‘You couldn’t have come at a better time. We’ll be able to be up the road together,’ the Master said as he came heavily down the stairs in his stockinged feet. He’d shaved, was dressed in a grey suit, with a collar and tie, the old watch-chain crossing a heavy paunch. He had failed since last I’d seen him, the face red and puffy, the white hair thinned, and there was a bruise on the cheekbone where he must have fallen. The old hound went towards him, licking at his hand.
‘Good boy! Good boy,’ he said as he came towards me, patting the hound. As soon as we shook hands he slipped his feet into shoes which had stood beside the leather chair. He did not bend or sit, and as he talked I saw the small bird-like woman at his feet, tying up the laces.
‘It’s a very nice thing to see old pupils coming back. Though not many of them bring me laurels like yourself, it’s still a very nice thing. Loyalty is a fine quality. A very fine quality.’
‘Now,’ his wife stood by his side, ‘all you need is your hat and stick,’ and she went and brought them.
‘Thank you. Thank you indeed. I don’t know what I’d do but for my dear wife,’ he said.
‘Do you hear him now! He was never stuck for the charm. Off with you now before you get the back of me hand,’ she bantered, and called as we went slowly towards the gate, ‘Do you want me to send any of the boys up for you?’
‘No. Not unless they have some business of their own to attend to in the village. No,’ he said gravely, turning very slowly.
He spoke the whole way on the slow walk to the village. All the time he seemed to lag behind my snail’s pace, sometimes standing because he was out of breath, tapping at the road with the cane. Even when the walk slowed to a virtual standstill it seemed to be still far too energetic for him.
‘I always refer to you as my star pupil. When the whole enterprise seems to be going more or less askew, I always point to young Moran: that’s one good job I turned out. Let the fools prate.’
I walked, stooping by his side, restraining myself within the slow walk, embarrassed, ashamed, confused. I had once looked to him in pure infatuation, would rush to his defence against every careless whisper. He had shone like a clear star. I was in love with what I hardly dared to hope I might become. It seemed horrible now that I might come to this.
‘None of my own family were clever,’ he confided. ‘It was a great disappointment. And yet they may well be happier for it. Life is an extraordinary thing. A very great mystery. Wonderful … shocking … thing.’
Each halting speech seemed to lead in some haphazard way into the next.
‘Now that you’re coming out into the world you’ll have to be constantly on your guard. You’ll have to be on your guard first of all against intellectual pride. That’s the worst sin, the sin of Satan. And always be kind to women. Help them. Women are weak. They’ll be attracted to you.’ I had to smile ruefully, never having noticed much of a stampede in my direction. ‘There was this girl I left home from a dance once,’ he continued. ‘And as we were getting closer to her house I noticed her growing steadily more amorous until I had to say, “None of that now, girl. It is not the proper time!” Later, when we were both old and married, she thanked me. She said I was a true gentleman.’
The short walk seemed to take a deep age, but once outside Ryan’s door he took quick leave of me. ‘I won’t invite you inside. Though I set poor enough of an example, I want to bring no one with me. I say to all my pupils: Beware of the high stool. The downward slope from the high stool is longer and steeper than from the top of Everest. God bless and guard you, young Moran. Come and see me again before you head back to the city.’ And with that he left me. I stood facing the opaque glass of the door, the small print of the notice above it: Seven Days Licence to Sell Wine, Beer, Spirits. How can he know what he knows and still do what he does, I say to the sudden silence before turning away.
‘Do you mean the Master’ll be out on the road, then?’ I asked Senator Reegan from the boat, disturbed by the turn the conversation had taken.
‘You need have no fear of that. There’s a whole union behind him. In our enlightened day alcoholism is looked upon as just another illness. And they wonder how the country can be so badly off,’ he laughed sarcastically. ‘No. He’ll probably be offered a rest cure on full pay. I doubt if he’d take it. If he did, it’d delay official recognition of your appointment by a few months, that’d be all, a matter of paperwork. The very worst that could happen to him is that he’d be forced to take early retirement, which would probably add years to his life. He’d just have that bit less of a pension with which to drink himself into an early grave. You need have no worries on that score. You’d be doing everybody a favour, including him most of all, if you’d take the job. Well, what do you say? I could still go to the Canon tonight. It’s late but not too late. He’d just be addressing himself to his hot toddy. It could be as good a time as any to attack him. Well, what do you say?’
‘I’ll have to think about it.’
‘It’s a very fine position for a young man like yourself starting out in life.’
‘I know it is. I’m very grateful.’
‘To hell with gratitude. Gratitude doesn’t matter a damn. It’s one of those moves that benefits everybody involved. You’ll come to learn that there aren’t many moves like that in life.’
‘I’ll have to think about it.’ I was anxious to turn away from any direct confrontation.
‘I can’t wait for very long. Something has to be done and done soon.’
