At Swim, Two Boys - Jamie O'Neill [135]
“You must’ve been great together, Da.”
“Who?”
“You and Mr. Doyle.”
“Didn’t I say we was pals? That’s the army way. Nothing you wouldn’t do for a pal. Nor nothing he wouldn’t do in return. End of the earth you’d go.”
On the deck of a boat in his scarlet tunic cradling his friend in his arms. What would you feel then? It was comical when you tried to picture it. Mr. Doyle with his red hair and ashen face and his father’s round face looking all concerned. His father with all his medals on and Mr. Doyle sneaking glugs from a baby Powers. “What happened with Mr. Doyle?” he asked.
“What would you think happened him? He got better, sure.”
“I mean what happened your friendship?”
“Oh well you know,” his father said. “The world has a way.”
He climbed down the steps to view his handiwork. Colored tissue that swung in chains from printed mottoes. Merry Christmas. Peace on Earth. Goodwill to All Men. Victory.
“Gordie used love the decorations,” he said.
“He did that,” agreed Jim.
Jim fetched the dustpan and brush to tidy the mess his father had left. His father watched a while then said, “What happened I was made a sergeant of. Who said it first was a wise man that there’s no friendship without you’re equals. Might as well try be pals with a woman. This was up in Quetta. Do you know where Quetta is?”
“In the mountains.”
“Not in the mountains at all. Quetta is in the hills.” He looked pleased with himself and the nicety of his distinction. Then the smile went down and he continued, “It was a shame the way it had to happen. I didn’t wish to make anything of it. After all, he’d only come to congratulate me. But I couldn’t but help notice his buttons the way they were. How would I know he’d take it so hard? But I had my three stripes on me and his buttons was greasy, whichever way you looked at it.”
“You said that to him?”
His father looked up sharp as if to have forgotten he was talking aloud. “You needn’t be glassing me, young fellow. I had my duties to perform and a sergeant can’t be seen to have his favorites. What would become of discipline else? There’s a burden to rank that one day you’ll understand. But the bold Mick never forgave me, and God knows, I never blamed him for it. I doubt but he was ever the same man again.”
Jim knew his face was skewed and he tried to square it for his father’s sake. But he could not accept his father behaving that way. He comes to shake your hand, your friend, the lad you grew up with. He wants to congratulate you on being made sergeant. And you reprimand him for his buttons. It was like your stripes would be sewn to your heart not your sleeve. Jim knew he would never play so false. No matter how the world divided them, he’d never let his pal down so. For friendship was a heartfelt thing. Its absence was an ache inside that no rank could ever assuage. He was certain he would never act so—yet even as these assurances trundled on, the suspicion grew that in fact he already had.
How many times had Doyler invited him to his home and he made excuses not to go? Pop down and see the ma, Doyler would say, she does often be asking after you. But Jim had dreaded the squalor he would find. He saw no mother but a washerwoman at her skivvying and the dirt-faced children that would be clinging to her skirts. And when Doyler would ask the meaning of a word, in Latin say, or in the French of Madame MacMurrough, Jim would pretend not to know. And saying “do be” and using “was” for “were”—as though he’d please a friend with his ignorance. What behavior was that? He might have come out straight and told Doyler his buttons were too greasy to be seen in his company. Oh sure right enough, he’d follow Doyler to war, but he wouldn’t stoop to visit his home. Was it he after all had sent Doyler away and not the Father Taylor at all?
And worse it got, for when Doyler had spoke of teaching, sure it was clear as day it was himself he meant. It was Doyler had wanted to be a schoolteacher.