At Swim, Two Boys Part 61

"Will I tell you?"

To MacMurrough's confusion, the boy turned round. He turned round and rested, even insisted, his head on MacMurrough's chest. They were back as MacMurrough had started, and his hand patted once more the boy's side.

"Will I tell you?" he repeated. "We went to Ma.s.s on Easter Sunday. We were at the back with the men and when it came to communion he stood up. He gave such a look at me and said, Come on. I thought, you know, after the night we'd spent. But he was so sure of things. We went up together. I snuck me eyes at him kneeling there. The priest was beside and he had his tongue out waiting. He was so sure everything was right and square. I don't know but I loved him that minute. He frightened me a bit too. He'll be a great leader of men one day."

"Yes, I believe he will." MacMurrough heard a doom in his voice, and to dispel it he added, "Lead them a merry old dance." He became aware of Doyler's hand again on his stand. He had the strangest sensation of Jim's watching, of his willing this. "We still might, you know," he said, "if you'd a mind to."

The hand maintained its impartial progress up and down. "What and I was to do you?"

Yes he was, a cussed b.l.o.o.d.y-minded sodomitical object. "That's sweet of you, my dear, and don't think I shouldn't enjoy it, except you're of that age, you'd imagine you'd put one over upon me."

"Fair's fair," said Doyler.

"Believe me, nature knows best in these matters."

"That's the way it is, MacMurrough. Take it or leave it."

"Oh very well," MacMurrough said. "Only Doyler, not as a punishment."

Doyler hawked his throat. The hand removed from MacMurrough's stand. He hawked again and spat twice in the hand. That old unction, MacMurrough thought, by a.r.s.e or by ta.r.s.e once more to balm us.

They slept cuddling, the each the other, though it seemed to MacMurrough he but dozed, when the bells were clanging to shake the windows and waken the sleep of the just.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

The rain had begun to fall, drizzling upon Jim's sleep. He blinked awake. He was sensible of an urgency, though not immediately of its cause. One by one his body told its complaints: the cold, the stiffness, the hunger, and now the wet. A church bell was striking the hour somewhere over the city, ringing once, ringing twice. He made out his neighbor in the grey light, shifting too in the narrow trench. Three bells the church rang. The rain fell on his face and he peered at the sky. Four bells, and a clattering chaos shattered the quiet.

The earth splattered before him. Branches snapped from trees, scattered on the gra.s.s. Stunned, Jim watched the lawn squirm in a scythe, like a snake. "Keep down, ye bleddy fool!" he heard. Something ssssinged past him, sssinged again. Clay spurted up, battered his face. A terrific jab in his shoulder and he was thrust headlong into the trench. "Can't ye stay down?"

"What is it?"

"Machine-bleddy-gun. Maybe two."

Gung, the man p.r.o.nounced it. It made Jim want to giggle. "Where are they?" he asked, whispering. That too made him gigglish.

"Shelbourne Hotel."

Jim had his rifle though he wasn't sure was it Doyler's still. They had taken the one he came with and it was a while before he had them persuaded into giving him one back. The British machine guns chattered away, churning up the gra.s.s. There were sharper cracks between: rifles, he was told. A boy was down by the gates-was he down or lying low? He could see other figures hunched along the trenches. He pulled on the bolt, but he had forgotten the safety. He flipped it over and drew the bolt back, feeling for the cartridge inside. The trench was only shallow: he had to crouch sideways to fix the b.u.t.t to his shoulder. He recalled cryptic comments MacEmm had let drop. You didn't aim a rifle, your position aimed it. You didn't shoot a gun, you allowed it to shoot. He gripped the barrel and fondled the guard. He had forgotten to bless himself: it didn't matter. He took a breath, then swung out over the low banked earth and aimed in a wide arc along the range of buildings. Endless buildings, with four, five, six stories to them, windows staggered up and down, countless windows, a precipice of brick and gla.s.s. He had not thought to ask which was the Shelbourne.

