At Swim, Two Boys - Jamie O'Neill [46]
How proud she walked and softly sang. The air carried over the listening lawns. Beyond the lawns the sea glistened and her song had the breezy yawn of the sea as softly she sang to her slumbering child and her humble burden she carried.
“She takes away the stains of the world,” she heard her nephew say. And when the washerwoman stumbled, Eveline felt a tiny start inside. A start, as though she would reach out herself to help the woman.
At that moment she knew where she would motor in the afternoon. She would take the mountain road to High Kinsella, she would drive through the dark if need be, and she would sit in the room he had slept in there, when convalescent he came and she had nursed him, Casement. And she would pray for his return, for his soon and safe and conquering return, to the Ireland that he loved. And if God willed it, and God send He did, to her.
She turned from the garden doors. Curtly she said, “I shall be away this afternoon. I may well be away the night. Shall you dine out or should I ask Cook to leave a cold plate?”
“May I ask where you’re going?”
“You might, if you chose to be impertinent. However, there is no mystery. High Kinsella,” she said.
He gave the appearance of a smile. “Emeralds in the country, my gracious. And will he be collecting you?”
His jaded games. “As always, dear boy, I shall motor myself.”
“You know, Aunt Eva, you’ll bring scandal on our name if you insist on tooling up and down the lanes. A lady motorist could be thought dashing to the point of fast. Why don’t you advertise for a chauffeur-mechanic?”
Her charming, handsome, damned nephew. For all his sins, a MacMurrough. She rose to ready for lunch. “Shall you change? Or do you intend dining dirty?”
“To please you I shall change.”
“It would please me.”
“If only for lunch.” The line of his mustache was unmoved by the smirk.
At the door, she asked, “Usen’t you to play a musical instrument?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Which was it?”
“Flute.”
His humorless eyes. It was pitiful to see the affliction behind. There were times he was not handsome at all, her nephew—he but wore that mask. And now when she looked, he was not lean and agile as a glance told, but thin, gruelled, his clothes another’s. Yes, there was a deal of work to be done with her nephew.
Her gaze wandered over the portrait of her father, wandered back to his face. Chauffeur-mechanic indeed. “As for scandal,” she said, “I believe you have the edge on all of us there.”
CHAPTER SIX
“Papa?���
“Are you holding tight there?”
“There’s been something on my mind.”
“There always is when you calls me papa.” Mr. Mack took a grip of the shelf and looked down at his son’s upward face. Sallow skin on him. One or two spots coming. Trouble in his eyes. Oh begod, Gordie gone now, oughtn’t I—kipping on his own now, oughtn’t I—would they not learn him against that at the college? “Don’t do it,” he let out.
“Do what?”
“Say a prayer instead. It does go away, the urge will.” His son was mouthing words so he quickly added, “Say no more about it now.” He thought a moment. “Sleep with your hands like so.” He crossed his breast with his arms and the steps tilted under him. “Didn’t I tell you to hold tight?” He regained his balance. “Let the word Jesus be the last on your lips. Or Mary. A prayer to the Blessed Virgin would often be most affectatious. We’ll say no more now. Save it’ll leave you insane in the end.”
“What will leave me insane?”
He scratched his head, then felt his mustache. The boy’s eyes,