At Swim, Two Boys Part 11

"Not at all. By the time he had me hauled out a crowd had gathered. They had a collection made, bravery and so on. I tell you, from that day out it was dangerous walking near water with the man. If the thirst was on him and he hadn't the entrance to a house, you was liable any minute to fetch up in the splash."

"But your da wouldn't do that to you."

Doyler shrugged. "That's not the best. I listened to meself and meself was after saying, if it's this world you likes over the next, me bucko, had better learn swimming proper like. So I jumps in on me own one time without himself to rescue me. And I'll tell you what, I did learn. Learnt mighty quick, I don't mind me saying. So the next occasion he took me walking I was wary of his temper and I was waiting on him to make his move. I ducked out the way and what happened but he fell in himself."

"What did you do?"

"I jumped in after, of course. But wait till I tell you. A fellow rescuing a boy is one thing. But a child of ten delivering his old man? The collection rate was doubled. He had us touring Leinster with that one, so he did."

He seemed genuinely delighted with his story. His teeth were grinning whitely, showing the chip off the edge of the middle one, his dark face chuckled up and down. Then he tossed the last pebble in the sea and said, "Do you smell a cigarette? I smell a cigarette smoke."

He was up again and sniffing the air. Whatever he was looking for, it wasn't there, and presently he flumped back on the steps.

"That priest is out of the League," he said. "Wears the badge and all."

"Which league is that?"

"Gaelic League, you gaum. Mind, there's something afoot if the priests is turning patriot. Them was never known cheer a horse but it was at the winning-post. Do they not have nothing Irish at Pres? No music, no Gaelic-they'll have you turned a right old Bertie."

"There was a matriculation cla.s.s all right, but the brother who took it went down of a decline."

"Decline aye?" He coughed twice, politely, in sympathy.

"Is it the consumption your da has?"

"A bit all right. That and a cough won't shift. Eitinn they calls it in Irish. Bet you wouldn't know that in Latin."

Jim stared to sea. "No I wouldn't."

"Curious, isn't it, with college boys how they learn them Latin but they wouldn't care tuppence for their own native tongue."

Me care tuppence he means.

"Why," he asked, "why would I want," he demanded, "what would I want going to Pres for anyway?"

There was no answering that. Jim shrugged thinly his shoulders. "Was it the Gaelic League you got your Irish?"

"Gaelic League, me a.r.s.e. I got it off my mother's people. Can see me now, Doyler in his duds, in the Garlic Tweed. I tell you, it's a conspiracy against the working man. If you're at hurling and you curse in English they send you off the field. But they won't teach you to curse in Irish. They think our native tongue is good for nothing but praying in. That's why the priests is for it. They think there's no words in it for, I don't know, anything the priests is against. They'd have us blessing ourself in Gaelic the day long. And what worth is a blessing to a working man? For an ignorant heathen whoring b.a.s.t.a.r.d working Irish man?"

The air was blue with his swearing and a tinge of it shivered the skin. He got up, muttering something, and was off away again. Jim watched him climb an outcrop where he balanced on top, skimming stones in the waves. A question repeated in his mind. What is the Latin for consumption? Pulmonia, tuberculosis, phthisis even. It felt wrong to be watching Doyler the way he did. The Muglins was blinking, and within a wink it was himself he watched, a fretful boy who crouched with his arms about his knees. But it wouldn't do. At home they'd wonder about the mud on his boots. There'd be a wigging for the hour too. When Doyler came down, he stood up and said, "Well, was he here?"

"Was who here?"

"You been agitated looking about you since we came."

"I have?" He let a horse-laugh. "I met a toff the other week and he said he does often come this way of an evening."

"Well?"

"I don't know. Didn't fancy to b.u.mp into him tonight is all. Are we fixed for Sunday, so?"

"To swim?"

"Sure why not?"

"I go with Brother Polycarp to the Men's Ma.s.s."

"After Ma.s.s then."

"We do a retreat on Sundays."

"Has you praying with him day and night, that fellow. Mighty devoted, the pair of yous."

"He says I have a vocation."

Doyler puffed a cheek and the air hissily issued. "And do you?"

"He says my mother would want me to be a brother."