It was surprise enough that the bell should be pulled at all. But earth-shattering, a preliminary of jacobin terror to come, when MacMurrough finally had the bolts pulled and the great door yawned wide, to find it was a tradesman-like fellow in a butcher's boater who at this unG.o.dly hour the G.o.dly portal steps disturbed.

"Why, Mr. Mack," he said.

"My apologies, a thousand apologies," said Mr. Mack. The unwonted boater lifted and dropped, discharging its wet upon Mr. Mack's nose. MacMurrough looked beyond him at the drizzle-hued world. A magpie raucously gnattered in the trees. Perhaps four, a quarter after, in the morning. The boater was evidently a size or several too small, for it tilted on Mr. Mack's head, in jaunty disavowal of his face where anxiety, effusion, exhaustion, the misery of weather, all jostled for command. His apologies again, only it was his son, his son James, he hadn't come home in the night.

"Jim?"

Mr. Mack had waited up for the boy, only he nodded off, pray G.o.d forgive him, in Aunt Sawney's chair-Mr. MacMurrough would remember Aunt Sawney, Miss Alexandra Burke, he should say-woke up in her chair- "Won't you step in?" said MacMurrough.

"I won't now," said Mr. Mack, stepping into the hall, "delay now and the terrible hour to be calling, but after the dreadful occurrences in Dublin-"

"Dublin? A train strike, I understood."

"If only," said Mr. Mack, "if only." But the entire city was up, the rebels were out, Sinn Feiners were out. Lancers-he saw two killed himself, murdered in the street. Rioting. Destruction. Looting of premises. Barricades. "Barricades," he repeated, "with mattresses in them."

"Mattresses," MacMurrough said, he too grasping this detail as peculiarly cogent and distressing.

"And no sign of Jim at home and no word left. I have it in my head-Doyler!"

MacMurrough turned. Doyler stood at the half-pace leaning over the bal.u.s.ter rail.

"Good morning now, Mr. Mack."

"Doyler, thank all that's good and holy, you're here. I thought it might be the way you was mixed up-But no, sure you're the sensible lad. Jim is here with you so?"

"He was, Mr. Mack. Only he went out for an early dip."

"A dip, is it?"

"I'll go fetch him, Mr. Mack. I'll send him home to you."

"Not to trouble yourself. Are you well again?"

"Grand, and it's no trouble at all."

"Sure what am I saying?" said Mr. Mack, his hand springing to his damp forehead. "The events has left me all to seek. And his coat only staring me in the face."

Indeed it was: on a low hook on the hall stand, Jim's Norfolk jacket, among the whips and canes. MacMurrough looked with puzzlement at Doyler.

"Rest easy, Mr. Mack," said Doyler lightly, "I'll fetch him home direct."

"Well, if you're sure now." The boater straw returned to his head, his expression better tallying with its rake. It lifted in farewell and another thousand of apologies, the door closing behind him.

"Bring me up that jacket," said Doyler.

MacMurrough came into his dressing-closet where Doyler was ransacking the wardrobe. He had pulled on a pair of MacMurrough's trousers, the corrugate folds of the legs giving him a clown's look, one who had mislaid his stilts. "Is there never a braces or a belt?" he cried, coat-hangers flinging on the floor.

MacMurrough tossed him Jim's trousers. "I found them in the hall."

"Scheming b.l.o.o.d.y monkey. I'll pay him out for this. I'll murder him, so I will, b.l.o.o.d.y ma.s.sacre him."

"You knew nothing of this?"

"Answer me, would I be here and I did? He knew I'd stop him.

He knew I'd never let him a hand in this."

He knew more than that, thought MacMurrough.

"Can't think why I didn't catch on. Staring me in the bleeding face. Stephen's Green this, Stephen's Green that. You and your train strike. I knew there was more to it, I knew-What do you want getting dressed for?"

"I'll be coming along."

