At Swim, Two Boys - Jamie O'Neill [222]
“Why wouldn’t the little man go out?” Aunt Sawney said.
“Old Macks has him minding shop,” Nancy told her. “Would you credit it? Minding shop and the shop closed itself.”
Aunt Sawney smacked her gums. She looked nice in her bed with her bed-jacket on. Nancy had knitted her that. “Are you well, Aunt Sawney?” he asked.
“Come here, little man,” she said. A shilling she had for him. “Is it the black fellow?” she wanted to know then.
He laughed. “Is what the black fellow sure?”
Nancy stood up with the babe in her arms, heaving her. “Go on out with you,” she said, “and I’ll listen for the bell.”
“All right so, I will.”
He found MacEmm smoking in the garden room in Ballygihen. He had his towel roll on the table and a carton of Player’s cigarettes. Jim couldn’t say exactly why, but he thought the Player’s a very good sign. The patient—Hygeia’s darling, so MacEmm called him—was doing nicely above, no sicks now, only the gripes and the grumps. Mrs. Moore had him eating broth quite tame. Himself, he was tired playing sick-nurse and was off down the Forty Foot. If Jim had his swimmers and any sense he’d come bathing with him.
“I have my swimmers.”
“Come then.”
But he would just pop up and see Doyler first. He found him dozing still. Jim pulled the covers and let his hand on the forehead. It wasn’t a fever at all, only a temperature. “Hello there,” said Doyler.
“You’re awake so.”
“I don’t know but I’m groggy all over.”
“It’s the doctor’s draught he gave you.”
“Have I missed me parade?”
“Don’t mind that,” said Jim, settling him back on the pillow. “Are you hungry at all?”
He wasn’t. He was already dropping away. Jim looked at him a while, sensible of a niggly disappointment. He bent over and kissed him on the glisten of his temple. He tiptoed out of the dimmed rayed room. Old Mrs. Moore on her chair beyond the door smiled so kindly. Yes, she told him, he was bravely now and the broth on the boil whenever.
Oh but it was grand at the Forty Foot and swell to swim. He dived and cut his dash before the regulars’ benevolent appraisal. “Was you one of them madcaps swum to the Muglins?” He was indeed. “Gob, but I held the pair of yous in me glass. Pegging away like blazes. I said to meself, I says, God help Wales if it gets in them fellas’ way. Won me two bob out of that.” Jim hoped he hadn’t bet on them coming back. “Gob, but I didn’t. How’s the other fella?” The other fellow was fine sure. Jim glided through the nugatory holiday throng and dived again from the high board. He floated on his back and gazed at the vast heavenly dome above, infinity. Over there the Muglins, and close by, watching from his ledge, MacEmm, reposing, admiring him.
They dried in the sun on the slabs with their towels under. Jim said, “I thought of entering in the Gala this year.”
“So you should.”
“You’d train me of course.”
MacEmm laughed. He dressed, saying he had one or two commissions in Kingstown. Jim followed him along the road past Sandycove Harbor. He was going to Kingstown to buy his ticket. Jim knew this for certain, and he said, “Don’t do it, MacEmm, please don’t go.”
They were passing through the little Otranto gardens, and MacEmm stopped now at a bench that overlooked the bay. He said, “It’s not how I should have wished it, my dear. I should be long gone by now, but your pal has screwed my plans rather. Drowning, I mean. They say Easter longed for is gone in a day. And now it has gone, and I—My gosh, look at that!”
“Yes,” said Jim, “I’ve seen it before.”
“So graceful.”
“It’s from out Drumcondra way. They have an aerodrome.”
“Extraordinary.”
“But MacEmm, you can’t leave with Doyler sick.”
“Doyler has an upset tummy. If he’s not better tomorrow he must try for a hospital.—Do you see him climb? How wonderful it must be.”
“I’ll steal your ticket. I won’t steal it, I’ll tear it up.”
“All alone up there. Such terrific solitude.”
“You won’t listen to me.”
“Oh Jim, I am listening to you. But I don’t belong here now. You must