"Why would she want that?"

Because a brother took vows, and if he kept those vows his mother need never feel shame before the angels. "Wouldn't any mother?" he said.

On the steps to the path above, Doyler ran his fingers in a lackadaisical way through the posters that lined the battery wall. Strips that came off ruffled to the sea, whence the breeze from Wales laconically returned them. At Ballygihen Avenue, an arm lumped round Jim's shoulder. "I'm sorry about me cursing back there."

"That's all right."

"I wouldn't want upsetting you. You're a college boy and they don't be used to that manner of talking."

Jim felt most indignant. He combed his stock of expressions while Doyler hummed through a rambling air. "Don't be a d.a.m.ned fool," he muttered and the hum beside him warbled with humor.

"When does it end, this devotion of yours?"

"End of the month."

"What happens then?"

"The Monday is the Queenship of Mary. I'll know then if I'm to be a brother."

"Do you know what my mother always wanted for me?"

"What's that?"

"She always hoped I'd make a dungman's monkey." The arm gave a squeeze of his neck. "And look at me now. Haven't I made her wish?"

Old hunchback on her tramp through Glasthule. Widow's stoop to give the correct designation. Could set your clock by her, eight on the blow, there or thereabouts. Every night the road to Dalkey, never known to pa.s.s the other way back. How she gets to Dublin again we don't know. Still, she was a harmless soul. Mr. Mack tipped his hat as she pa.s.sed and said, "h.e.l.lo, Mary Days. How's this the days are doing?"

The determined old head didn't lift an oat as onward she trudged.

Odd that now. By rights she'd give out how the days is doing. Half the year they're drawing in, come mid-winter then they're drawing out again. Hold on now. Have I got the right handle at all? Is it Mary Days or Mary Nights is her name?

He called out, "Mary Nights, Mary Nights, how's this the nights nights is doing?" But she had already pa.s.sed up the road. is doing?" But she had already pa.s.sed up the road.

Mr. Mack stared after. Made a donkey of that, he told himself. He looked round to see had anyone been watching. "Good evening, Constable."

The constable beetled from under his helmet, swivelled on his heels to beat the opposite way.

Mr. Mack turned into a lane of cottages. Dark-green moss growing up the walls, yellow-green slime coming down. Smell of-what would you call that smell? Crowd of nippers at mud pies by the pump. Curious how quiet they play. If a poor man's riches is his children, these folk is mighty flush. He began knocking at the half-doors. "Tell your ma it's Mr. Mack for the fortnightly."

Who has fewer childer feeds them fatter. Truer word. That was the way with his own two. Though he supposed had it turned out to the differ, there'd be other feet at his table now, devouring him out of house and home. Nice to have a little girl though. A little girl would be nice to have. Handy about the house and all.

Little sisters, you may work, Work and help your mothers, Darn the stockings, mend the shirts, Father's things and brother's.

Yes, a girl would have been dandy. G.o.d rest your soul in peace everlasting.

That time with Gordie we went down the Banks. Like Calcutta it was. Well, any place in India, you takes your pick. Never suspected to find it on my doorstep. The fever van had called collecting. Children stood watching, the way they would be waiting their turn. Flies on their faces. I said to Gordie, "We won't bother with that sum now." Gordie felt it too for he said, "We've a poor right coming here looking for payment."

At the last cottage, a little girl came out and pulled the door after her. "The ma's away on a message," she said.

Mr. Mack bent down till he was level with her nose. Small as she was she had a smaller child in her arms. "Well, little lady, we'll have to take the little brother so."

"Ma, Ma, the General's after going to take the buddy, Ma!"

Mr. Mack said Aha! with his eyes and waited while the woman came with her poke.

"Why wouldn't you call of a Sat.u.r.day like any decent Christian?" she complained while she counted out the coins. "Wouldn't you know we was depending on his wages tomorrow?"

But how could he collect of a Sat.u.r.day? Sure Sat.u.r.day was his busiest night in the shop.