"Oh no you don't, mister. This is between me and Jim."

In his consternation Doyler had snapped the lace of his boot. He was making rather a camel of it, rethreading the sucked ends through the eyes. MacMurrough threw him an ironed pair. He unhooked a smart check Newmarket vest. "It's damp out," he said: "put this on inside the jacket." For himself he chose tweed and a hunting jerkin underneath, forgoing for once his linens and creams. From a cabinet he produced his aunt's Webley. He revolved the chamber, counting the cartridges remaining.

"Is that thing loaded?"

"Yes," MacMurrough replied, it rather pointing than aiming at the boy's good leg. "So don't let's argue who's coming."

Doyler went back to his boots. "Do what you want, MacMurrough, only don't get in my way."

MacMurrough pulled on his socks. Of course there could be no real danger in Dublin. But equally there could be no thought of his leaving without he first made sure. Once again, the mailboat receded into the Irish Sea. It was becoming exhausting, this not going. He glanced at Doyler, who frowned back. Yes, Jim had outwitted them all ways, tickled them to his purpose, in their very rumping manipulating them. He could only marvel at the boy's mastery of the world-that same world which tossed MacMurrough, upped sided and downed him, and over which he had no more influence than the choosing of the socks he wore while it tossed. He pulled on his boots.

"Ready?"

"Aye, ready."

The sun no doubt had risen, but it was a dreary lightless morning, with a rain that never entirely ceased, but dripped from trees and mizzled between the showers. MacMurrough had thought they might take a cab or an outside car. Doyler a.s.serted, as a soldier of the Irish Republic, he had the right to seize any vehicle he chose. But they pa.s.sed not a postman's bike. At Kingstown MacMurrough roused the stables-to find the stabler had no notion of his mounts riding to Dublin. Did the gentleman not know the ruccus was in Dublin? The Larkinites held the town for the Kaiser. They was shooting horses and sharing the meat.

Hens pecked in the yard, sparrows fluttered on the walls. Kingstown wore its conventional slumberous air. MacMurrough fingered the Webley in his pocket, considering the puissance of its persuasion. He turned to Doyler whose only guidance was, "Don't think you're getting me up on one of them yokes." When he turned back he saw the gates were swinging, the stable door had shut in his face. "I don't think," he said, "we make very effective revolutionaries."

"Will you stow that thing down the back of your pants," said Doyler. "Any thick of an eejit can spot you're carrying a piece."

Doyler persisted in this knowing, lording-it manner as on they tramped to Blackrock. It was MacMurrough's fault. He blamed MacMurrough. MacMurrough had filled Jim's head with notions. Did a man MacMurrough's age not know he was dealing with a kid?

"Wait a minute here. Are you saying I encouraged Jim?"

"Well, who the h.e.l.l else did?"

"Well, you're the one who struts about in a uniform."

"What are you allegating now? You saying I packed him off to Stephen's Green?"

"Well, I certainly didn't."

"Of course I wear a uniform. I'm supposed to wear a uniform. Amn't I a Citizen soldier?"

"And now Jim's gone off to be one too."

"That's nothing to the point. And I don't strut neither. Leg like mine, you'd want to strut." His leg, which had largely been forgotten in their hurry, now made stiff semi-circles for a pace or two, knocking into MacMurrough's shins.

"You'll find," said MacMurrough, "you'll get along faster if you rest your tongue."

"I'm not saying nothing."

"Good."

"Fine by me."

They tramped in silence. They pa.s.sed, briefly, through the Kingstown slums, then on to the broad avenues of Monkstown. It was a strain, with the streets so empty, maintaining any sense of urgency. It was cherry week: all along the road and down the side roads, an exotic snow had pinked the gardens. Chestnuts were new-clothed and on the tip of candling, their loose green shawls picked with cream. But mostly the trees were bare yet, affording little shelter from the weather.

