Two Lives Part 15

'Aunt Emmeline's not here?' she said.

'She's over at Letty's,' Mrs Dallon said. 'Your Aunt Emmeline's making a garden for Letty.'

'I wonder,' Mary Louise began, and paused. They watched her changing her mind, leaving the sentence she had begun unsaid, subst.i.tuting another. 'I'd just like to look,' she said, 'at my room.'

Surprise flickered in both their faces. Mrs Dallon's bewilderment became a frown that only gradually disappeared. Cutting in half a slice of bread, her husband was arrested in the motion for an instant and then, more slowly, proceeded with it.

'Just for a minute,' Mary Louise went on, already opening the door that led to the stairs. They listened to the latch falling into place behind her. Mr Dallon pushed his cup towards the teapot. Mechanically, Mrs Dallon filled it. Was there something, after all, in the idea that Mary Louise should return to Culleen? Did she need looking after? Had she herself said as much to her sisters-in-law? Was that why she wanted to see her bedroom again?

'If she came back, where would Emmeline go?'

Mr Dallon didn't know what his wife was talking about. His thoughts had not followed the same course as hers. It struck Mr Dallon as very odd indeed that Mary Louise wished to visit a room, once shared with her sister, now occupied by her aunt. He could think of no rational explanation for this.

'It could be,' Mrs Dallon continued, 'she wants to leave him.'

'Elmer?'

'On account of he's drinking. And would you blame her, with those two women to put up with on top of everything else?'

'But she'd say it if that was the case. She'd say it out, wouldn't she, instead of going up to Emmeline's room?'

'I think what she's after is to see would both of them fit in it. Like herself and Letty in the old days.'

'We couldn't ask Emmeline '

'We could if we had to.'

They had been told by Emmeline that Mary Louise had taken to visiting her cousin; the fact had come out one evening when they were sitting by the range. 'Didn't you know that? Didn't she ever tell you?' Emmeline had said, and they listened to her recounting of the Sunday visits. 'Kindness itself,' Emmeline stated firmly. The Dallons received the impression that it had somehow been known though not to them that Robert was nearing the end of his life and that their daughter's attentions had been an act of kindness. 'She was lonely too, of course,' Mrs Dallon said, but even so she felt proud that a child of hers should have acted so. Lonely or not, it couldn't have been much fun, keeping company with a sickly youth.

When Mary Louise returned to the kitchen she put on her coat immediately. She drew from one of its pockets a headscarf with blue and red squares on it and tied it round her head. James came in just then, but she had to go, she said. She was sorry she could not stay to talk to him.

In the attic she hung the watch and chain on the nail by the fireplace. Her cousin had said that the watch lost a minute a day. She would enjoy setting it right, every night before she got into bed.

27.

She listens to them abusing him. Who's going to cook for her? Who's going to clean up after her? They don't intend to watch her eating. They'll none of them last a week at the mercy of a mad woman. All these years he paid money for her to exist in luxury: isn't that enough? Insult on top of injury. Scandalous what he's done. They don't intend to lift a finger, why should they? So how's he going to manage for an instant, the state he's in?

'She's my wife,' he says.

'And we're to go in trembling of her. Your own sisters at the end of their days, driven tormented with fear.'

'It's the way things are. They're closing all those places down.'

'You're doing it to spite us.'

He is a seedy figure now, cigarette-burns on his clothes, his shirt-collars frayed, portions of his jowl forgotten when he shaves. Guilt has made him take her in; guilt made him visit her and pay a little so that she wouldn't have to drink out of an enamel mug. He'd be ashamed of himself if he'd ever struck her.

'Robert was buried in the wrong graveyard,' she tells him when the moment seems right for saying it. 'Will you help me over that, Elmer?'

He doesn't reply, and she tells him she never hated him. She tells him she thought about him often during her long time in Miss Foye's house. 'Include others in your prayers,' they used to urge, and she included him.

'I'm sorry I caused you trouble,' she says. 'I'm sorry I made things worse.'

28.

Waking in the middle of one night, Elmer found himself thinking about Bridget asleep in Hogan's Hotel just as, when a boy, he'd imagined Mrs Fahy and the housekeeper at the school in Wexford asleep. The hotel manageress's clothes were on a chair in her bedroom, her stockings draped over the top of them. Although Elmer had never said so to his sisters, or in any way intimated it to his wife, he'd been relieved when Mary Louise decided she wanted to sleep in the attic. There was more room in the bed; you could pull the bed-clothes round you when it was cold and not have to leave an area of them for someone else. All in all, he liked it better.

