At Swim, Two Boys - Jamie O'Neill [143]
He looked over at his son the other side of the table, the pickings of their Christmas dinner between them. Capital T for Trouble on his face. “Are we all right there, Jim?”
“Is she in pain?”
“Which?”
“Nancy upstairs.”
“What about Nancy?”
“Sure she’s screaming out, Da.”
“Which?” Mr. Mack turned a page of his book. “Not screaming at all. Now, stopped. Told you she wasn’t screaming.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Does what hurt?”
“Da, I don’t know is it all going wrong or is she meant to be in pain that way.”
“Don’t raise your voice.”
The box-stairs door opened and Mrs. Tansy came in with the kettle. Mr. Mack quickly rose to assist her, but she shoved him out of her way. He tapped his fingers on the table-edge. “Everything up to the knocker above?” She shoved him again while she put the kettle to the hob. “I could make the tea. Would that help?”
She clicked her tongue and up the stairs with her once more. The door closed snidely behind her.
“Womenfolk,” Mr. Mack explained. “At women’s business.” His son’s mouth was starting with questions, so he said, steering him towards the shop door, “Are you finished eating?”
“I’m not hungry.”
He lit the gas-light in the shop. “No pudding or nothing?”
“No.”
“You might risk a step outside so.” He opened the till, took out a half-crown, sized it up, put it back. “Look son, here’s two bob for you. There’ll be something on at the Pavilion. You’d like that.”
“The Pavilion’s burnt down.”
“Can’t you find something to spend it on?”
“It’s Christmas Day, Da. Everywhere’s closed.”
He put the two bob in his son’s hand, closed the hand. “My treat,” he said.
“You want me to spend two shillings?”
“You don’t have to spend it all. Come back with any change.”
“Change after what?”
“Matter a damn what.” His hand had banged on the counter, and to confute any sign of anger, he drummed his fingers merrily along. “Go down the pier,” he said. “You’d like a stroll down the pier.”
“Are you going, Da?”
“No no no, I’m wanted here.”
His son stared at the two coins like he’d be figuring out which reign it was. “Can’t you see, Jim, you’re only in the way here?” A fearful howl came down from above and he saw the boy’s face shudder. “Don’t worry your head about that. That’s only a bit of old punishment for what Eve got up to.”
“Eve?”
He ushered his son to the street door. “All quite natural and to be expected. Go on to the pier and don’t come back till it’s all over. That’s the hookum.”
“How will I know when it’s over?”
“Lookat, would you just get to hell out and enjoy yourself for once?” He pushed the boy into the lane and closed the door on his face. He turned off the gas again, returned to the kitchen.
The kettle was on the boil and he made the pot of tea. He had the ladies’ cups ready for them when Mrs. Rourke the handy-woman came down. “Ye’re the slatey man,” she said, waving aside the cup he offered, and she took the kettle to refill it. Half an hour later he was out on the road himself, having been told to find cold weather. But not before he had heard the new cry from above and had crept up the stairs to peek by the door. They had a fire lit in the high-barred grate. He felt the warmth of the room and the subdued air. Something holy had taken place there, a mystery was after happening, and the women bore with complacent looks their attendance on it. He saw the tub with its ruddy water. There was a smell, earthy and sweet, from where Nancy had got sick. The girl lay dozing, moaning lightly. In Aunt Sawney’s arms the babe lay, Aunt Sawney hushoing quietly.
God bless the babe and spare the mother. And He had that. He had that indeed. Girl, said Mrs. Tansy, closing the door on him. Glory be to God, he said tapping his breast.
He tapped it again outside in the night looking up at the light from Aunt Sawney’s window. A girl. A darling dainty dote of a girl. A wee grandchild even. And a grandfather too. A mother and daughter. Uncle and niece. Great-aunt and great-niece. All the one go. It seemed an extraordinary abundance of creation. A great surging