have to be familiar, she had learned that since leaving Dublin, thirty-six hours ago, or was it longer? That was of little consequence either way, because no matter how she looked at it, she was caught here between time and language. There was nothing to do but wait, and step forward as the line moved closer to yet another door, yet another taking of names. And then there were the colours—not much difference there. The men who were running around the ship shouting all wore grey and black. Her father had worn a red waistcoat. She could have looked at it the way she looked at frost. The men who were taking their names also wore grey and black. Cleaner, but still grey and black.
    Honora had glimpsed a few women who came to the room beside where she and the others were lined up. They appeared to be delivering boxes. They had colours in their clothes, their hats and their collars, but nothing spectacularly different to black and grey. Yet her eyes lingered on them as they walked briskly away. They had brought with them a dash of a different settled place. A place of streets without aimless wanderers, of tables set for tea. A town ticking over day by day. Curiosity fluttered in Honora, perhaps for the first time in weeks, but she had learned that it was best to keep curiosity in check these days. All her energy was needed for the one task of standing, still cold, or edging up the line—the end of which would surely bring better things—being present to follow the next order, or staying awake when required and sleeping when told, if possible. This tending to the present required curiosity be kept in check—unbridled imagination could lead to panic.
    The smells allowed her tolerable enquiry. There was food among them, raw fish, she thought. She had also smelt other food being carried by the shouting men, she was sure of it. Her nose had become sharp to these things. She wasn’t hungry yet. Those in the line had been given porridge this morning and it was still warming her inside. They had eaten silently, every girl concentrating on her own bowl. They had been told there would be a meal here while they got ready for the next boat, a better meal than the last one. Honora believed that. She had to.
    More boxes were brought through, closer to them now. The large crates were dragged and pushed and wheeled noisily by. When the men were close like that she could pick out some of the words.
    The line moved another bit. Anne Sherry spoke again.
    ‘I wonder, will it be like America? We’ve had letters from America.’
    ‘My uncle said it would be more like England.’
    ‘Will that be good or bad for us?’
    No one knew.
    Anne was suddenly irritated by the chatter of the other girls. She wanted to concentrate only on the next hours. She had heard one of them shout three months, she was sure of it, three months, and this had her rattled. She should be more tolerant of the wonderings. Just because they were all together in a line did not guarantee there would be a uniformity of feeling, that they would be thinking the same. They voiced their thoughts to see if they found consolation, any consolation, even if it was wrong. But surely they couldn’t be on the ship for three months. Surely that was wrong.
    ‘We’ll be all right,’ Honora said, as if she believed it, in that moment pretending to be older than she was, pretending she was not afraid. Becoming someone she was not.
    Anne looked at her gratefully. Maybe she’d stay near her on the