Some of these people, you'd think it was the bailiff after chucking them out the way they'd treat you. The trip-club, the communion-club, the photograph-club, the club for Christmas. Had he any sense he'd charge for a new trousers. Has me pockets near destroyed, the fiddler's change I collect. Wouldn't mind but I charge no commission, I share out the interest, not a penny would come the way of the shop necessarily. I only take the opportunity to remind them of the tick-book. And still they'd give you the cold shoulder of mutton. A thankless task it is, more kicks than ha'pence.

As he wandered along home, he felt the poor people's copper weigh in his pocket. Low in the sky hung watery clouds hovering over the gas-lamps. More rain. There was no up in poor people and the sullen skies dispirited him.

Game of a leg, hop and go quickly. Young Doyler it is with Jim in tow. I was thinking his devotions was taking longer these nights. They've palled up. Arm-and-arm they go. Ten days and they're cup and can together.

He made faces to himself while he considered the implications. Already he had caught Jim out in a lie and that lie was nailed now as he saw the flute pa.s.sed over for safe-keeping. Wouldn't mind, but the age he spends cleaning it for him. Almond oil and cork grease, they don't come cheap. No cop-on, that boy. Got a load of almond oil in when he joined the band, thinking he'd let on to his schoolfellows where to buy it local. Shy of his shadow. Gave up in the end sending him down with the tins. Would weary you, the mortification on his face. Gathering dust now, along with everything else in the shop that can't be sold be ha'pennies.

He watched the boys as they made their farewells. Palled up great so they have. Those chats you have in the green of youth. All the time in the world and all the plans to make for it. But little the future is in it. No friendship without your equals. They learnt me that in the army. And Jim's a college boy now. Jim. My son James.

He had backed into a doorway not to be seen. Now he found himself reading the poster in the window. An Inquiry From the Front, An Inquiry From the Front, the banner said. Inside a giant question-mark, a soldier asked: the banner said. Inside a giant question-mark, a soldier asked: When are the other boys coming? When are the other boys coming?

His hand went to his mustache, explored the comb of its hairs.

Now that's the d.a.m.nedest thing. See here his cap badge? That's the Leinster Regiment, that is. The 109th Foot as was, the old Bra.s.s Heads. But look at this, would you. If them b.u.t.tons isn't pewter on his tunic, I'm a grenadier. Cla.s.s of thoolamawn they have doing these posters. Any wonder there's no rush to enlist. Sure any guffoon'd tell you, the Leinster Regiment has bra.s.s for its b.u.t.tons and always has since 1858.

And would you look-see here. This poster's not up to scratch at all. Coming away at the edge already. Some young tearaway now, who knows but he has a sup taken, and he's wending his way merrily along. He sees this corner fluttering in the wind, what care he if 'tis Government property? No sooner seen than done, his hand goes out and bang! Out comes the constable, the boy's before the beak, and there's another young life broken. No wonder there's posters gets defaced. Very sloppy work altogether. Asking for trouble, so it is.

If I could maybe-all it needs is a drop of wet behind-if I could pull it back a touch more, get my finger in. Lick of spit and the job's good as new. Let me see now. Gently does it.

Cheese and crusts, would you look at that. Hames I've made of it now. Whacking great strip come off in me hands. Must be mighty inferior paper they use. Should write that down and send it in. A better cla.s.s of paper and the posters might stay longer up.

He felt the hand upon his shoulder. He turned and saw the dark blue cape. "Good evening, Constable," said Mr. Mack.

All along the road to Kingstown, over the bridge and past the railway station, all along the shuttering shops of George's Street lower, then the parade of doctors' and dentists' and lawyers', on their easy tramp through the fashionable township, Mr. Mack tipped his hat to all he pa.s.sed. In a low voice he explained, over and over again, that the glue-merchants and paper-manufacturers were all to blame and truth be told were in league with the Kaiser. Till, with a sense almost of surprise, they entered the doors of the police station and the desk sergeant said, "Well?"

"Posters," said the constable.

"If you'll allow me explain," began Mr. Mack.

"Red-handed?" asked the sergeant.

The constable waved the torn strip. "Scarlet at it."

CHAPTER FIVE.

Nancy knocked on the dressing-room door. "Mam, there's a visitor to see you, mam."

"Well? Who is it?"

"It's a priest, mam."

Eveline caught the girl's look of awe in her table gla.s.s. "Did he mention his business?"