‘I know that but I still have to think about it.’
‘Listen. Let’s not close on anything this evening. Naturally you have to consider everything. Why don’t you drop over to my place tomorrow night? You’ll have a chance to meet my lads. And herself has been saying for a long time now that she’d like to meet you. Come about nine. Everything will be out of the way by then.’
I rowed very slowly away, just stroking the boat forward in the deadly silence of the half-darkness. I watched Reegan cross the road, climb the hill, pausing now and then among the white blobs of his Friesians. His figure stood for a while at the top of the hill where he seemed to be looking back towards the boat and water before he disappeared.
When I got back to the house everyone was asleep except a younger sister who had waited up for me. She was reading by the fire, the small black cat on her knee.
‘They’ve all gone to bed,’ she explained. ‘Since you were on the river, they let me wait up for you. Only there’s no tea. I’ve just found out that there’s not a drop of spring water in the house.’
‘I’ll go to the well, then. Otherwise someone will have to go first thing in the morning. You don’t have to wait up for me.’ I was too agitated to go straight to bed and glad of the distraction of any activity.
‘I’ll wait,’ she said. ‘I’ll wait and make the tea when you get back.’
‘I’ll be less than ten minutes.’ The late hour held for her the attractiveness of the stolen.
I walked quickly, swinging the bucket. The whole village seemed dead under a benign moon, but as I passed along the church wall I heard voices. They came from Ryan’s Bar. It was shut, the blinds down, but then I noticed cracks of yellow light along the edges of the big blue blind. They were drinking after hours. I paused to see if I could recognize any of the voices, but before I had time Charlie Ryan hissed, ‘Will you keep your voices down, will yous? At the rate you’re going you’ll soon have the Sergeant out of his bed,’ and the voices quietened to a whisper. Afraid of being noticed in the silence, I passed on to get the bucket of spring water from the well, but the voices were in full song again by the time I returned. I let the bucket softly down in the dust and stood in the shadow of the church wall to listen. I recognized the Master’s slurred voice at once, and then voices of some of the men who worked the sawmill in the wood.
‘That sixth class in 1933 was a great class, Master.’ It was Johnny Connor’s voice, the saw mechanic. ‘I was never much good
at the Irish, but I was a terror at the maths, especially the Euclid.’
I shivered as I listened under the church wall. Nineteen thirty-three was the year before I was born.
‘You were a topper, Johnny. You were a topper at the maths,’ I heard the Master’s voice. It was full of authority. He seemed to have no sense at all that he was in danger.
‘Tommy Morahan that went to England was the best of us all in that class,’ another voice took up, a voice I wasn’t able to recognize.
‘He wasn’t half as good as he imagined he was. He suffered from a swelled head,’ Johnny Connor said.
‘Ye were toppers, now. Ye were all toppers,’ the Master said diplomatically.
‘One thing sure is that you made a great job of us, Master. You were a powerful teacher. I remember to this day everything you told us about the Orinoco River.’
‘It was no trouble. Ye had the brains. There are people in this part of the country digging ditches who could have been engineers or doctors or judges or philosophers had they been given the opportunity. But the opportunity was lacking. That was all that was lacking.’ The Master spoke again with great authority.
‘The same again all round, Charlie,’ a voice ordered. ‘And a large brandy for the Master.’
‘Still, we kept sailing, didn’t we, Master? That’s the main thing. We kept sailing.’
‘Ye had the brains. The people in this part of the country had powerful brains.’
‘If you had to pick one thing, Master, what would you put those brains down to?’
‘Will you hush now! The Sergeant wouldn’t even have to be passing outside to hear yous. Soon he’ll be hearing yous down in the barracks,’ Charlie hissed.
There was a lull again in the voices in which a coin fell and seemed to roll across the floor.
‘Well, the people with the brains mostly stayed here. They had to. They had no choice. They didn’t go to the cities. So the brains was passed on to the next generation. Then there’s the trees. There’s the water. And we’re very high up here. We’re practically at the source of the Shannon. If I had to pick on one thing more than another, I’d put it down to that. I’d attribute it to the high ground.’
Sierra Leone
‘I suppose it won’t be long now till your friend is here,’ the barman said as he held the glass to the light after polishing.
‘If it’s not too wet,’ I said.
‘It’s a bad evening,’ he yawned, the rain drifting across the bandstand and small trees of Fairview Park to stream down the long window.
She showed hardly any signs of rain when she came, lifting the scarf from her black hair. ‘You seem to have escaped the wet.’ The barman was all smiles as he greeted her.
‘I’m afraid I was a bit extravagant and took a taxi,’ she said in the rapid speech she used when she was nervous or simulating confusion to create an effect.
‘What would you like?’
‘Would a hot whiskey be too much trouble?’