For no very good reason, MacMurrough fell to pondering his funeral. Like so many things in life, he had missed his moment for death. That last year at school, had I topped it then, the splendor of it, my apotheosis. Cowled monks sanctus chanting. A squealer I favored once with a smile, his wispy treble, pie Jesu. At the back, bowed, awed, scrubbed, combed, urchins from the local boxing club; one, his stubby face, agnus dei, my protege. Dear Father and dearest Mother, comforted, a little surprised even, as they glimpse in the candled gloom that lux aeternum the boy choir sings. He will be especially remembered for his many kindnesses to his younger fellows. Libera me. A look, a smile, a c.h.i.n.k in the Sunday faces: a message slips in a pocket. Tonight at eight by the lats. Tonight at eight by the lats. In paradisum. In paradisum.

Sometimes I wonder does anything in the world exist for me at all, beyond the horizontal refreshment. Well, all quite natural: one is walking, after all, to war. Please to note, no dies irae.

Movement at last: a milk van round a corner came clopping, colloping, collopaling to a stop clop. As they drew near, the driver threw them a wary nod. Maids were queuing at the churn, tattling over their half-gallon cans. "Yez off to town, boys?-Don't Maggie!-I hope yez aren't Sinn Feiners, boys?-Maggie don't!"

"Well," said MacMurrough, "do we take it?"

"Crawl there faster than that old nag."

It dawned on MacMurrough that Doyler was rather the dull insurrectionist. That brief exchange had launched him again on his gripes. MacMurrough never thought things through. A round table would have the edge on MacMurrough. Was MacMurrough demented altogether to be telling Jim them tales?

"Which tales are these now?"

"Don't ask me. The Holy Band of Thesbians."

"Of Thebes," said MacMurrough. "The Sacred Band."

"All lovey-dovey dying together. Don't you know he's dippy over you? He takes anything you say at face. That's a kid you're telling that to. He don't know it's stories."

"Doyler, he's the same age as you. Besides, I grew up on tales like that."

"Aye and you're some example."

"What are you talking about? The entire world grows up on those stories. Only difference is, I told him the truth, that they were lovers, humping physical fellows." Yes, and Jim had grasped instinctively that significance: that more than stories, they were patterns of the possible. And I think, how happier my boyhood should have been, had somebody-Listen, boy, listen to my tale-thought to tell me the truth. Listen while I tell you, boy, these men loved and yet were n.o.ble. You too shall love, body and soul, as they; and there shall be a place for you, boy, n.o.ble and magnificent as any. Hold true to your love: these things shall be.

Instead of finding out for yourself, with a dictionary in a dark corner, by which time it's just one other lie you've nailed them in on the sallady path of youth.

But MacMurrough was talking to himself. Doyler carried on. "Will I tell you what he says to me yesterday, he says, There's nothing to fear, says he. We're immortal. His very words-We're immortal. The sky had told him so."

Yes, MacMurrough allowed, it was certainly of a piece. It had all rather gone to his head, the Muglins, uncovering himself, rumptytumpty with this b.u.g.g.e.r here.

"Can't believe I listened a word he said. He's a kid sure. He never strayed farther than the Dalkey tram. Mary and Joseph, the nonsense he talked about schoolteaching. A digs, by Jesus. And I listened him."

And really it was inconsiderate. MacMurrough had the right to leave, it was necessary that he should leave. And now this wretched squabble in Dublin-what if he should be caught in it? Oh G.o.d oh no, if by some chance he were shot, b.l.o.o.d.y stuck here in a hospital. Or worse, he were arrested, wound up in jail. Good grief, they'd take me for a rebel. Oh no no no, this really is not good enough.

"I'll find him, I'll fetch him out," said Doyler, "I'll clatter him something he'll never forget. That's right," he continued, working himself up as he spoke, "you'll hold him while I'll hit him. I'll blister him, I will, bleeding bate him good-looking. Then you'll bring him home out of that. That's your job. You understand that now?"