At Swim, Two Boys - Jamie O'Neill [191]
He blew his nose, but he didn’t wipe his eyes, which were red and sore-looking.
“I’m sorry, all right? I’ve said I’m sorry now.”
Again the boy nodded.
“I didn’t do nothing anyway. I didn’t hurt you.”
“I thought you’d be friendly.”
“Lookat I have a friend already.”
“You didn’t do that to him.”
“No I didn’t.”
“You did it to me though.”
“I said I’m sorry. You can hit me if you want.”
“Don’t want to hit you.”
“You can sit down anyway, can’t you?”
The boots sat down, sliding against the tiles till he was hunched like Doyler.
“Listen to me,” said Doyler. “I have me friend. Least I think I do. And I wanted to be with him.”
“Why wouldn’t you go there then?”
“I don’t know why.”
“You’re scared to,” the boots said and sniffed.
“Blow your nose,” said Doyler. He watched him blow his nose. “That’s better, isn’t it? It’s better when you blow your nose.”
“You’re scared he won’t be your friend no more.”
Yes, he was scared. He was scared to be with Jim. And he wanted to hold him. He wanted so much just his arm round his neck. But he didn’t know could he be trusted. If he made Jim do what he made this boy do. And worse if Jim would let him.
“Do you miss him?”
Doyler sighed, and with that breath spilt all the tide of his loneliness and fears. “I miss him, aye,” he said. “He was pal o’ me heart, so he was. I try not to think of him, only I can’t get him off my mind. He’s with me always day and night. I do see him places he’s never been, in the middle of a crowd I see him. His face looks out from the top of a tram, a schoolboy wouldn’t pass but I’m thinking it’s him. I try to make him go away, for I’m a soldier now and I’m under orders. But he’s always there and I’m desperate to hold him. I doubt I’m a man except he’s by me.”
“Maybe he misses you too. I’d miss you was you my friend.”
Doyler patted his knee, that could never be more than bones to him.
“What scares me most,” said the boots, “is not that I’ll be hit or they’ll hate me. I’m scared if I wouldn’t find anyone. I can’t help looking, can I?”
“No, you do right to look.” Doyler stood up. “I’m going to Kingstown.”
“Good luck,” he said.
“You know now you can still hit me if you want?”
“I never wanted to hit you.”
“Sure I know you didn’t. If I thought you did, I wouldn’t offer it.” He held out his hand to give the boots a pull up.
“I still like you,” he said.
“Ah come here to me,” said Doyler, “you old wirrasthrue thing.”
He went back to the widow woman’s room and took his rifle from the rafters. He’d take that in case, but his equipment could wait till tomorrow. To hell with his guard duty. They’d get some other jasus to guard their Hall for them. It was a long journey on foot, seven miles. It was raining hard when he got to Kingstown. He had his rifle in a brown-paper parceling. By Glasthule the paper was sogging away. He passed between chapel and college. He found he was walking more briskly. He had a spring in his step. He turned up Adelaide Road. He was running now. Sprinting and scarce a falter of his leg. The months fell with his feet till it was only a day since last they swam. He spun into the lane, splashing in puddles. The door pushed and the bell clinked. Jim was behind the counter. He looked up. His smile had been practising all day. Doyler held out his rifle in one hand and his bush-hat in the other. “What cheer, eh?” he said.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Doyler had the salt and he was offering it round the table. “Salt?” he said to Jim. The words wouldn’t form on Jim’s lips. He felt his face stupid with smiles, but his face wouldn’t brook their interruption. “Will I leave a pinch of it anyway?” Jim nodded and a white scruple formed on his plate.
“Elbows, Jim,” said his father. “You don’t see Doyler with his elbows on the table.”
His father sat with the bread before him, his face significant, sleeves hitched up, slicing. Jim heard Nancy laughing into Doyler’s ear, “Would think ’twas the Christmas goose to be carved.” He watched