‘No trouble at all.’ The barman smiled and lifted the electric kettle. I moved the table to make room for her in the corner of the varnished partition beside the small coal fire in the grate. There was the sound of water boiling, and the scent of cloves and lemon. When I rose to go to the counter for the hot drink, the barman motioned that he would bring it over to the fire.
‘The spoon is really to keep the glass from cracking’ – I nodded towards the steaming glass in front of her on the table. It was a poor attempt to acknowledge the intimacy of the favour. For several months I had been frustrating all his attempts to get to know us, for we had picked Gaffneys because it was out of the way and we had to meet like thieves. Dublin was too small a city to give even our names away.
‘This has just come.’ I handed her the telegram as soon as the barman had resumed his polishing of the glasses. It was from my father, saying it was urgent I go home at once. She read it without speaking. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know. I suppose I’ll have to go home.’
‘It doesn’t say why.’
‘Of course not. He never gives room.’
‘Is it likely to be serious?’
‘No, but if I don’t go there’s the nagging doubt that it may be.’
‘What are you doing to do, then?’
‘Go, I suppose.’ I looked at her apprehensively.
‘Then that’s goodbye to our poor weekend,’ she said.
We were the same age and had known each other casually for years. I had first met her with Jerry McCredy, a politician in his early fifties, who had a wife and family in the suburbs, and a reputation as a womanizer round the city; but by my time all the other women had disappeared. The black-haired Geraldine was with him everywhere, and he seemed to have fallen in love at last when old, even to the point of endangering his career. I had thought her young and lovely and wasted, but we didn’t meet in any serious way till the night of the Cuban Crisis.
There was a general fever in the city that night, so quiet as to be almost unreal, the streets and faces hushed. I had been wandering from window to window in the area round Grafton Street. On every television set in the windows the Russian ships were still on course for Cuba. There was a growing air that we were walking in the last quiet evening of the world before it was all consumed by fire. ‘It looks none too good.’ I heard her quick laugh at my side as I stood staring at the ships moving silently across the screen.
‘None too good.’ I turned. ‘Are you scared?’
‘Of course I’m scared.’
‘Do you know it’s the first time we’ve ever met on our own?’ I said. ‘Where’s Jerry?’
‘He’s in Cork. At a meeting. One that a loose woman like myself can’t appear at.’ She laughed her quick provocative laugh.
‘Why don’t you come for a drink, then?’
‘I’d love to. With the way things are I was even thinking of going in for one on my own.’
There was a stillness in the bar such as I had never known. People looked up from their drinks as each fresh newsflash came on the set high in the corner, and it was with visible relief that they bent down again to the darkness of their pints.
‘It’s a real tester for that old chestnut about the Jesuit when he was asked what he’d do if he was playing cards at five minutes to midnight and was suddenly told that the world was going to end at midnight,’ I said as I took our drinks to the table in one of the far corners of the bar, out of sight of the screen.
‘And what would he do?’
‘He’d continue playing cards, of course, to show that all things are equal. It’s only love that matters.’
‘That’s a fine old farce.’ She lifted her glass.
‘It’s strange, how I’ve always wanted to ask you out, and that it should happen this way. I always thought you very beautiful.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘You were with Jerry.’
‘You should still have told me. I don’t think Jerry ever minded the niceties very much when he was after a woman,’ she laughed, and then added softly, ‘Actually, I thought you disliked me.’
‘Anyhow, we’re here this night.’
‘I know, but it’s somehow hard to believe it.’
It was the stillness that was unreal, the comfortable sitting in chairs with drinks in our hands, the ships leaving a white wake behind them on the screen. We were in the condemned cell waiting for reprieve or execution, except that this time the whole world was the cell. There was nothing we could do. The withering would happen as simply as the turning on or off of a light bulb.
Her hair shone dark blue in the light. Her skin had the bloom of ripe fruit. The white teeth glittered when she smiled. We had struggled towards the best years; now they waited for us, and all was to be laid waste as we were about to enter into them. In the freedom of the fear I moved my face close to hers. Our lips met. I put my hand on hers.
‘Is Jerry coming back tonight?’
‘No.’
‘Can I stay with you tonight?’
‘If you want that.’ Her lips touched my face again.
‘It’s all I could wish for – except, maybe, a better time.’
‘Why don’t we go, then?’ she said softly.
We walked by the Green, closed and hushed within its railings, not talking much. When she said, ‘I wonder what they’re doing in the Pentagon as we walk these steps by the Green?’ it seemed more part of the silence than any speech.
‘It’s probably just as well we can’t know.’
‘I hope they do something. It’d be such a waste. All this to go, and us too.’
‘We’d be enough.’
There was a bicycle against the wall of the hallway when she turned the key, and it somehow made the stairs and lino-covered hallway more bare.
‘It’s the man’s upstairs.’ She nodded towards the bicycle. ‘He works on the buses.’
The flat was small and untidy.
‘I had always imagined Jerry kept you in more style,’ I said idly.