Elmer, when he was a boy also, had often heard about the wife of Hanlon the solicitor, who suffered from a fear of going out. It was necessary for a priest to come to the house to give her Ma.s.s, and for a hairdresser to come also. The nun who ran the library at the convent brought books to the house twice a week. 'The unfortunate woman can't so much as set foot in her garden,' Elmer recalled his father saying in the dining-room. 'Seemingly she'll spend an hour at the bottom of the stairs, unable to approach the front door. You'd be sorry for poor Hanlon.'

Pa.s.sing the Hanlons' house, Elmer had often seen the solicitor's wife sitting in the bow window of a downstairs room, looking at the robins in the flowerbeds. A scrawn of a woman, his father had described her as, and from what he could see this was correct. She had developed the affliction soon after her marriage, and Elmer wondered if Mary Louise wasn't suffering from something similar, not that Mary Louise had a fear of going out, far from it.

'No doctor could treat a condition like that,' his father had p.r.o.nounced in the dining-room. 'A nervous complaint, I'd call it.' Mr Quarry, as square and bulkily-made as Elmer himself, liked to address his family on such topics of interest in the dining-room. Half your education, he used to say, you received in the home. Elmer knew his father would have designated Mary Louise as one suffering from a nervous complaint also, and he resolved to have the expression ready should he again be approached on the subject by her parents or by the snooty sister. He had been struck by the same misfortune as the solicitor. He had married in good faith, giving a penniless girl a home. You could have Dr Cormican coming and going every day of the week for all the good it would do. A medical man had never once entered the Hanlons' house, he recalled his father reporting in the dining-room. Money down the drain it would have been.

The despondency Elmer had experienced during the week of the seaside honeymoon, and its continuance after he and Mary Louise returned, had finally lost its bitter pain. It could be muddled away, he had discovered, and though occasionally it distressfully returned, all he had to do was to open the safe in the accounting office and reach behind the strong-box.

'My G.o.d, what's this?' Matilda screamed one evening in the dining-room, the first of the three of them to place a forkful of rissole in her mouth. She spat it out immediately. It tasted dreadful, she screamed.

Rose, who had made the rissoles, bridled. There was nothing wrong with them, she maintained. They'd had them yesterday at dinnertime: what they were eating now were those that were left over, heated up. She tasted what was already on her own fork, then spat it out too.

'They've gone bad,' Matilda said.

'How could they have gone bad? Weather like this, how could they?'

Elmer pushed his plate away. If the rissoles were bad he had no intention of being foolhardy. Sometimes meat which Rose re-cooked for the second or third time didn't taste of anything at all.

'They were perfect yesterday,' Rose repeated.

Elmer said he would spread cheese on his bread if there was cheese available.

'Was the sirloin all right when it came in?' Matilda inquired, and Rose snappishly replied that of course it was. The same sirloin, with an undercut, arrived from the butcher every Friday, was roasted on Sunday, eaten cold on Monday, chopped up for rissoles on Tuesday. What remained of the rissoles appeared on the table again every Wednesday evening. All their lives this had been so; all their lives the Quarrys had consumed the Wednesday-evening rissoles without mishap.

'Are there maggots in them?' Matilda pressed apart the mush of potato and meat with her fork. 'I think something moved in my mouth.'

Rose told her to have sense. There were no maggots in the rissoles. They had been made as they always were, the meat and potato bound together with half a cup of milk, a beaten egg yolk fixing the breadcrumbs around each one of them.

The sisters continued to examine the food on their plates, poking with their forks and peering at the chopped meat and the crisp covering of egg and breadcrumbs. Gingerly, Rose lifted a fragment of this crispness to her lips. It tasted all right, she said.

Since neither sister had heeded Elmer's request for cheese, he rose and crossed to the sideboard. In the big centre drawer he found a round packet of Galtee spreadable triangles. He returned to the table with two of them and eased away the silver-paper wrapping.

'Look at this green stuff.' Matilda's voice had risen again. 'For G.o.d's sake, what's this stuff, Rose?'

She held her plate out. Rose investigated her own rissole further, then cut in half the two on Elmer's plate. A virulent shade of green tinged the centre of each.

'Food mildew,' Matilda said. 'How long did you keep the potatoes?'

Rose didn't answer. She'd never heard the expression 'food mildew' before and guessed that Matilda had made it up. If the rissoles had gone bad it wasn't her fault. She cut a slice of bread in half and b.u.t.tered it. Two rissoles had been kept back in the kitchen by Her Ladyship, as two always were on a Wednesday evening. Rose wondered if she'd eaten them. It would be like her not to notice the taste or the colour they'd gone.

'You can get poisoned from food mildew,' Matilda said.

