Deaths Excellent Vacation

there. You’ll understand then.”
    She got up and went to the kitchen for more gravy, but Patrick was sure he heard her mutter, “I hope.”
     
     
    ON May twenty-fifth, the day of the flight, the O’Reillys met in the boarding area at the airport. Patrick had never seen his entire family all in one place outside someone’s home or in church. It mortified him to realize what a loud, uncouth bunch they were. The children were running around, squealing with excitement, and Cousin Jerry was egging them on. The others were all hugging and greeting as if they hadn’t all been seeing one another every day for most of their lives. His cousin Liz had dyed her black hair a neon green in honor of the occasion. Pat tried to edge away from them, to pretend he was just another businessman for whom a trip across the Atlantic was nothing special.
    Of course they wouldn’t let him, but dragged him into the mob with jokes and claps on the back, all at eardrum-shattering decibels. Patrick felt the tips of his ears turning bright red. He vowed that as soon as they landed at Shannon, he was going to distance himself from these boorish tourists as soon as possible. They were going to Ireland to drink and party. He was on a sacred quest to find his heritage.
    The flight was predictably rowdy. Pat couldn’t understand why the other passengers and the flight attendants were so tolerant. They even seemed to enjoy the impromptu rendition of “Galway Bay” from his father, Jerry, and the uncles.
    In the gray light of morning the plane slid down through the cloud cover and the O’Reillys got their first glimpse of what for them was the Promised Land.
    There was a whoosh as everyone let out their breath at once. Pat’s father put an arm around his mother.
    “Look at it, my love,” he sighed. “Did you ever think there were that many shades of green in the world?”
    Eileen smiled and caressed his hand. “I never thought I’d see them. Whatever happens, this is worth it.”
    “Nothing will happen.” He cocked his head in Pat’s direction. “This will be the grandest vacation we’ve ever had. Won’t it, son?”
    Pat didn’t answer. He was staring out the window with the fervor of a pilgrim in sight of Jerusalem.
     
     
    THERE was a bus waiting for them with O’Reilly painted in big black letters on the side. The clan piled in, exhausted and eager at the same time. Pat realized that he had no idea what kind of place they were going to. He had imagined some sort of manor house, with polished wood wainscoting and stone fireplaces. Or perhaps a nice resort hotel with a golf course.
    Instead the bus drove for what seemed like hours into a countryside where there seemed to be nothing but windswept fields and hundreds of sheep wandering freely. Finally, they pulled in to a sort of trailer park, with old-fashioned silver caravans arranged in concentric circles around a couple of large, whitewashed buildings with thatched roofs. There was smoke coming from the chimney of one of them, and Pat got his first whiff of the heady and slightly intoxicating scent of burning peat.
    Then they were surrounded by a sea of people, all of them small, with dark hair and skin ranging from deeply tanned to the shade of pale milk. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Pat thought. There really are more of us in the world. The babble of accents was surprising, especially coming from such familiar faces. The English assaulting his ears was broad Australian, British, and Anglo-Indian. He even thought he heard cadences of Spanish and French. How far had the O’Reillys emigrated?
    Pat and his family were shown to one of the caravans, which turned out to be nicely appointed in a three-quarter size that was perfect for them, with a small kitchen and a shower in its own stall next to the bathroom. Eileen was delighted.
    “My grandmother told me about these, from when she was a little girl,” she told Pat. “Isn’t it cozy? Just like the ones the Travelers have, although not so colorful.”
    She seemed disappointed about that, but, for once, Pat was too tired to try to get more information. He wanted a shower and a sleep. Then, he promised himself, he’d rent a car or a bike and strike out on his own.
    It was the singing that woke him. Dusk had fallen and the bar must have opened. Pat now saw the sense in having this reunion far away from other people. He pulled on some clean clothes and ventured out.
    A huge bonfire had been built in a hollow in front of one of