At Swim, Two Boys - Jamie O'Neill [129]
Jim looked up from the telegram. “Missing, Da?”
“That’s right, missing.”
“What does it mean?”
Mr. Mack fixed his face, then turned from the mantelshelf. “Why, it means there’s hope yet. Isn’t that the best news? Missing in action only. That’s easy done. The muddle of war, ’tis surprising there isn’t more goes missing. Where there’s hope there’s, where there’s hope there’s—” But he could not rightly recall what there was. “Where there’s hope there’s a way. They’ll have him found soon enough, never doubt it. Then we’ll have him home again and there’ll be mafficking the length of the street. Don’t doubt it, Jim. We’ll be back the three of us together in no time. In time for Christmas even.”
“Christmas, Da?”
“Let that be the end of the lemoncholy now.”
The way the boy stood there holding the telegram, so mannishly determined against tears, it made Mr. Mack finally to heave. He kept his face smiling but he could not stop the blubbers. He said, “Now now, be a Briton. Turn off the main,” while the tears streamed down his cheeks.
“We’ll say the Rosary, Da.”
“That’s the spirit. If we pray every day and on the hour of every day, then. That’s all we can do now, Jim. Did you come direct from school?”
“I did.”
“They had a right to tell you.”
He felt his son’s hand on his shoulder and when he looked he saw how small were the hands of leaping boys. He put his great warty crawg on top and patted Jim’s fingers. “Fetch down the beads,” he said.
They prayed again that night after tea, himself and Aunt Sawney on either side of the range and Jim in the middle. Mr. Mack saw the fire that reflected on coal-box and fender, and he had the notion of it grinning at the novelty and sharing the joke with its neighbors. He left Aunt Sawney do the calling, though he’d take his oath, for all her practice, she had the order wrong. After ten minutes of arguing the toss, he let her have her way. Besides the which, it wasn’t the order Our Lady heard at all, but the intention behind it. When he rose from his knees he felt the ache in his back and his knees complained of the stony floor. He hung the beads on the shelf, avoiding Gordie’s picture, then he put the kettle on the stove, saying, “Cup of char suit us?”
“’Tis easy knowing ye’re not accustomed to prayer,” he got in return.
“Now now.”
“Great gammocks ye had to see me telling me beads. Great gas and gaiters ye had of it. ’Tis a changed story this day.”
“Now now, Aunt Sawney, there’s no call for vexation.”
“The pity of it is ye left it so late.”
He turned sharply from the range and was about to let a return on her vinegar, when he saw she had her go-to-Mass hat on. “Where are you off to this hour of night?”
“I’m away to get a stamp.”
“The post office is long closed.”
“’Tisn’t every soul from this house meets a closed door when they knocks.”
With that she was out, banging her stick on her passage through the shop. He stared glumly after her. His son had his nose dug in a book at the table. “Is that reading for school?”
“Yes, Da.”
He took the tea-pot to rinse it and at the sink he said, “At any rate, we’ll be saying the Rosary in chapel next week. October is the Holy Month of the Rosary. The father has asked for help with the seating. Usher I’m to be. ’Tis quite a responsibility.”
The telegram had called him Corporal Gordon Mack. Wouldn’t think to write to tell us, oh no. We might have celebrated that. But oh no, let the old man stew at home. God forgive me.
At last the kettle whistled. Clumsily the water poured. It was hard keeping his mind on things with the photograph behind on the shelf. He clumped the pot on the table, himself into a chair. “There’s been something I’ve been meaning to say, Jim.” He took a breath. “The swimming you do.”
“What about it?”
“’Tis getting on in the year.”
“The water’s fine, Da. As warm in nor out now.”
“Winter’s round the corner.”
“It’s October only.”
“Getting dark these mornings. ’Tis dangerous