Afterwards, in Hogan's, those words echoed unpleasantly as Elmer listened to Gerry telling him about a victory achieved by a greyhound that was said to be the fastest animal since Master McGrath. In his mind's eye he saw again the halved rissoles on the plate in the dining-room. 'I sold her Rodenkil,' Renehan's voice echoed also.

If there were rats in the attics you'd know about it, not a shadow of doubt. She was all over the place due to the nervous complaint. She'd maybe put some of the Rodenkil into a cup and left it around by mistake. It wouldn't be difficult for Rose, if she was rushed or the light was bad, to get the cup muddled up with another one. Elmer pushed his gla.s.s across the bar. There'd be the mother and father of a commotion if he so much as opened his mouth.

'It's the way he has of crouching in the trap,' Gerry said. 'Off like a bomb he is.'

There was another woman Elmer remembered his father talking about in the dining-room, some woman whose name he couldn't remember, who lived out in the hills somewhere. She used to h.o.a.rd fire-lighters. For no rational purpose she had the house filled to the brim with wax fire-lighters. If you'd put a match to the place, his father used to say, it wouldn't last longer than a minute.

That night Elmer didn't linger in the hall of the hotel, but hurried back after he'd had one more drink. He waited until he heard his sisters ascending the stairs to their rooms and then made his way to the kitchen. He searched in the cupboards, and then in the adjoining scullery, in the safe and the refrigerator. He lifted plates off bowls and jars, he examined packets and unlabelled paper-bags. In the waste-bin he found the contaminated rissoles, but nowhere was there a supply of the green substance, carelessly left about.

Moving cautiously so as not to rouse his sisters, Elmer descended the stairs again, entered the shop and mounted the brief stairway to the accounting office. He opened the safe and poured himself a measure of whiskey. He sat for a while, then as cautiously as before made his way through the house to the attics.

Mary Louise, not yet asleep, heard a fumbling at the door. The handle was turned. 'Mary Louise,' her husband's voice whispered.

The noise interrupted a pleasant recollection. A boy in a striped smock was standing in the snow, the landlady and her daughter were huddled on the doorstep. It was the moment of parting: a sleigh stood waiting.

'Mary Louise,' the whisper repeated. 'Mary Louise, are you awake?'

Knuckles rapped the panels of the door, not noisily as they had the last time Elmer had come to the attic, but surrept.i.tiously, as though some secret existed between them.

Mary Louise didn't move from her chair by the embers of the fire. Eventually she heard him creeping away. The recollection that had possessed her would not return, try as she would to induce it. This was usually so when there was an interruption, when other people poked themselves in. She remained by the fire for another twenty minutes, but all there was to think about was going to school with Letty and James, and spreading their schoolbooks out on the kitchen table, and the recitation of poetry that had been set.

'Listen,' Elmer said, drawing Renehan aside in the ironmongery. 'Don't sell Mary Louise any more Rodenkil.' His wife had become a bit forgetful he said: she had a way of leaving things about. He'd be worried in case someone would pick up the Rodenkil and maybe omit to read the warning on the packet.

'I know what you mean,' Renehan said. He'd been attaching price tags to saucepans when Elmer asked if he could have a private word with him. He still held a saucepan in his hand.

'Good man yourself,' Elmer said.

That evening it was said in the town that Elmer Quarry's wife had tried to poison herself.

Having had a night to mull over the mystery of the rissoles, Rose and Matilda reached the same conclusion: the rissoles had been interfered with. If rissoles had been cooked in the house in precisely the same manner for more than a lifetime and nothing had ever gone bad in them before, why should something go bad in them now? In the night they had both recalled an episode in the past, during the time when the Quarrys still employed a maid. Kitty this one had been called, 'a lump of a girl' their mother referred to her as, who was once caught licking the sugar in the sugar-bowl when she was setting the table. Any sweets that were left about she helped herself to, until Mrs Quarry decided to put a stop to that by coating a few toffees with soap. Not a word was said, but a sweet was never taken again.

'Her Ladyship,' Rose said. 'What's she to do all day except think up devilment to annoy us?'

This view confirmed the thought that had occurred to Matilda also: that Mary Louise, with time on her hands, sought to irritate her husband and her sisters-in-law by introducing some unpleasant-tasting substance into their food. In Matilda's view, and in Rose's, there was other evidence of the desire to vex: tea-towels hung sopping wet in the scullery when they should be hung on the line over the stove, forks put back in the wrong section of the cutlery drawer, the blue milk-jug put on a shelf instead of hung up, the potato-masher not hung up either, coal and sticks carted up to the attic, footsteps above their heads, ages spent washing herself, the sight of her trailing round the town on a bicycle so that people would begin to talk.

'She fried an egg for herself,' Rose remembered. 'She knew not to touch the rissoles.'

They put these conclusions to their brother, leaving the shop unattended, which before Mary Louise's arrival in the household they would have never done. Definitely something had been introduced into the rissoles, Rose said. Maybe some kind of cascara, anything that would cause embarra.s.sment and distress. Matilda reminded Elmer of the maid who'd helped herself to the sweets: measures had had to be taken and where was the difference in this case? The maid was guilty of stealing and had to be stopped. Measures should be taken now.

'Beyond a shadow of a doubt,' Rose said.

'The rissoles were in a soup-plate in the fridge, Elmer, covered over with another plate. She cut them open and put something inside.'

They watched his face. His jaw slackened; the tip of his tongue moistened his lips, pa.s.sing slowly from one corner of his mouth to the other. He had taken off his jacket, as he sometimes did in the accounting office. The waistcoat beneath was fully b.u.t.toned, a pencil and a ballpoint pen clipped into one of the upper pockets.

'There's people that live and breathe only wanting to be a nuisance,' Rose said.

The tea-towels were mentioned, and the forks in the cutlery drawer, the potato-masher and the blue milk-jug. Elmer unsuccessfully attempted to interrupt. They couldn't hold their heads up, Matilda said. They couldn't walk into a shop in the town without a silence falling.

'I'll speak to Mary Louise,' Elmer promised.

'What good does it do?' Matilda's tone was dangerously sarcastic. 'If you've spoken to her once, haven't you spoken to her a thousand times?'

Elmer's shirt felt sticky on his back. He'd begun to sweat as soon as they'd started on about something being deliberately introduced into their food. He'd raised a hand to wipe away the beads of perspiration he could feel gathering on his forehead, hoping they wouldn't notice what he was doing. He could feel the sweat, damply warm, on his legs and in his armpits. He had changed the combination of the safe after the incident concerning the money. He hadn't told them that, in case they'd ask what the new sequence of numbers was. He kept the Jameson bottle on its side so that it couldn't easily be seen behind the strong-box, but even so it was better that no one should have access to the safe. If ever the Jameson was mentioned again he had it ready to say that the bottle had been in the safe since their father's day, kept there in case anyone fainted in the shop.

'Will I get her to come down here?' Rose offered. 'Will I go up and tell her you want her?'

Elmer began to undo the b.u.t.tons of his waistcoat. He stopped because he could feel his fingers trembling and knew they'd notice. If nerve trouble had caused a solicitor's wife to be frightened of approaching her front door it wasn't outside the bounds of possibility that a person could imagine a plate of rissoles would be attacked by rats that didn't exist. But how on earth could he even begin to explain that to them?

'Leave her in peace,' he said.

'In peace!' Rose's eyes widened. 'In peace peace!'

'There's been no peace in this house, Elmer, since the night you took that girl to the pictures.'

'Will I tell her you want her?' Rose pressed her offer again.

'I'll go up myself,' Elmer said.

But there was no response when he rattled the handle of the attic door, when he rapped loudly and banged with his fist. It wasn't normal not to answer, there was no getting away from that. But then he looked in the yard and discovered that her bicycle wasn't there. In the shop he imparted that information to his sisters. If they heard her returning, he asked them to tell him.

The gondola was silent on the water, the stone of the buildings dank and slimily green. Later there was the ebb and flow of the dull blue sea, the sh.e.l.ls and seaweed left on the sand when it receded. You looked back and saw the fat domes of the churches, the statues high in the sky...

She dipped about the pages, opening the books at random. She loved doing that. She watched while Yelena Nikolayevna, sleepless all night, kept clasping her knees with her hands and resting her head on them. She watched while Yelena Nikolayevna crossed to the window and held her aching forehead against the panes to cool it.

'... The rain that began as a spatter became a sheet of water, glistening as it fell from a sky as black as night. Yelena Nikolayevna sheltered in a ruined chapel. A beggarwoman waited...'

Among the gravestones she tidied her hair and smeared a little lipstick on to her lips, smiling at her reflection in the gla.s.s of her compact.

At Culleen the watch wasn't missed for some time. Drawers were searched, furniture was pulled out in case it had fallen down behind something. The general belief was that it would eventually turn up.

In fact it didn't, and one afternoon when Mrs Dallon was washing eggs at the sink she remembered the feeling of surprise when Mary Louise had said she'd like to see her old room again. The statements that had been made by Rose and Matilda returned to startle her and suddenly, an egg held in the palm of her hand, Mrs Dallon felt sick. Waves of nausea pa.s.sed through her stomach. She felt weak in her legs and for a moment as she stood there she thought she might faint.

'I've come to see Mary Louise,' she announced in Quarry's an hour later.

Rose's response was to glance along the counter to where Matilda was re-rolling a bolt of satin.